Chapter 7 #3
Fisting her hair tighter, I groan and kiss my way down her shoulder.
My head is buzzing, too many thoughts for me to name or comprehend, but underneath everything is a thunderous need for more, and when she starts to turn around, I don’t stop her.
I relax my grip, letting her move so she’s facing me.
Her pupils are blown, eyes heavy-lidded, and breaths coming fast as her arousal blooms on every part of her, lighting her up and screaming at me to make her feel better, to take away the ache that I know she must be feeling because I’m feeling it too. I’m fucking drowning in it.
The knife slips from her hand again, but this time I let it fall as she reaches up to touch me.
She can’t see anything above my mouth, but she still runs her eyes over me like she’s memorizing every inch I’m showing her.
I should pull my mask off the rest of the way, but something stops me.
I’m not ready to reveal everything yet, and it has nothing to do with her being able to identify me.
We’re past that, and the truth is she had enough to work with before if she’d really wanted to.
The tattoos on my hands were enough for her to identify me in a line-up, not that I would’ve ever let it get that far.
She could have tried, though, if she’d wanted to, but she hadn’t.
Because deep down she didn’t want me to get caught. Deep down she knows I saved her that night, and she trusts me to not hurt her.
There’s a slight tremor in her hand when she reaches up to touch my face.
When I don’t pull back, she brushes her fingers along my jaw.
The touch is featherlight, delicate even, and it’s the first time anyone has ever touched me like this.
The only affection I’ve ever shown or allowed has been from immediate family members, so quick hugs, a few head pats, and the occasional kiss on the cheek.
I’ve never wanted or needed anything beyond that until now.
I may not fully understand what’s going on, but I do know I don’t want it to stop.
I know that the sensation of her fingers on my skin is something I don’t want to ever stop.
She traces the line of my jaw before slowly grazing her finger down my neck. She moves the fabric of my mask around so she can see the ink that decorates me. Her words are just as shaky and soft as her touch when she says, “You have a lot of tattoos, whoever you are.”
I smile, forgetting that I no longer have the mask to hide behind, and when she sees it, she quickly gives me one of her own.
“And a beautiful smile.” She looks at me with wonder in her eyes instead of the fear I usually see from people. I could get used to being looked at like this, but only if she’s the one doing the looking. If I’m being honest, a part of me is already starting to crave it.
Her curious fingers continue exploring, tracing the skull tattoo on my neck before dipping low enough to graze right below my shirt.
The hard length of me presses against my jeans, demanding to be let out for the first time in my life, leaving me stunned and more than a little in awe of this red-haired woman who’s so easily flipped my entire world around.
I briefly think about pulling my shirt off and letting her see every inch of my tattooed skin, baring every part of myself to her, but I don’t.
Just like my mask, I keep it on for now, not wanting to scare her away.
Her hand drifts lower, staying on top of my shirt as she trails a line across my chest and then dances her fingers along my bicep.
“Jesus,” she whispers. “Is there any part of you that isn’t hard as a rock?”
The corner of my mouth curls into a grin when I say, “Nope.”
Her face heats up when she realizes what she’s said, and her eyes drift to the other part of me that’s rock-fucking-hard at the moment. She sucks in a breath, the sight of me raring to go seems to slam her back into reality, because she quickly takes a step back and shakes her head.
“I’m sorry,” she says, refusing to look at me.
“For?” I ask, stepping closer because I’ve decided I don’t like distance between us.
“I can’t do this.” She waves a hand between us for me to fill in the gaps of what she’s not saying.
“Can’t do what?” I ask anyway.
“You know,” she starts and then waves her hand again. When I grin, she sighs and says, “I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t have sex with you just because you’re built like a god and your smile is amazing and you like my hair. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
I’m still grinning when I ask, “You think I’m built like a god?”
She lets out a soft laugh before she can stop it. “Yes, but that’s beside the point. You also have one hell of a jawline, and your hands are incredibly sexy.”
I hold them up, eyeing the tanned skin, the tattoos that cover them, and the veins that run along them and up my wrists before disappearing under the sleeves of my shirt.
I’ve never thought of my hands as being sexy.
They’ve always been more like useful tools to me, the things that allow me to have fun with a knife, but she’s eyeing them like she wants to know what they feel like sliding up her thighs, like she wants to see them disappearing underneath that pretty dress she wore just for me.
She finally pulls her eyes away and says again, “I’m sorry.”
Leaning down, I fist her hair again and bring it to my face, breathing in the scent of her while the soft strands fall against my skin.
“I’m not,” I say, “and stop apologizing to me, my little Cyn, because I will have you. Whether it’s today or a year from now makes no difference to me.”
“What?”
Her breathy, one-word question hangs in the air while I take in another lungful of her before fisting the thick strands and tilting her head back. She’s so much shorter than me, but I bend down enough so our faces are together, nothing but a mere inch between her lips and mine.
“I said you’re mine, krovinka. I will wait for you, but I won’t leave you alone.”
“You’re crazy,” she starts to say, but when she sees the sneer I give her, she stops.
“I really don’t like labels, Cyn.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I lean closer, letting my lips brush against her cheek. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me. Like I said, I will have you.”
“Why do you want me?” She gives the barest hint of a head shake, pressing her cheek harder against my lips, so I kiss it and cup the back of her head while her hair spills around my fingers. My lips trail a line to her mouth, and when I reach the corner of it, I tell her the truth.
“Because you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted.”
I feel the heat from the disbelieving laugh she gives against my mouth, but I ignore it, because I’m about to have my first honest-to-god kiss, and I don’t want to miss a single detail of it.
Her soft laugh turns into an even softer gasp when I cup her face and kiss the corner of her mouth again, slowly making my way along her top lip.
She holds still for me, letting me take my time.
Her lips are soft and sweet tasting, and when I suck the bottom one into my mouth and she feels my tongue roll over her plump flesh, she lets out another whimper.
It clouds my mind, distracting me from everything that’s not her.
Nothing else exists in this moment except my krovinka, my little Cyn, the woman who’s going to bring me to my knees.
The palm of my hand is wet with blood, the cut still dripping even if it has slowed down.
The red smears her face, marking her as she meets my eyes and then flicks my lip with her tongue.
The sensation pushes me over the edge, igniting a hunger for her inside me that feels limitless.
With a groan, I deepen the kiss, sucking on first her top lip and then the bottom, experimenting as I go and discovering what I like and what makes her moan and lean harder into me.
When I bring my bloody thumb between us, sliding it into her mouth as my tongue strokes hers, she lets out the cutest growl, like a feral, little kitten, before she latches onto me, sucking my thumb in a way that has my cock throbbing like it never has before.
Her hands reach up, latching around my neck as she pulls me closer. Her fingers find my hair, threading into what’s sticking out from my mask, and when she starts to tug, I grin against her hungry kiss before pulling back.
“Jesus,” I groan when I see the look she’s giving me. It’s one of pure, raw hunger—lips swollen and slightly bloody from my cut, pupils completely blown, and heavy breathing that has nothing to do with constricted airways.
Cyn is beautiful to me no matter what she’s doing, but when she’s aroused, goddamn, she’s a work of art.
She lets out a nervous laugh when I keep staring at her and tries to take a step back, but I quickly wrap an arm around her, refusing to let her go.
With my hand in her hair, I press my lips to her forehead and kiss her again before wrapping her in a hug.
The top of her head barely reaches my shoulders, but her body still molds to mine.
The two of us easily fitting together like she was always meant to be right here with me.
Her breasts press against my stomach, her arms wrap around my waist, and the side of her face rests against my chest, no doubt hearing the rapid beat of my heart.
“I will wait for you, Cyn,” I tell her again.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I believe I just claimed you.”
I feel the vibration of her soft laugh against my chest. “You did, huh?”
“I did.” I kiss her head again and run my hand over her hair. “I love your red hair.”
“Well, you’re the first guy who ever has,” she says.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, feeling a sharp burn in my stomach. I’ve never experienced it before and it takes me a second to realize it’s jealousy. The very idea of some other guy touching my Cyn makes me feel like there’s acid in my stomach.