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“You bite me and I’ll kill you,” he hisses, betraying the source of his apprehension: He thinks I’ll hurt him.
But when my tongue cradles the tip of him, I’m not sure what I want. Or what I’m hoping to find in his gaze as I part my lips around him. My heart pangs when he goes rigid. This is stupid. Demeaning.
But then his jaw goes slack around a hoarse gasp. His eyes widen. His head falls back, his lips parted. “Fuck…”
He breathes out with every stroke of my tongue and fists his hand through my hair.
And I feel it. Power.
His flavor explodes on my tongue, ripe and raw. His essence seeps through my skin, feeding me the secrets he won’t say out loud.
Heat unexpectedly shoots through me, gathering between my legs. I’m rocking back and forth, grinding my thighs together to relieve the ache, even as he swells in my mouth, pulsing and thick.
“You think you’re in charge, Rose?” He snaps his fingers to draw my attention, but I’ve never taken my eyes off him. “You are…” He reaches out, encircling my throat in his grasp. Then he squeezes just tight enough to tease the promise of danger. “This is what I can give you that he can’t.Control.”
He tugs, forcing me to release him. Like a doll, he manipulates me to straddle his hips, his cock between my legs, throbbing on the brink of release.
“I can let you on top,” he says with a groan as he lowers me onto him, inch by impossible inch. His mouth finds my ear as he swears, “I can let you set the pace. Take me as deep as you fucking can. I’m not afraid of you, Little Rose—not like him. I don’t want a caged fucking bird.” He grunts, bucking his hips as I settle against him, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. Our foreheads meet painfully, and his lips nudge mine, forcing them apart. “I want a woman,” he says, snarling each word, forcing me to choke them down. “A woman who knows what she wants. Who knows which man can make her scream…”
My vision blurs as he rocks into me. Hard at first. Then unbearably slow. The greater the friction, the more weightless I feel.
Endless.
I don’t even sense my climax until it barrels into me like a freight train. He grips me tighter, riding out his own release.
Spent, he shoves me off of him and throws his arm over my waist. This close, I feel his heart hammering madly in his chest. We’re conjoined through sweat-slicked limbs and damp hair. Mine sticks to him, tugged with every move he makes.
He tenses, even before I break the silence.
“Tell me about your family.” I’m testing him again.
He hisses at the challenge, his arm flexing over my hips. “I—”
“No,” I say before he can reply. “Tell me… Tell me about your sister.”
He turns to stone against me, painfully rigid. His arm is a steel beam, weighing me down and the heat from him cools as if snuffed out. “She died,” he says, but there’s more to it.
More than I know better than to ask for. The strength of his lust is the deciding factor here: Does he really want me so badly?
“And with her, so did my family. My father all but surrendered to the Winthorps after. I would have too, if it weren’t for Vanya.”
I stiffen. Vanya, who he loves like a father, and a man who may be mine as well.
“Does that bother you?” Mischa wonders. “That you could be his bastard?” He draws me closer, his lips finding my throat.
The intimacy of the embrace sends a shock through me—he knows that. Hell, he taunted me before, throwing my discomfort back in my face:“You don’t like to be touched.”
So he touches me, sliding his hands to the front of my belly.
“T-tell me about your father,” I counter.
“He went mad when my mother died. And Aljona’s death destroyed him.” There’s no emotion in his voice. He almost sounds too distant. Too detached—a stranger retelling some story he heard once upon a time. “But he grew bitter before the end. He started to resent themafiya.Resent its leaders—Sergei most of all.”
“And you?” For a second, I assume he didn’t hear me. I’m not even sure where the question came from. Maybe it’s something he said before:“I know what it is like to be shunned by your own father.”
“He made his choice,” Mischa says—but I cut too deep. His hands readjust in retaliation, sliding down my inner thigh. “And I made mine.”
“And…” A grunt rips from me as he traces my outer lips in a series of featherlight touches. I pant, fighting to maintain my train of thought. “What about—”
