My hands are flat on the wall behind me as he grabs the man’s wrist, drops his gun, and, in one quick movement, takes out a knife.
Oh my god.
One clean slice—and the hand drops to the pavement. Blood spurts fucking everywhere, a rivulet of crimson.
The man howls, writhing in pain, but they’re the sounds of a dying man. Hopeless.
Matvei unfolds his huge body, stands, and steps over him like it’s nothing. Then he turns and looks at me.
His eyes meet mine.
We stare at each other. I don’t know how to explain the way I feel right now.
I should be horrified.
I am. I am horrified.
Am I?
I should be wanting to get away from him.
But all I can think is… I’m a fucking psycho.
Have I met my match?
He moves until he stands in front of me, so close his breath kisses my cheek. Then he brushes a thumb over the apple of my cheek, smearing blood. "You belong to me, Anissa. Get that through your pretty little head.” He leans in, voice softer now. Almost intimate. “You like this game, don’t you?”
Do I?
He turns, grabs the man by the shoulder, and shoves him through the broken window. His body topples onto the porcelain sink.
Oh god.
My hand is suspended in the air in front of me as if frozen in time. I’m not reaching for him, but I?—
Will he walk away? After whipping me, making me come, and viciously murdering a man who dared to touch me?
“You think you’re clever, little brat?” His voice is low, almost amused. “You think you can cut and run, and I’ll just chase you like some rabid dog?”
I say nothing. My breath is caught in my lungs, my eyes locked with his.
“Let me explain how this works.” He leans in until his lips brush my ear. “You don’t run because you want to.” He pauses, dragging me toward him until I’m arched into him. “You run because I tell you to.”
That’s whathethinks. Still, I’m curious where he’ll go with this. I’m frozen in time, eager to hear what he says next. “You want to play games?”
“Of course I do. It’s my favorite.” Why does my voice sound all husky and flirtatious?
His teeth scrape my throat, a mockery of affection. “Good girl. I’ll teach you the rules.”
My heart thumps even as my fist clenches in defiance.
I want this.
No, I don’t.
Yes, I do.
And then his mouth is on mine, and his fingers are in my hair, his second hand on my throat. He’s covered in blood, and I can still feel the slick heat between my legs. Our tongues touch, and when I bite his lip, a low, masculine hum of approval makes my pussy clench. The kiss is rough, consuming, punishing.
