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By dancing with another devil.
“Kiss me.” I tilt my head back to meet his gaze fully, watching rage go to war with confusion. “Do it,” I add. “Or was all that talk about wanting me just that? Talk—”
“Fine.” He reclaims my shoulders, yanking me forward.
Our lips meet fiercely—teeth on flesh. Nipping. Tearing. Bruising.
ButI’mthe one doing the most damage. Like this, I can’t think. He demands my sole attention, grinding his presence into my skin, forcing me to react. Breathe. Feel. There is no room for doubt, or pain, or anything else.
Just Mischa.
Luckily, consuming me is one task he doesn’t hesitate to fulfill. His hands rake through my hair, teasing out any thoughts that don’t contain him as he backs me toward the bed. Shoves me onto it. While I fight to catch my breath, he grabs my thighs, spreading them apart as his fingers come to tease me open.
“Look at me.”
He’s still fuming. Our conversation isn’t finished yet—but he draws it out nonverbally instead. A searching thumb shoved inside me contains a futile plea he won’t ever voice out loud:How can I trust you?Brutally, he repeats that refrain, thrusting inside me over and over as my toes curl.How? How? How?
All I can do is relax into the violence and compile my own primal answer. How can he trust me?
By letting me in. My tongue at first, sliding along his lower lip. Then my hands, sinking through his hair. Gradually, he removes his thumb from inside me and replaces it with something larger—and presents a more pressing question.
Can you ever trust me?
My body isn’t sure at first. Tension seizes my muscles, paralyzing me. He’s too fucking big—and though I’ve already taken him multiple times, this moment feels different.
The thin mattress is unforgiving. There’s no resistance to each shallow thrust of his hips as tender flesh molds to his shape like clay. When he finally moves inside me, he goes too deep. So deep that it hurts, and the only way to soothe the ache is to close my eyes and surrender.
My traitorous body was made for him. The way he feels is almost too much for my brain to process all at once. Massive. Unending.Gentle.
I marvel at that fact more than any other. He braces his hand beneath me to keep my back from contacting the rough wood of the headboard, even though the act forces him into an awkward crouch. It’s almost like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it—shouldering the discomfort entirely on his own.
He’s too busy tasting any part of me his tongue can reach. My shoulder. My throat. Soon, meaningless words meld with every wet flick of heat. “So beautiful…beautiful. So fucking good.”
Sergei is a distant memory as long as I stay here in Mischa’s arms, treasured and hated at the same damn time. My heart hammers into a frantic melody, matching the pace of his as our breathing slows and our sweat dries.
Eventually, he tries to pull back, but my limbs stiffen, keeping him captive for once.Myprisoner. Unlike his increasing demands, I only want one thing from him.
Oblivion.
And for whatever reason…
He stays here, giving me a taste.
