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Candy
The treachery of my body remained in the forefront of my mind. One minute I’d tried to break free of the criminal’s hold. The next I was succumbing to him like some wanton sinner. What had happened to the good girl inside, the one who refused to take crap from anyone?
He’d happened, the brutal Russian with a voice like an opera singer. I was appalled by the scent of sex permeating the room, until I was forced to accept it was my sex, not his.
Yet.
He’d peeled away far too many layers, able to see the truth behind the shield I’d forged a long time ago. He’d seen my blatant desire, encouraging me to open up to him. And I’d allowed that to happen.
As Kirill walked away from the bed, heading for his dresser, it was the first time I realized he was wearing a watch. I found it intriguing that he took his time removing the oversized piece, placing it gingerly inside a box on the dresser. I was right about his scars. There was another long one going down the back of his leg. I could only imagine how that had been caused. Whatever did likely kept him out of action for a long time, the wound cutting nerves and tendons.
When I shifted on the bed, moving closer to the edge, he lifted his head, staring at me with darker eyes than before. He was daring me to try to make a run for the door. One minute he was tender, sweet like a lover. Then his true personality rushed to the surface. He was a true savage.
Russian.
What was he doing in an Irish neighborhood? Well, technically the apartment building was outside the invisible circles, but it still didn’t make any sense. The Irish community was tightly knit. There wasn’t a thing that went on without everyone else knowing about it. That had been the very first thing I’d heard from more than one member of my extended family almost immediately after I’d moved to New York. It was their way of warning me where I was safest. Maybe that’s why I’d purposely chosen an apartment just outside the limits.
When Kirill turned around, his gaze seemed heavier than before, his stare reminding me of a wild beast in the jungle. He wasted no time removing his boots, tossing them aside. I jumped both times he dropped one to the floor, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. I doubted he would enjoy being called beautiful, but this was the epitome of the term, even with his scars and constant scowl.
My throat tightened as he slipped his fingers under the elastic of his shorts. Dozens of filthy thoughts raced through my mind. They were so depraved that I knew I needed to go to confession this Sunday in order to feel cleansed. There wasn’t water hot enough to rinse away the pure sin.
I could still try to convince myself that he didn’t excite me or that I hadn’t enjoyed the orgasm, but it would be the biggest lie of the night. As he lowered his shorts, I slapped one hand over my mouth to keep from exclaiming. He’d been created as the perfect image of man, his muscles so chiseled that from a distance he appeared to be carved out of stone. I swallowed several times when his shorts went down past his hips.
Oh. My. God. There was no chance in hell his big cock was going to fit inside me. No, it wasn’t just big, it was huge, long and thick just like the rest of him. I tried to look away, I really did, but how can one be exposed to something so incredible then not want another glimpse? Heat seemed to rise from the depth of my being, shooting into every cell and muscle. Or maybe it was the other way around, the rush of adrenaline and tiny explosions going off in my body stealing a good portion of my breath.
As he stood completely naked, I started shaking all over, my teeth chattering as he approached. When he returned to the bed, he eased me further up on the bed until my head rested on a pillow. I thought brutal men didn’t care about a woman’s comfort? Now I was thinking completely irrational thoughts, maybe in an attempt to keep my mind from dropping into the pits of hell.
Kirill hunkered over me, remaining on his elbows as he peered down just like he’d done before, but there was something entirely different. More concentrated. He remained silent as he drew his finger down my neck, rolling the tip along my side all the way to my waist. As he slowly started to roll the shirt up and over my breasts, I wrapped my hand around his wrist.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, moya krasota,” he whispered.
“What is that?”
“My beauty.”
He continued to call me his. What if he never allowed me out of this room, let alone his apartment? I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of my thought, but was it? Everything about him was possessive. I closed my eyes, not bothering to fight him as he pulled the material over my head. I halfway expected that he’d part my legs, driving his cock inside me in one brutal move, but he continued his exploration.
The lightness of his touch continued the way it had been before, gently rolling over my curves as he traveled between my breasts. I could still taste his kiss coupled with my pussy juice. I’d thought the combination would be revolting, but it’d been sweet and tangy at the same time.
“Very beautiful,” he muttered before finally dropping his head, swirling his tongue around my nipple. When he eased my arms over my head again, he didn’t hold them in place, but I knew better than to dare try to move them.
I stared up at the ceiling, prickles of sensations riding up and down from my toes to the tips of my fingers and back down again. His scent was stronger than before, the musk and testosterone becoming a drug I wasn’t certain I could live without.
He was as tender as he was before, laving my hardened bud for a full minute before pulling the tender tissue inside his mouth. When he sucked, the sound he made was erotic, evocative. I was pulled into a sweet buzz, all reality shutting down around me. I wanted to touch him, to feel his rippling muscles beneath my fingertips. I longed to drag my nails down his back, making my own marks. The thought was as outlandish as the moment we were sharing.
No, this wasn’t exactly sharing. We weren’t entering into a relationship of any kind. This was just sex. Or was it?
I bit back a series of moans when he pinched my nipple, twisting it until I was forced to cry out in discomfort.
“Shush, little one. Allow the pain to take you to the cusp of ecstasy.”
Was he kidding? Is that how he thought it worked? I shifted my legs, surprised when he rolled his arm under my thigh, lifting and pulling my leg out to the side. I’d never felt so exposed, another flush creeping along my cheeks. I turned my head, gasping for air as he brushed his lips to my already bruised nipple, sucking until he eased the pain. He was watching me so intently, only moving when I did, reacting to every tiny shift or my ragged breathing.
There was no way to stop moans from escaping no matter how hard I tried. He nipped my bud, sucking even harder before lifting his body a few inches, growling as he dragged his tongue down my stomach. I was thrown by how sensual he’d made the experience, tossed into an even thicker fog as he swirled the tip around my belly button.
I realized I’d arched my back, as if I was begging him to lick me. Mortified, I wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers, but my beautiful villain would never allow it. He took his time pressing his hot, wet lips from one side of my hips to the other. By that point, I was panting, lightheaded from the intense pleasure rolling through me.
