He rubs against the thin cotton between my legs. The fabric is soaked through, useless as a barrier but excellent at molding itself to me.
In this stolen moment of passion, I relish everything. The shape of him, the heat, the texture of his pants, the way he’s straining against his trousers, trying to break free.
His eyes burn with rage and desire, a furnace just waiting to swallow the kindling of my soul.
I know my eyes probably look the same. I’m sure he can see how much I want this, how much I’m losing the battle against my own need.
It doesn’t matter.
He’ll be dead soon and can never tell anyone what I did or how completely I lost control.
For a few minutes, I can have this. I can take what I want from him while he’s helpless to stop me, can use him the way I’ve used everything and everyone in my war against Roman.
I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck. The position brings us closer, allowing me leverage as I chase the swelling ache in my pussy. As my body rolls, my breasts brush against his chest, sending tingling shivers through my dress.
He feels good. Too good.
The hard planes of his pecs, his thighs flexing beneath my ass, the thick length of him grinding exactly where I want it…
With each thrust, pleasure jolts through me, mounting until I’m gasping for air. Any pretense of control shatters.
I dip my head near his mouth, and his breath skates over me.
He lifts his chin, bringing us closer. He’s going to kiss me. I part my lips in anticipation. This is really happening?—
His forehead smashes into mine.
Pain explodes across my skull, into my eyes, and down my nose. My vision whites out in bursts of light. I scramble back, my legs tangling in my skirt as I try to get to a safe distance.
Once I peel myself off his lap, I stumble all the way to the remnants of the dining table and the three remaining chairs. It’s way farther than necessary to escape his reach, but I’m not fleeing from his body.
I’m fleeing from mine.
Desire still thrums through me, pulsing between my legs, making my skin too tight and my breath come too fast despite the pain in my head and my apparent death wish.
With a shaky inhale, I shove a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Max glares, his dick still straining in his pants. Apparently, he’s just as twisted as I am.
When I can trust my legs again, I walk to the duffel bag Max dropped near the wall when he first entered.
“Don’t even bother.” A twinge of worry laces his tone. “You’ll never find it.”
Oh, but I think I will. “Aww, your concern is touching, but trust me, it’s no trouble.”
I unzip the bag and start to rummage through the contents.
“If you take it,” Max slouches back in his chair, the picture of nonchalance, “I will hunt you down and destroy you.”
Just like that, another Kozlov man does what they do best. Fuck up my life. “I’ve spent years hiding, Max. You’ll never find me.”
I return my focus to the duffel.
A loud crack spins me back around.
Max doubles over, snapping the chair back and the arms free of their base. Veins throb along every bit of exposed flesh, pinkening his skin with pulsing blood.
He should still be weakened from the drug. It would have worn off enough for basic movement, talking, gesturing, moving his head, but not this. Not enough that he could do something this extreme.
