Chapter 7 #2
His hands slide into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me, and I melt against him with a soft sound that might be surrender. He tastes like danger and possibility, like everything I should want to run from and everything I can’t resist.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and there’s something wild in his eyes that makes my pulse race. “This is a bad idea,” I manage.
He nods. “Terrible idea.”
“We should stop.”
“Probably.” He rests his forehead against mine instead.
Neither of us moves to put distance between us as he traces his thumb along my lower lip, and I part my mouth automatically, drawing the digit between my teeth.
The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need. I bite down gently, then soothe the pressure with my tongue and watch his control fracture in real time.
“Fuck…” The word comes out rough and desperate. “Sabrina.”
“I’m right here.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He sounds like I’m torturing him.
I press closer, letting him feel every curve of my body against his. “Show me.”
That’s all it takes. His control snaps completely, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, skimming along my ribs, and sliding down to cup my ass and pull me even closer. The kiss turns desperate, all teeth and tongue and barely contained need.
I can feel his cock against my hip, hard and insistent, and the knowledge that I affect him this way sends heat pooling low in my pussy. I roll my hips against him experimentally, and his groan vibrates against my mouth.
“Christ, you’re going to kill me.”
“Good.” I nip at his lower lip, enjoying the way his hands tighten on me. “You deserve it.”
He laughs against my mouth, the sound dark and full of promise. “You want to make me suffer?”
“Maybe.”
“Then you’re going to love what I have planned for you.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s lifting me, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist as he carries me toward the bed. He sets me down gently, like I’m something fragile, then steps back to look at me.
“Last chance,” he says quietly. “Once we do this, there’s no going back.”
I reach for the hem of my dress, the same black cocktail dress I was wearing at the club three days ago, and pull it over my head in one smooth motion.
His eyes go dark as he takes in the sight of me in nothing but black lace underwear, and I feel powerful in a way I haven’t since this whole nightmare started. “I don’t want to go back.”
He moves toward me with predatory grace, his hands going to the hem of his sweater. “Then we won’t.”
I watch him undress with growing hunger, taking in the sight of broad shoulders and muscled chest, along with the tattoos that snake across his ribs and disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.
I recall a movie I saw about the bratva , and how the tattoos mean things, like time in prison or one’s specialty when it comes to crime.
There are stars on his chest, confirming he’s a bad man, but he makes me feel good.
There’s a scar along his left shoulder that looks like it came from a knife, and another on his abdomen that speaks to a life of violence I can’t even imagine.
Right now, he’s not a dangerous man who kidnapped me. He’s just Nikandr, looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.
He joins me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, and we’re kissing again. Slower this time and deeper, like we have all the time in the world to explore each other. His hands map the curves of my body with reverent attention, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s catching fire.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my throat, trailing his lips down to the hollow where my pulse is racing. “So fucking beautiful.”
I arch into his touch, fisting my hands in the sheets as he works his way lower. When his mouth closes over my nipple through the lace of my bra, I gasp and push closer, needing more contact.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on first one breast and then the other, until the lace is damp, and I’m squirming beneath him. Only then does he reach behind me to unclasp the bra, pulling it away to reveal me completely.
“Perfect.” The word is barely more than a breath against my skin. “Absolutely perfect.”
His mouth returns to my breast, this time with nothing between us, and I cry out at the sensation. He uses his teeth and tongue with devastating skill, alternating between gentle and demanding until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Nikandr.” His name comes out as a plea, and I feel him smile against my skin.
“What do you need?”
“More.”
“More what?”
“Everything. I need everything.”
He kisses his way down my body, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin of my ribs, to soothe the sting with his tongue. When he reaches the waistband of my panties, he looks up at me. “Can I taste you?”
The question makes heat pool in my slit, and I nod frantically. “Please.”
He slides the lace down my legs with agonizing slowness, caressing every inch of skin he reveals. When I’m finally naked beneath him, he settles between my thighs and looks up at me with something that might be worship.
The first touch of his tongue makes me arch off the bed, and a broken cry escapes my lips. He works me with patient skill, alternating between broad strokes and targeted pressure until I’m trembling on the edge of something incredible.
“Let go,” he says against my labia. “I’ve got you.”
The encouragement is all I need. I shatter completely, convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. He works me through it, holding my hips steady, until I’m boneless and gasping.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s kissing his way back up my body, and I taste myself on his lips when he claims my mouth.
“Thank—” I start, but he silences me with another kiss.
“We’re not done.”
He reaches for his jeans, and I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he strips away the last barrier between us. He’s gorgeous—all lean muscle and controlled power—and the sight of his cock fully aroused makes my mouth go dry.
“Condom?” I ask.
He reaches into the nightstand drawer and produces a foil packet, and I take it from him with hands that are still shaking slightly.
“Let me.”
I tear open the packet and roll the latex down his shaft, enjoying the way his breath hitches at my touch. When I’m finished, he positions himself at my pussy and looks into my eyes. “You’re absolutely certain?”
Instead of answering with words, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust, and the sensation of being filled completely makes me gasp.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
“More than okay.”
He begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to his shoulders and gasping his name. Every thrust hits exactly the right spot, and I feel another climax building embarrassingly quickly.
“You feel incredible.” He groans against my ear. “So tight, so wet, and so perfect.”
“Harder.” The word slips out, and he responds immediately, snapping his hips against mine with increased force.
The new angle has me seeing stars, and I rake my nails down his back as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.
“Come for me,” he commands, sliding his hand between us to find the bundle of nerves that sends me over the edge. “Let me feel you come around my cock.”
I shatter around him, my inner walls clenching as another orgasm tears through me. The sensation triggers his own release, and he buries his face in my neck as he follows me over the edge.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies still joined. When he finally pulls away to dispose of the condom, I immediately miss the weight of him.
He returns to the bed and pulls me against his side, and I curl into his warmth with a contentment I haven’t felt in longer than I care to remember. “That was—” I start.
“Worth kidnapping you for?”
I laugh despite everything. “I was going to say incredible, but sure. Let’s go with that.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and for a moment, I can almost forget this started with him taking me against my will. I almost forget he’s still keeping me prisoner, and tomorrow, I’ll still be locked in this room with no way home.
Almost.
But not quite.
“What happens now?” I ask quietly.
“Now we sleep.”
“I mean after that. Tomorrow. Next week. What happens to me?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. “I don’t know.”
It’s not the answer I want, but it’s honest, and somehow, that’s enough for now. I close my eyes and let myself drift, held safely in the arms of the man who destroyed my life and then put it back together in ways I never could have imagined.