I’m stunned.
No, I’m paralyzed.
A part of me is completely aware that I’m supposed to fight this. I’m supposed to kick him in the nuts and run as far away as I can because I know of his nature. A few months ago, he manipulated the situation to have me and his ambition. I’m not confident that he won’t do it again. That, one day, he’ll strike a deal in which he has to sacrifice me.
But the other part is so tired of my flight mode. It’s impossible to remember why I should be resisting, leaving, and disappearing.
My lips tremble beneath his hard, demanding ones.
Being kissed by Kirill has always been an experience, but this kiss? It’s as if I’m facing a hurricane and my only choice is to let myself be whisked away.
He captures my chin, his fingers pressing on the skin with nonnegotiable power. Everything about him brims with control and command.
His touch.
His chest that’s pressing against mine.
His hand that’s glued to my back.
My lips are pried open—or maybe I willingly let them part.
Emotions cloud my head until I can’t tell which is which anymore.
That slight hesitation is what Kirill needs to invade my mouth. His teeth nibble on my tongue, the pressure rising in increments, holding me hostage in its intensity. Just when I think he’ll cut the skin, he sucks on the assaulted part.
I bite him back just as hard, maybe even harder. I have to inflict pain for all the confusion, the betrayal, the disappointment.
I want to hurt him.
No, I need to hurt him for everything he made me go through just because I stupidly loved him.
This time, a metallic taste explodes in my mouth. He has to taste it, too, but he doesn’t stop or pause in his mission to conquer me.
I hold his jaw with my shaky fingers and throw my hand that’s holding the gun on his shoulder.
Kirill isn’t deterred by how I drew his blood. In fact, he lowers his hand to my throat and squeezes as he kisses me deeper, nearly sucking my soul out of my mouth.
And you know what? I’m doing the same.
I went months without touching him, and now that I’m finally doing that, I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.
This is all because of whatever foolish emotions are running through me and the damning thoughts I had earlier. I believed he was dead or hurt or had been taken, and only by touching him again am I finally convinced that he’s alive.
I could put an end to this now.
I should.
That’s what I tell myself as I meet him stroke for stroke. Our heartbeats thunder against one another’s, and I revel in that.
I memorize it in the deepest part of my soul so that I can revisit it when he isn’t by my side. Kirill’s heartbeat has always been mild, unperturbed, and completely controlled. Like the man himself.
This is the first time he’s ever let his emotions explode.
I feel the bursts through his bites, the controlling way he squeezes my throat, and how his lips invade mine in a war of dominance.
A yelp rips out of me when he releases my neck, slips both hands beneath my thighs, and lifts me up. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his sculpted waist and let my arms rest on top of his shoulders.
He walks toward the cabin without cutting off the kiss. In fact, it’s deeper, more animalistic in nature, as if he’s trying to engrave himself into me.
Brand me.
Completely own me.
He kicks the door open and slams me against the nearest wall. The thud sends a shock wave through my back, but I can’t focus on that when he throws down his gun and wrenches his lips from mine.
He doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t look away either.
Our foreheads meet, and he releases a long, charged breath that mixes with my shaky one.
“I thought I’d lost you again.” He lifts a hand from my thigh and strokes my hair, my cheek, and my swollen lips. He touches me everywhere as if wanting—no, needing—to make sure I’m actually here.
I don’t mean to, but my hand loses its grip on the gun, and I unload it before I let it hit the ground.
My hands hesitate before I grasp the strands at the back of his head.
“I thought you were hurt.” My whisper sounds convoluted in the tense air.
Kirill slowly opens his eyes, and I stop breathing at their intensity. “So you came out to save me?”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Sasha. Not now.”
I remain silent, scared of voicing the thoughts I had earlier out loud. Hell, I’m terrified to admit them to myself.
“Very well. We’ll do it your way then.”
His lips devour mine again, this time hungrier, angrier, and brimming with a decadent rage I’ve never felt before.
He clutches my hand and drags me up the flight of stairs, then stops in the middle and glues my back against the wooden railing that creaks at the impact. When he puts me down, I can barely stand on my unsteady legs.
“What are you doing—” My question is cut off when he bites my lower lip. One of his hands squeezes my breast through my shirt while the other unzips my pants and yanks them down.
My legs clench together, but that only manages to heighten the throbbing pressure between my thighs.
“You seem to have this strange idea that you could leave me, Sasha.” He slides his fingers over my panties, and they’re wet. They’ve been like that since he started kissing me senseless.
Despite myself, I find my heart and body reacting to Kirill’s presence and touch in the most wanton way.
My hips jerk when he slowly but firmly circles his fingers around my clit, stimulating, but not really giving it enough attention.
I tilt my head back, held hostage by the torturous bursts of pleasure.
Kirill wraps his hand around my throat and flings my attention back to him. “Eyes on me.”
My gaze clashes with his icy one. Only, there’s fire there now. A dangerous flame that could and would engulf everything in its path—me included.
“Answer me. Do you truly believe you’ll leave me?”
“We had a deal.” My voice is throaty, low, and definitely not what I want to sound like in this screwed-up fight for power.
“A deal.” He slides my panties to the side and thrusts two fingers in my opening. “You want to abide by the deal? Very well, wife.”
He adds a third finger, and I sink my nails in the railing to stop myself from tumbling over or actually holding on to him.
His thumb glides back and forth on my clit as he fucks me with his fingers. It’s enough pressure to make me want to come, but not enough to get me there.
I release a frustrated sound, but that doesn’t seem to deter him. If anything, he slows his pace whenever I’m jerking my hips faster.
“Did anyone else touch this cunt, wife?”
I glare at him. “That’s none of your business.”
“Wrong answer.” His rhythm dulls to a mere caress and I hate it. I want the rough touch, the violent orgasm.
I need it.
Maybe he truly corrupted me, after all.
“We’ll try again.” He thrusts with a heightening pace and applies the perfect pressure on my clit. “Did any other fucker touch my cunt?”
“Oh, shit.”
“It’s a yes or no question. Which one is it?”
His hand starts to ease off my pussy, and I jerk, grabbing his wrist to keep it there. “No.”
“No, what?”
“No one’s touched me since you.”
Flaming possessiveness shines in his eyes, and he goes all the way, pounding into me in an animalistic frenzy.
I come with a violent shake, my clit and pussy throbbing in synch with his touch.
“And no one will,” he whispers against my throat. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to touch my fucking wife.”
I’m still riding the shock waves of the orgasm and can’t exactly speak, let alone think.
All I can do is give in to the carnal temptation and the unforgiving pleasure Kirill wrenches out of me.
He removes his hand from my pussy, and a sense of emptiness rattles me to the bone. I want to be filled again and fucked savagely like only he knows how.
To my horror, he also releases my throat, leaving me entirely empty. His harsh eyes remain on me as he unbuckles his belt and wraps it around his palm.
Arousal floods my inner thighs at the image. That belt has always been associated with my most depraved tendencies.
He frees his cock with the other hand. It’s veiny, hard, and has a hint of precum glistening at the crown.
I’m unable to stop staring as he jerks himself in a few violent strokes, making it even harder.
I wrap a hand around his and slowly push it out of the way so that I’m the one touching him.
It’s been such a long time that I nearly forgot how much I love his cock and the way it twitches to life beneath my fingers.
“That’s it,” he groans back in his throat and throws his head back. “Do it faster. You won’t hurt me.”
I up my pace, and when I feel him tensing, I squeeze as hard as I can. “Did you fuck anyone else after I was gone?”
His eyes focus back on mine, and he bites his lower lip like some sort of a sex god. Then he wraps his belt around my throat and tugs me against his strong chest. His cock is trapped between us, and I’m still squeezing.
The more I picture another woman having him, the harder I tighten my fist.
In my mind, he was never supposed to be anyone else’s. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d actually married Kristina.
I like to think of myself as a good person, but I would’ve definitely become a fucking devil if she was his wife.
“You think I had the time to look at other women when I was fucking mourning you?” His deep voice drips with unveiled anger, and I don’t think it’s due to the pain I’m causing.
It sounds more raw and intrusive. More…hurt.
That’s when it hits me.
Earlier, when he demanded that I apologize for leaving him, I thought it was some sort of a power play, and I hated him for it. But now that I get a clear look beneath his mask, I’m tempted to believe that he was actually hurt.
The mighty Kirill Morozov was in pain because of me.
I have to stop myself from blurting the apology that’s trying to burst through. Instead, I jerk him up and down in an attempt to reawaken his pleasure.
Kirill forces me to release him and I kick my jeans and panties away to give him a better angle. He lifts one of my legs so that it’s lined up with his waist and his mythical eyes meet mine.
I’m momentarily distracted.
No, the correct word would be trapped.
I’m completely caught in a trance by the depth in them. The mystic emotions swirling through them. It’s almost as if…he’s releasing a beast that’s been lurking inside him all this time.
Or maybe it’s the man that he’s finally letting loose this time.
Kirill holds the belt in one fist and tightens his grip. My breath constricts, and that causes my pussy to throb harder.
“You’re never allowed to leave my sight again.” And then he thrusts inside me.
My body jerks, and my hip hits the wooden railing behind me. It’s been a long time, and Kirill is fucking huge. A tinge of pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure, and I have to grab onto the railing so I don’t collapse.
The first few weeks after I left for Russia were physical and emotional hell. I told myself I hated him, and I did, but that didn’t mean I stopped missing him or the animalistic touch that only he could give me.
The bastard ruined me for all other men. I can’t look at anyone else and feel this overwhelming pleasure and these damned emotions.
No.
I roll my hips, taking him as he goes deeper. There are no emotions involved here. There shouldn’t be any emotions.
This is only about physical attraction and taking care of each other’s bodily needs.
“My wife.” He tightens the belt further, and I clench around his cock. “My woman.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.”
Then he‘s kissing me savagely. Like he can’t get enough. Like my taste is everything he needed.
It’s only physical.
I chant in my head as I kiss him with the same animalistic need. I don’t even care that the railing is digging into my back and that I can feel bruises forming.
They’ll be worth it.
I love seeing the evidence of our fucking sessions, and maybe that’s part of the reason why I missed him so much.
He never shied away from using me for his pleasure. In return, he gave me the most thrilling releases any woman could dream of.
We’re primal. We’re raw. And we’re the perfect example of a compatible couple during sex.
Kirill squeezes my thigh, pulls out almost completely, then rams back in. He hits my sensitive spot over and over until my moans echo around us.
“That’s it, Solnyshko,” he grunts against my mouth. “Show me how much you want my cock.”
I glare at him even as I jerk my hips and taste him on my tongue.
Why does it have to be him? Of all the men on this planet, why do I have to be entangled with the most monstrous of all?
Why can’t he be normal?
Probably because you’re not normal yourself, Sasha.
“You hate it, don’t you?” He darts out his tongue and licks the tip of my nose, then my upper lip. “You hate how much you want me and that you can’t stop it. You hate that your body submits to me despite your best efforts. It’s why you’ve been pushing me away all this time, isn’t it? You tried to avoid giving in to this carnal desire, but here’s the thing. You can never run away from me, wife.”
“S-shut up,” I moan the words. Damn it.
“I’ve been patient, Sasha, and you know patience isn’t exactly my strongest trait. I’m ready to be as patient as you want if it means you’ll come back to me, but I will not be hearing that you’re leaving me ever again.”
His thrusts turn wilder and deeper, until my whole body is battered and pliant. Until every inch of me bleeds out right in front of him.
It’s only physical., I force my mind to think as I come with a wordless scream. Then I drop my head on his shoulder and bite the space between his neck and collarbone.
I don’t care that it’s covered with dry blood. In fact, I bite harder, just to make sure he’s here with me and not out there somewhere injured.
It’s only fucking physical. It can’t be any more than that.
Kirill goes faster with savage energy. My ass cheeks hit the railing with every thrust.
I continue biting him, inflicting as much pain as possible. He groans, then bites my throat, too.
And just like that, he comes deep inside me. He pulls out and releases my thigh only so he can sloppily massage my clit with his cum before he thrusts it back into my pussy.
I don’t know why the fact that he always does that makes me so hot and bothered within a few seconds. It’s like he doesn’t want a single drop to escape and makes me take it all.
We remain like that for a few minutes. I’m catching my breath while he’s sucking and nibbling on my throat. There’s definitely going to be a dark hickey there tomorrow.
As I lay my head on his shoulder, the pleasure haze slowly clears, and bleak reality punches me in the face.
There’s no denying it now.
I’m relapsing to old habits.
