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I wiggle harder, but he doesn't budge. He presses himself harder onto me, and I stop moving when I feel his length pressing against me. Wetness builds in between my thighs. I want him; I can’t deny the attraction for him. I’m scared but also turned on. What is wrong with me? I feel his hand moving and caressing every inch of my body. Goosebumps form as he brings his hand down my arm. He squeezes my breast next, and his hand goes to my face. His thumb starts stroking my bottom lip. I feel the heat radiating from the parts of my body he touches.
After a few seconds or minutes, I'm not sure how long it's been, he cups my cheek and gently caresses it with his thumb. I feel butterflies form in my belly. His rough hands feel so absolute against my soft skin. It’s such a gentle move. Gentle? This man does not have a gentle bone in his body. How many people has he killed with this hand? I’m repulsed by the thought and move away from his touch.
“Big mistake,” he growls.
I don't get a chance to contemplate his comment because one of his hands goes to my throat, and the other wraps around my hair. Not once but twice, he pulls it back hard. I yelp at the sharp pain, but it sounds more like a moan. He releases a low masculine groan from deep within his chest, sending a rush of heat straight to my core. His hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my air supply, and I panic.
I need to get his attention, so I thrash about, trying to soften the hold he has me on. I open my eyes to meet his. Maybe if he saw the distress I am under, he would release the pressure, but that has the opposite effect. The moment our eyes lock, and he notices my helplessness, he loses control. I see the moment he loses it, making me his prey. He jerks my head to the side to give himself full access to my neck and bites down on my neck hard enough to leave a mark. He releases the hand holding my throat and lowers it to my chest. I take in shallow breaths, coughing with effort. A feeling of relief flows through my body. I can breathe again. This moment is short-lived because one of his hands goes to my back to remove the clasp of my bra. Realizing that I have access to move my arms, I push on his chest to stop him, but that does nothing. He’s like an immovable rock.
“Stop fighting me, kotyonok. Don’t pretend you don't want this. I can practically taste your arousal.”
As much as it bothers me to admit this, he’s right. I do want him; I can't deny it. I sigh. It scares me when I think of what he does for a living and who he is to the world. What would happen to me if I took this step with him? I worry for my safety and for my family. It will paint a target on my back, and is it worth all the trouble that will come my way? Can he protect us as he promised? I'm sure he has many enemies. Danger emanates through his pores.
Fuck my morals, fuck my doubts, fuck it all to hell. For right now, I just want him. Everything else can be decided later. “Fuck it.”
I grab his face. Hard. When I smash my lips on his, he softens for just a second before he goes back to working my bra off. The moment they're free, his mouth latches onto my breast. Dragging his teeth across my nipple, he bites down. An embarrassing sound escapes my lips. I don’t care, I’m hot all over, and the need for him is intense. I think I’m going to combust from his mouth alone. When I let out a frustrated sound because he paused, he chuckles.
He gets to his feet and takes off his shoes. I sit up on my palms, enjoying the show he puts on for me. He grabs the hem of his shirt and removes it. The dark ink on his left arm catches my attention. Finally, I get a glimpse of his tattoo—a lion head that looks like it’s emerging from the pits of hell, roaring in conquest with a crown adorning its head. My eyes continue to trail down the ropes of muscles and veins.
My breath catches in my throat when I see the old scars marking his torso. What has this man been through? My heart aches for him. He unbuckles his pants, slowly lowering them down his legs, staying in only his boxers. My mouth waters when I fully take him in. His body looks like it’s carved in marble.
He smirks. “Like what you see, milaya?”
At that moment, the part of my brain that sends words to my mouth forgets to work. I nod my head. He gives me a mischievous smile that reaches his eyes, and my heart goes crazy.
The light is on, and I'm on full display for him. Feeling anxiety slowly fogging my brain, memories of Luca, my ex-boyfriend, playing out like a movie in my mind, I am snapped out of my lust-induced haze. Why am I thinking about that asshole right now? Maybe because some scars never heal no matter how in love and comfortable with my body I am. Especially if they're on the inside.
Luca didn’t help with my insecurities; he made them worse.
