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Relief floods my eyes. “Can you see yourself here with me?”
“What are you asking?”
“I can’t express my feelings well ... but I admire you, Sloane. I can have a meeting arranged with your father.”
“Are you talking about—?”
Marriage.
“I am. Think about it, Slo.” I lift my hand to her cheek. Her face fits perfectly in my hands. Her lips were created to touch mine. I press my thumb on her bottom lip and pull it down. She doesn’t try to move from my touch. She wants this as much as I do. Could she see herself with me?
“Tell me what you want.”
She reaches up, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. Her eyes fall to my lips then back up to my eyes. “I want someone who prioritizes me.” She turns around slowly. “I want someone who is kind,” she says while turning toward me again. “I want someone who doesn’t kill people like it’s their hobby. And most importantly, I want a man with a normal job. I can’t have a future with someone like you. God, if we had kids, you’d teach them to murder!” She laughs hysterically, and I bite back a smile. “That’s not what I want. I want a nice man who’ll think of me the moment he wakes up and the moment he goes to bed.”
I grab her face and run my thumb down her cheek. “You crave adventure and darkness—admit it.” My jaw clenches. “You’d get bored with a nice boy. You and I both know that.”
I shake my head, suddenly not able to speak any more of my thoughts into existence. Though, none of them are appropriate.
She stomps her feet, and I swear it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. When Sloane steps back from me, I step forward, grabbing her hands.
“I am truthful. I will learn to be kind even though it serves no purpose to anyone who isn’t you. I kill people, yes. That’s something I can’t change. If we have kids, I’ll teach them how to defend themselves—why the fuck wouldn’t I? Why the hell would you want someone to think of you only twice a day when you have me who thinks about you every second, Sloane? Fuck, you say you want all these things, but I’m right here.”
“No, stop it. Stop telling me all these things!” she shouts.
I don’t.
“What you do to a room is beyond my understanding. The moment I was able to bring a smile to your face, it filled me with a feeling I’ve pushed away for years. Making you smile is my high. Every single word you say brings me happiness, and I fucking take that feeling. I take and take because I am greedy and fucking selfish for your love. I want to give it back to you because you deserve the fucking world.”
“Misha,” she says my name.
“Stop denying what you crave,Kroshka,” I whisper in a tone of voice I’ve never used before.
She doesn’t have to say a single word to me. A single glance says things her voice couldn’t.
Her eyes fall down the length of my torso, and her breathing slowly quickens when she leans in closer to me, placing her delicate hand against my chest.
“Fuck, Sloane,” I mutter. “You can’t look at me like that.”
She smiles ... almost manipulatively. “Why?” she asks smoothly. “Are you weak?”
I nod, fully ready to admit my defeat. “You’ve ruined me.”
She bites down on her bottom lip and bats her full lashes at me. “Finally,” she mocks.
My hand wraps gently around her throat, and I pull her over to the rattan daybed. Her smooth legs wrap around my waist as both my arms fall to either side of her body, holding my weight up.
My knuckles brush against her stomach, and I trail my tongue over her collar bone. Goose bumps take over her skin when she feels me making my way down her chest. Her nails dig into my neck, begging for me to continue.
Her breathing picks up when I suck the skin that surrounds her breast. I gather the bottom of her shirt and pull it up past her waist, noticing she’s not wearing anything underneath it. My eyes lift to hers when the tips of my fingers brush her clit.
“You’re ready for me, and I’ve hardly touched you,” I whisper in her ear.
A whimper escapes her, and the second I hear it, I know I’ve got her worked up. She can’t deny that our anger fuels our sex.
My teeth sink into her skin and I soothe out the marks with the pressure of my thumb. Her legs part further for me. When she looks at me with those eyes of hers, I forget that she wounds me.
How is it that the person capable of shattering your heart is the only one who can mend it back together?
