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That will stop at nothing to make her mine.
Drawing her deeper into my embrace, I stroke her back until her breathing evens out and her body softens against mine… until the newly discovered monster inside me is quiescent once more, content to hold her and wait until he can emerge again.
Chapter 13
Alina
I must’ve drifted off in Alexei’s embrace because when I blink open my eyes and turn my head, the sun is entering the cabin at an entirely different angle. I swallow, feeling the rawness of my abused throat and tasting the musky aftertaste of cum. Gingerly, I pull back and glance up at Alexei’s face. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted as his powerful chest moves up and down with even breaths.
He’s asleep.
My husband is asleep.
My stomach flips over at the thought, and a scorching flush races up my cheeks at the realization that we’re both naked, our legs tangled together, my skin all but glued to his. Worse yet, I recall in vivid detail exactly what went down before we fell asleep—the way he gave me incandescent pleasure, only to then ruthlessly take his own, treating me like a sex doll in the process. And I… didn’t completely hate it.
No, what am I thinking? Of course, I hated it. I hated every minute of that forced blowjob, except maybe the aftermath, when he held me close and I felt all light and floaty, as if I were high. And it’s possible I didn’t exactly hate it when he stared down at me with those demon-dark eyes and praised me, his deep, velvety voice gliding over my ears like a caress and making the violation of my mouth if not exactly pleasurable, then at least tolerable.
Fuck. I guess I didn’t completely hate it.
I close my eyes and take a deep, slow breath, then peek up at my husband through my eyelashes. In sleep, most men look relaxed and a bit boyish, but not Alexei. His features remain angular and hard, the line of his jaw as cruelly hewn as ever. Even the dark half-moons of his thick lashes don’t soften his appearance; if anything, they emphasize the sharp edges of his cheekbones.
He looks feral and dangerous… as dangerous as he is.
I contemplate carefully wriggling out of his embrace and slinking away, hiding somewhere for the next few hours. But where? The yacht is not that big. As soon as he wakes up, he’ll find me—assuming I manage to extricate myself without waking him.
Before I can make a decision one way or another, the rhythm of his breath alters, his lashes rising to reveal the dark, hypnotic pools of his eyes—eyes that don’t look the least bit sleepy or unfocused. Was he not actually asleep? Or does he always go from sleep to wakefulness in a split second, like some kind of futuristic robot?
Whatever it is, he’s wide awake and staring right at me, rendering all thoughts of running and hiding moot.
I swallow again, tasting him deep in my throat, and the burning flush spreads to my neck and chest as a darkly sensual curve appears on his lips.
“Did you have a nice nap, my beauty?” he asks in a sleep-roughened voice, lifting a hand to brush back my hair—which undoubtedly resembles a rat’s nest, I realize with embarrassment.
In general, I’m far from a beauty right now, with my makeup half-gone and my breath smelling like cum.
“Excuse me,” I say in a strained voice, wedging my hands between our bodies to push at his shoulders. “I need the bathroom.”
“In a moment,” he says, eyes gleaming, and before I can react, he fists his hand in my hair and kisses me. Hungrily, deeply, as if he hasn’t slaked his lust in years instead of mere hours.
As if I were the sexiest woman alive instead of the hot mess that I am.
Helplessly, I give in to the kiss, my embarrassment no match for the arousal thrumming through my core. I forget all about needing to brush my teeth and wash my face, about the marriage I don’t want and the husband who’s forced me into it. All I want is more, and when he finally pulls away, I blink at him, stupidly disappointed.
“Go,” he says, releasing me to sit up and swing his feet off the bed. His voice is hoarser than before as he scrubs his hand over his face, not looking at me. “You still need the bathroom, right?”
Oh, right. Fighting another blush, I jump off the bed, grab a robe, and throw it on as I beeline for the destination I claimed to need. And boy, do I need it, I realize as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The fact that he wanted to kiss me while I look like this is beyond belief. With dark trails of mascara on my cheeks, my lipstick smeared, and my hair matted in a few places, I look like a sex worker after a rough night. Which, in a way, is what I am.
