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“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.” She places her hand on my shoulder and plants mine on her waist, then starts to move slowly to the rhythm of the music.
She feels so small and right in my arms.
The need to feast on her, devour her, eat her the fuck up pulses inside me like an urge.
On.
And on.
And fuckingon.
She must see the animalistic need on my face, because her lips part. The air constricts, shifting with unbearable tension that’s been growing ever since I spanked her and she came from it.
Not only did she not mind the pain, but she was also turned on by it.
I wonder how far I can push her before eventually finding her limits.
I wonder if I’ll stop at such limits.
“Now you make me spin,” she whispers, her voice sounding too loud in the silence. Then she uses my hand to twirl her body with the grace of a feather.
I’m trapped by her elegance and how right she feels in my arms, how I want to keep her pressed up against me, so I pull her back and she crashes against my chest.
The moment she gasps, I lower my head and capture her lips with mine. Annika goes slack against me, her mouth slightly open, probably due to shock, and I use the chance to thrust my tongue inside.
I feast on her as if I’ve been starving for a taste, a sip.
A kiss.
My lips pressing into hers, my tongue confiscating hers, licking, sucking, biting and biting andbiting.
She whimpers, her hands going limp on my shoulders, and that might as well be an invitation to eat her alive.
I kiss her like I’ve never kissed before, because I have never kissed before, never considered the act of any value—not until this wrecking ball bulldozed through my life.
My lips feast on hers with the energy of an unsatiated beast until she’s gasping, until her body molds against mine. Until I can no longer decipher where she starts and I end.
The rain beats down on us like a witness of this moment.
The moment I decide that Annika Volkov won’t be able to escape me.
Not even if she wants to.
15
ANNIKA
Two weeks have passed since the day my life was flipped upside down.
Since the day I danced with Creighton in the rain and then he kissed me.
Or more like swallowed me whole and feasted on the remains until I thought I would pass out.
I never knew kissing could be a life-or-death experience, but Creighton is obviously making it his mission to revoke each and every one of my convictions.
Before him, I thought I was too sensitive to pain, but with every punishment, every slap of his hand, I’m beginning to think maybe I enjoy this depravity. Maybe my sensitiveness is one more reason why I like it so much.
Or maybe I enjoy what comes after—the controlling touches, the earth-shattering orgasm.
