by LP Lovell
His lips press against the corner of my mouth. "If I lose control, everything around me burns, Krasivaya."
My pulse hammers through my veins. "I do love fire," I whisper. His hands skim along my sides in a feather light touch before he leans in and bites my lip hard enough to draw blood. His tongue sweeps over the damaged flesh and a soft groan rumbles from his chest.
"And I do love the taste of blood." His fingers dig into my hips, and he backs me across the room. I find myself fantasizing about what it would be like to have him fuck me, to have him completely dominate me, ruin me. A man like Ronan Cole, with so much power, such depravity running through his veins—it would surely be an experience of a lifetime. My legs bump against the smooth wood of the pool table and he grabs my waist, lifting me and setting me on the edge. I swallow in an effort to steady my racing pulse.
"I just had your brother tortured.” He steps between my legs, crowding me. “I just choked you against a wall and had you strip for me. You know I'm a monster and yet, I know you're soaking wet for me right now, Camilla."
I glide my hand up the front of his chest and around the back of his neck. "What does that make me?" I ask, succumbing to my addiction and nipping his jaw.
"Sick." He rubs his lip over my cheek, his hold on my hips tightening. "So very sick, little kitty."
My fingers dig into his neck until I'm sure my nails bite into his skin. The expensive material of his shirt brushes against my bare breast, and my nipples tighten painfully. Our lips are so close; I could tilt my chin and I'd be kissing him. I press my free hand against his lower stomach and slide my way down until I'm cupping a very big, very hard cock. I scratch my nails over the material of his pants and a low rumble works up his throat as his dick twitches.
"This is the only true power there is, Ronan," I say on a smile.
A knowing grin shapes his lips as his fingers dance over my breasts, my stomach, my thigh. I fight to keep my legs from falling shamelessly open and inviting him in, because I want him to touch me. And I hate him all the more for it. I keep my eyes locked on his, watching the lust swirl within them. One of his warm fingers swipes over my clit and I bite down on my lip, stifling the moan. His stance widens between my thighs, his gaze falling to my pussy before it slowly moves back to my face.
"Is it?" He whispers, shoving his fingers so deep and hard inside me that my entire body is thrust back onto the pool table. My hands knock the balls across the felt when I catch myself. His fingers bend and flex inside me, coaxing a moan before he pulls his hand free. "That is power," he says on a smirk and slips his fingers between his full lips. "Mm." He arches a brow. “Now, get dressed for dinner.” And with that, he turns and leaves the room.
I fall back against the felt tabletop, my lungs straining to catch a full breath. Fuck Ronan Cole. I don't know how much longer I can do this with him.
Chapter 22
Ronan
“Animal” – Bad Flower
The smell of her pussy is still on my fingers when I push her door open. Camilla's standing in front of the mirror, dressed in a red satin dress. She gives me a fleeting look over her shoulder, before turning back to the mirror and tracing her lips with red lipstick. Anastasia should be delighted with this.
"Aren't you the vision of beauty," I say.
She turns to face me again, propping her hip against the dresser. "Where are we going?" The condescending tone to her voice does make me happy because I got to her, and it utterly delights me.
"To a nice dinner with the President and new Prime Minister."
"Oh, I do so love Anastasia's thrilling company."
"She's sure to love yours." I snap my fingers. Two men come in from the hallway and Camilla glares at me like an angry cat before they grab her.
"What the fuck is this?" she asks, backing away as they approach.
I glance at my watch as they cart her to the bed, kicking and screaming. "A little gift from me to you, and gentlemen," I say, tapping the face of my watch, "time is of the essence. Do try to not mess up her hair, it looks so lovely."
They pin her down and, of course, she fights them like a wild animal, spitting insults in Spanish.
"Camilla?" I sing. "I said not to mess up your hair." I step toward the end of the bed, smiling at her. She does look so beautiful pinned down like that.
"I will kill you, Russian!" One of the men grabs her chin and she turns her head, sinking her teeth into his forearm.
"I'm certain if you could, you would, but..." I toss my hands up on a laugh before I lean down next to her and pet over her head. "Shh, little kitty. It will be okay." I look up at Donovan and nod. He takes a scalpel and cuts a small slice in the side of her neck. She snarls at the pain, and my grin widens. He uses tweezers to shove the small chip underneath the flap of meat before he quickly stiches her up.
"Now," I say, holding up a finger, "before they let you go, I must warn you, you may want to really think through any more rebellious acts you have planned."
"What the fuck did you just do?" Her face is red with anger, her nostrils flaring.
"Made you mine." I beam. "The small chip that was just sewn into your neck... you defy me again, I'll press a button that will cause the outer layer to disintegrate, expelling a toxic compound into your blood stream. It will melt you from the inside out, shutting down your organs one by one." I sigh. "Festive, wouldn’t you agree?" I snap my fingers again and the two men release her.
She bolts upright, then charges toward me as she swings her arm back. I catch her arm mid-strike. "Camilla," I say, squeezing her delicate wrist, "You must know I’m not a man who makes empty threats. Do learn to control yourself."
She steps closer, pressing her breasts against me. Her eyes flick to my mouth and a smug grin dances across her lips. "I promise you, one day I will kill you, Russian, and I will piss on your cold, dead body." She brings her lips to my ear. "I'm not a woman who makes empty threats."
“Yes, yes.” I circle my finger in the air and she glares at me. “Turn around.” Her eyes flame before she spins on her heel. I grab the thick, diamond choker from my pocket and delicately place it around her neck, covering the tiny stitches. “Can’t have you looking like Frankenstein,” I say.
“Well, I wouldn’t if you didn’t put shit in my neck,” she says with a growl. I grab her arm to lead her from the room, and she snatches away from me. "So what? I misbehave and you'll kill me?" A masochistic smile spreads across her face.
I don't respond, simply lead her out of the room, down the hallway and through the front door to the waiting car.
_____
The ballroom is filled with politicians and bankers welcoming Anton as the new Prime Minister, and here Camilla stands at my side, a silent rage radiating from her. I loop her arm through mine as we cross the room. "That necklace looks lovely on you," I whisper.
"Fuck off, Russian," she says under her breath.
I pat my hand over hers and smile as we step up to Anton. He's rigid when I shake his hand, nervous. "Congratulations on your new office, Prime Minister."
"Thank you," he says, but I hear the regret in his tone. The toll his greed has taken on him shows in the purple circles below his eyes, the gloss of sweat on his brow. Some men think they can handle guilt. Most can't. Anton thought he could shrug off his responsibility in Vasily’s assassination, but I guess he underestimated the weight of guilt. Such a shame. His eyes shift to Camilla before another politician, Demetri Sokolov—my choice for the next President of Russia—steps beside us to shake Anton's hand.
Demetri glances at me from the corner of his eye, and I feel Anton shrink away from us both. The designer suit Demetri has on gives him a refined edge, but no amount of money or Versace can dull the psychotic flicker within his eyes.
"Ah, Demetri." I turn to shake his hand. "So good to see you."
"And you, Ronan," he says, his attention turning to Camilla. Lust swims in his eyes as his gaze drags over her curves, and my jaw tightens. "May I have a word, R
onan?"
“Of course.” I slip my arm around Camilla's waist as I escort her across the lavish ballroom and down a corridor beside the stairs, Demetri following. We stop by a large oil painting and I turn to face him. His eyes lock on Camilla as he lights a cigarette. "Camilla," I say, "this is Demetri Solkolov, the soon to be President of Russia." I watch her eyes narrow. I can almost see her mind rolling through the possibilities.
"The pleasure is all mine." Demetri takes her hand and slightly bows his head before glancing over at me. "This is taking longer than you promised."
"Assassinations can be unpredictable, Demetri," I say. "You should know that by now, and besides, there's one final detail that needs to be tended to." I arch a brow.
Smoke billows through his lips. "The money should show up tomorrow."
"Excellent, don't forget to repay yourself from the lovely taxpayers of Russia once you're in office." I chuckle. "Your missile shall be delivered within the week, and I have so enjoyed doing business with you."
My chest swells with pride, excitement, but I won't get ahead of myself. I know all too well that pulling off a scandal of this proportion cannot be celebrated until all is said and done. And even then, having vile, power-hungry men I own sitting on seats of authority is merely just the beginning.
He walks away and I catch sight of Anastasia standing across the ballroom. The pout on her face screams of hurt even though she's clutching to her husband's arm like a doting wife. I pretend not to notice her and turn my attention to Camilla, trailing my fingers over her neck. The slightest hint of a bruise peeks from the sparkling choker, and I can’t help but remember how unhinged it felt when I pinned her against the wall with that fire poker. I brush my finger over the bruise before my gaze shifts to her red lips. So full and perfect. All I can think about is taking her bottom lip between my teeth and drawing blood again. The thought sends a surge of adrenaline through me and I take a step toward her, pinning her between my body and the wall.
"Ronan." A fire dances in her eyes, and I don't know if it's a warning or an invitation. I’d take either…
I brush my lips over her warm cheek and grab her hips, squeezing as I force her harder against the wall. "Pretend you don't want this," I whisper as I skim my mouth over her throat, groaning next to her ear.
She cups my jaw, and rakes her nails down the side of my neck. "What do you want me to say, Russian?" she breathes.
"Not a single thing." I fist her hair and slam my mouth over hers, parting her lips with my tongue. And my, her lips do feel so inviting. Her body goes rigid against mine, then she shoves at my chest.
"Seriously? You just put a thing in my neck like a pet bitch –"
"Oh, Camilla…" I tighten my hold in her hair until she flinches. "When will you realize, I own you?" I press my lips back over hers, knowing that Anastasia is watching and breaking into a million pieces at this very moment.
Camilla snarls before sinking her teeth into my bottom lip. Blood wells in my mouth, and I smile against her lips. And that's when I feel that slight give, the moment where her body goes just a little limp in my hold. She bites at my lip again, sending a sharp twinge of pain shooting through me followed by the instinct to hurt her. My hand goes from her hair to her throat, my fingers wrapping tightly around her before I break away from the kiss and rest my forehead against hers, my hand still clutching her throat. I want to kiss her, hurt her, fuck her. Cut her…
I stare at her blush stained cheeks, my chest heaving while her pulse thrums beneath my fingertips. Her eyes flicker with hate and lust. The sight of my blood smeared across her lips makes my cock swell. "Before this is all over," I say in her ear, "you'll beg for me."
"Never," she whispers on a smile. "You already have too much power, Russian."
She drags a finger along my bottom lip. When she moves her hand away, I spot a smudge of blood on her finger. Her eyes lock with mine as she slips her bloodied finger between her lips. If I had an ounce less control, we'd both be in trouble. Not much in this life can make me weak, but this… Within her eyes lie cruel promises of violence and lust. And that strikes something buried so reverently deep inside me— there is every possibility this woman may be my undoing. It shouldn’t be such a thrill.
Inhaling, I loop her arm through mine and lead her through the room. We make our way to the dinner table, and I tell myself I must deny these blood-filled urges.
Chapter 23
Camilla
“The Devil You Know” – X Ambassadors
Ronan pulls my chair out and I sit before he takes the seat beside me. My heart is still racing and my lips are still tingling, but Ronan just strikes up a conversation with the man next to him as if absolutely nothing happened. I pick up the glass of wine in front of me and down it in one gulp. The steak knife on the table catches my attention, and I picture myself picking it up and ramming it into Ronan's jugular. That should give him enough blood…
As if he can read my mind, he glances at me, lifting a brow at my empty wine glass. A waiter passes by and I hold the glass up, staring at Ronan as the man fills it again. When I raise it to my lips, Ronan takes it from me. Chardonnay splashes over his hand.
"Behave," he says as he strokes my hair behind my ear. There’s a sudden, sharp pain that shoots through my neck when his thumb brushes the small incision on my throat. Something uncomfortable settles in my stomach. I've been kidnapped, beaten, tortured, raped, and for some reason that implant feels more inhuman and barbaric than all of it. He's reduced me to an animal simpering beneath his will. I know he's bad, but I thought he was better than this. He brought a gun to a knife fight. And for some reason, as strange as it is, I find myself disappointed with him. I twist out of his hold and he smiles before dropping his hand.
The man next to me attempts to lure me into conversation, but I simply ignore him and drink half my glass of wine. The entire party fades to background noise as my mind drifts, dredging up memories I try my best to ignore. I jump when Ronan touches my hand, pulling it away from my neck. I hadn't even realized I was touching it. The men at the table discuss something, but of course I can’t understand a word they say. Annoyed, I glance around the room and spot Anastasia a few tables over glaring at us. I hate Ronan, but I hate that cunt more. I paint a smile on my lips before I turn to Ronan and trace my fingers over the back of his neck. His brows pinch in a frown. Even the thought of Anastasia's rage isn't enough to override the plummeting feeling tearing through me, that fissure of disappointed hurt that I want to cut out like a disease.
"I need to use the bathroom," I whisper and push my chair back.
I move to stand and Ronan grips my jaw, forcing me to hover just above my chair. He stares at me for a second before grazing his lips over mine in a whisper of a touch. “Don’t be long.”
My nostrils flare as I pull away from his hold and straighten up. I hurry to the restroom, shove the door open, and go straight to the mirror. Taking a deep breath, I brace my hands on the vanity before I glance up at the mirror and pull the diamond choker down inspecting the small incision on the side of my neck. The black thread looks like spider legs crawling out of my skin. The door pushes open and the noise from the ballroom spills inside. I keep looking in the mirror, paying no attention to the woman stopped at the sink. That is, until I feel her gaze on me. I turn. Anastasia. Great.
"You know he's in love with me?" she says, her eyes watering.
I throw my head back on a groan and pray for patience with this bullshit. "The same way you're in love with your husband?"
She inhales, her cheeks turning red. "You’re too plain for a man like him. You do understand that?"
"Okay, Skeletor." I laugh and take a step toward her. She, of course, takes a small step back. "If I'm so plain then why are you in the bathroom throwing your skinny ass around?" I eye her up and down before turning back to my reflection and running my fingers through my hair. She's still glaring at me in the mirror. "A lion doesn't need to roar to let you know it's a lion,”
I say. “You're a politician's house cat, Anastasia."
"And from the looks of it, you're nothing but an expensive whore."
"From the woman doing the dirty on her husband?" Grinning, I cock a brow at her.
"If you know what's best for you, you'll leave him alone."
I snort. This bitch. "Oh, I don't think he wants to be left alone." I face her and prop my hip against the vanity. "In fact, he very much wants my company. In every single way." I bite my bottom lip on a smile.
Her eyes flash and my grin deepens just before a loud smack echoes around the restroom. My cheek stings, and Anastasia spins on her heel to leave. Closing my eyes, I inhale a calming breath but it doesn't work. My temper snaps like a band pulled too tight. In a heartbeat, I have my hand in her bleached hair. She squeals, and I pull back so hard that her back bows before she’s forced to her knees.
"Understand this," I whisper as I round her. "I may look like Ronan Cole's latest arm candy, but push me again and I will snap your skinny-fucking-neck like the pathetic slut you are." A small whimper slips through her lips before I yank her head back further. "Are we crystal clear?" Tears pour down her face, smudging her mascara. I hiss a breath through my teeth.
"Yes," she breathes.
"Good." I throw her messy hair out of my hand and she scrambles to her feet, rushing from the bathroom.
My pulse races. My chest heaves. I lean against the vanity to calm the red-hot anger beating away at me like a caged beast. Anastasia was the last straw. I'm out of control, completely at a loss for the first time in my life because Ronan Cole has so utterly removed it from me. I can't fight back without him pulling the plug with this stupid thing in my neck. I'm not afraid of death, but it has to be on my terms, not his. Whirling around, I stare at my reflection before I unfasten the choker at my throat and wrap it around my hand. I swing my arm back and ram my fist into the mirror. The glass shatters beneath the diamonds, splintering my reflection. Pieces of mirror fall into the sink. Some scatter across the tile. I grab a shard from the sink and toss the necklace to the floor.