Chapter 11 #2
He leans in, breath hot against my lips, menace flickering beneath the ghost of a smile. “Do not concern yourself with such things. That is my burden, not yours, Fiona Clark.”
Before I can respond, his fingers start slowly climbing again, sliding beneath the fabric, rough knuckles dragging fire over sensitive skin.
I gasp on a moan, my body floating on a high. “I-I should go home.”
That’s the smartest thing you’ve said today.
It’s what I’m supposed to say. What any sane, rational woman would say. After everything that’s happened, after everything he’s done, I should mean it.
But I don’t.
“Mmm.” His mouth grazes just beneath my ear, sending a sharp jolt straight to my core. “But you don’t want to.”
I should tell him to stop. Should remind myself who he is. But instead, my eyes flutter closed. Because it feels too good. He feels too good.
And that’s the part I can’t make peace with. The part that terrifies me. That despite everything, my body still begs for his.
He flicks my panties to the side with one commanding stroke and presses me against the same wall Wesley shoved me into just minutes ago. Only now…I don’t hate it.
Now I kind of like this wall. And worse, I like the man pinning me to it.
God, what’s wrong with me? I swore he wouldn’t get another piece of me. That I wouldn’t let him crawl back under my skin.
But he never left. And I don’t know whether to scream at him or beg him not to stop.
“Oh fuck,” I whimper when he strokes my clit between two fingers, sending heat rocketing through me so fast my knees buckle.
My lips part on a moan I can’t hold back, my body already bowing to his command.
People pass behind him. Faces hidden behind masks. But no one slows or watches.
And even if they did, I wouldn’t care. Not with what he’s doing to me. Not with how easily I’m coming apart for him.
It’s filthy, yet perfect, and I crave more.
When two fingers enter me with a deep thrust, I cry out, my eyes closing until his voice rumbles.
“Net. Open your eyes.” Thrust. “I want you to see who’s fucking you.”
His gaze immediately locks on mine, like he’s drinking in the sight of me losing control.
His thumb circles tight over my clit while he pummels harder, deeper, the tension in his jaw betraying just how much he wants this too.
His tongue slips out to wet his lower lip, like he’s starving for a taste.
The pace quickens. My breaths shorten. Every nerve ending sharpens.
Don’t close your eyes. If you do, he’ll stop. He’ll make you beg.
And I’m already teetering on the edge. One more second and I’ll fall apart.
My hands grip his biceps, fingers digging into the thick muscle, and the strength of him makes it all worse. Or better. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
His mouth finds my throat, hot and possessive, trailing lower with kisses that turn my skin to fire. Down to the curve of my collarbone. Then lower.
Until he starts to drop to his knees.
Panic lances through the haze.
“Wha-what are you doing?” I whisper, grabbing his arm.
Because I know what he’s about to do. And there’s no way in hell I’m letting him do that here. Not where someone could see.
Not where I might like it.
But Aleksei just smirks and sinks to his knees, ignoring my hesitation. And the sight of a man like him on his knees for me is a kind of power I’ve never experienced.
He slowly gathers my dress, the fabric whispering up my thighs until it’s bunched at my hips. When he throws one of my legs over his shoulder, his gaze burns into mine just as his mouth seals over my core.
“Oh God,” I choke out, fingers diving into his hair as his tongue strokes across my clit.
Light and teasing at first, then deeper, more demanding. Every muscle tightens. Every breath stolen.
He devours me like a man starved, groaning into me, tasting me, while I struggle to stay standing, my legs turning weak and useless.
The tempo shifts. Slow. Fast. A wicked rhythm that drags me closer to the edge only to yank me back again. His tongue slides deep, his growl vibrating through every nerve ending as his fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Need barrels through me like a train I can’t stop.
“Come on now,” he rasps against me, words thick with need. “Let them hear you. Let them see who this body belongs to.”
No, no. I don’t belong to him. I never will.
Oh God!
His mouth returns, merciless now, driving me straight toward the edge, until I’m shaking, boneless, on the verge of coming apart entirely.
But then he stops.
I blink down at him, chest heaving. “Are…are you kidding me?”
If he leaves me like this, I swear to God, I’ll—
But before I can finish the thought, he rises from the floor, towering over me like he owns the air around me. His hand lifts to my cheek, palm warm, steady, grounding me in the chaos he just created.
His eyes are darker now. Ferocious. Ravenous.
Then, before I can breathe, before I can think, his mouth crashes to mine, hard and deep, like he’s staking a claim he never intends to relinquish, swallowing every last shred of reason I had left.
And in this moment, I forget.
I forget that this is wrong. I forget why I ever tried to resist him. I forget everything except the feeling of his hands on me, his breath in my mouth, the way my body folds into his like it’s been waiting for this forever.
His grip tightens at my hips and he walks me backward down the hallway, never breaking the kiss. Then a door opens, his hand on the handle, mine tangled in his hair, and we stumble inside. The lock clicks behind us, and his mouth still stays on mine.
My fingers are buried in his scalp, pulling him closer, while his work the zipper of my dress. The sound is soft, a whisper under the uneven drag of our breathing. His hands slide down my spine, trailing over the skin I don’t like other men to touch.
The skin I’m terrified he’ll see.
I try to shove the thoughts down, to focus on the pleasure, on the dizzying rush of it all, but the moment he drags the fabric lower, they creep in and my muscles tense.
He must feel it because he pauses, eyes cutting sharply to mine, gaze suddenly too focused.
“What is wrong?” That flicker of concern returns again, all too real, digging deep into my marrow
Do I lie? Pretend I’m fine? Maybe it’s better if he sees for himself and changes his mind.
Maybe I want him to. I should want him to. This is bad.
Right?
I swallow hard.
No. Screw it. If this causes him to stop stalking me, touching me, that’s actually a good thing. I’m not supposed to be enjoying this. I should want him to stop.
“It’s just…I-I have vitiligo. My skin…”
He freezes. Takes one step back, gaze narrowing.
And there it is. I knew it.
“Are you sick?” he demands, suddenly right in front of me again, both hands framing my face like he’s afraid I might disappear.
His eyes rake over mine, frantic and unblinking, searching for something.
Oh God. Does he think I have a terminal illness? I almost laugh at the sincerity in his tone.
A murderer with a heart. How cliché.
And maybe…kind of sweet? In a twisted, deranged, completely unhinged kind of way.
“No.” I laugh. “Regrettably, I’m in one piece. I just… I have this skin condition. It’s called vitiligo. I have pale patches on one of my hips that wrap around my back. It’s not contagious or anything. But I figured…you should know.”
There’s a beat of silence. A pause so heavy it makes my stomach clench.
Then his jaw tightens like I’ve said something offensive. Like he might kill someone just for making me feel like I had to explain that. And it takes me aback.
Why would he even care?
“You thought, what? You would tell me and I’d stop?” His laugh turns low. Lethal. “That I’d want you less?”
In a flash, he yanks the dress down past my breasts, and I gasp, my lungs locking as his gaze floods me. Not just on the exposed skin. On the very depth of me.
And I couldn’t do a thing to stop it even if I wanted to.
His laughter is anything but amused. It’s more of a warning, a growl.
“You have no idea what you’ve done to me, Fiona Clark. No. Fucking. Idea.” His gaze turns molten, a dark hunger bleeding into every word. “So let me make myself clear.”
His thumb grazes the curve of my hip, over the very skin I tried to hide.
“There is nothing you could show me, nothing you could do or say, that would make me stop hunting you. Nothing that would keep me from dragging you down into hell with me.”
The words sear through me. Possessive. Vicious. Honest.
“If anything…” His hand tightens around my back, dragging me flush against his chest. “You just made me want to fuck you even harder. Until those foolish little thoughts of yours don’t exist anymore.”
My nipples tighten under his stare; my knees trembling from the weight of it. From the way his eyes worship and destroy me at the same time.
And God help me, I want that.
I want every last unholy thing he’s about to do.