26. Natasha
26
NATASHA
T he way Killian touches me sets my soul on fire. His kisses are wickedly addictive—even more so than the way he claims my lips like it’s his birthright. And he fills me so completely, each demanding thrust flooding my body with a sinful pleasure that’s beyond anything I’ve known before…
This time feels dangerously close to making love.
It’s not just in the desperation with which he took me to bed. It’s how our bodies are intertwined, the way his hands explore me with a possessive familiarity—triggering all my most sensitive parts until I’m on the brink of oblivion within seconds.
It doesn’t hurt that he got me so mortifyingly turned on in my father’s dining room tonight. With one quick, heated exchange, he turned my core to lava. And now, he’s making good on that promise without even allowing me time to think.
His body weight presses me into the soft sheets, his powerful chest and muscular arms caging me in, and I crave the feel of his ink-patterned skin brushing against my painfully hard nipples.
The war inside my head is getting violent.
I know it’s wrong—wanting Killian as badly as I do.
But as soon as he pulled me into his arms, the fight drained from my body. And I needed him inside me as intensely as he sounded like he needed to be.
The pleasure is mind-numbing, the way his thick girth stretches me to the limit. His swollen tip finds my G-spot again and again. I can feel the orgasm tingling deep inside my core, ready to burst through me at any moment.
And yet the guilt twists my stomach into knots because I’m too close to being lost in euphoria to recall why I came here in the first place.
I want to do what’s right for my family.
Still, killing Killian feels increasingly like it might just kill me too.
I’ve never felt more free to be myself than when I’m with him. Even with my family, I feel the pressure of being Boris Sokolov’s daughter. Of being Tatiana’s younger sister. I don’t want to disappoint my father, my sister, or even my mother, though she would be far harder to let down.
But with Killian, there’s no question that he wants me for exactly who I am—not who I’m supposed to be. He seems to want me despite the fact that I’m his enemy. He wants me even though I challenge him. Constantly. He wants me when I fight him and even after I give in.
It’s shockingly liberating to realize he wants all of me and he wants me in every way imaginable.
My sister can rationalize his actions all she wants. She can see the strategy behind his behavior. But this, now —I can feel it.
It’s not at all like she said.
The moment I stepped through his balcony door, I could breathe. And when he pulled me into his arms, I could feel the burning sincerity. This isn’t a strategy. It’s not just some game he’s playing to manipulate me.
The attraction between us is real.
It’s palpable.
Magnetic—as constant and powerful as the Earth’s poles.
And regardless of whether I allow this to become something more, I can’t deny that fact any longer.
“God, you feel so good, love,” Killian groans, his rolling thrusts sending me to the brink of oblivion.
His rasping voice, hoarse with the pleasure he’s taking as passionately as he’s doling it out, is what sends me over the edge. I cry out, my head falling back as I arch into the orgasm that rips through me. And my walls clamp down around his cock.
I throb with the intense release, my pulse hammering in my ears, a rushing euphoria sweeping through my veins.
Killian growls, the sound low and deadly in my ear, and his thrusts intensify. It feels as though he knows exactly what I need. The crushing force of his powerful body drives against each of my insanely sensitive spots until my first sweeping orgasm is building into a second before the aftershocks have even subsided.
“Please don’t stop,” I beg, clinging to him like my life depends on it.
Our bodies feel like one, so deeply connected I can’t tell where I end and he begins. And it’s chasing away all the turmoil that’s plagued me to the point of exhaustion. All I can think about right now is how good it feels to be in his arms. To have him take control. To let him please me.
“I couldn’t stop if I tried,” he groans, his cock stiffening further as he slides in and out of my wet channel. “Come for me, Natasha. Be a good girl and come all over my cock again,” he urges.
And even though my clit is still twitching from my first release, a blast of ecstasy gushes through me, stealing my breath away.
Killian groans, his body tensing as he feels my next orgasm hit. And with one powerful thrust, he finds his own release.
Pouring cum inside me, he throbs in rhythm with my own pulsing relief. Hot breaths rush past my ear, raising goosebumps along my neck. And I breathe heavily as I hold on tight. I’m trembling with the intensity of my second orgasm.
And the deep sense of satisfaction that settles in place of my overwhelming desire nearly sweeps me away to the land of dreams before he’s even slid out of me.
With a breathy huff of relief, Killian rolls off of me, collapsing onto the mattress. And though I would love nothing more than to soak up this feeling and let my eyes sink closed, I need to take advantage of the moment. Dropping one arm languidly over my head, I subtly reposition my knife, loosening it in its sheath and making it more accessible.
Then, as my gut twists guiltily, I shift to face Killian so he won’t get suspicious about what I’m doing.
“You know, I kind of like that you’ve stopped jumping up to leave as soon as we finish,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips as he meets my eyes in the dim moonlit night.
My stomach wrenches tighter, my momentary reprieve from the conflict gone the second our passionate entanglement is finished. But I force my lips into what I hope can pass as a cheeky grin. “Well, as you so nobly pointed out before, our deal stipulated that you have me until sunrise,” I remind him.
He chuckles, the low, throaty sound making my tummy flutter. One muscular arm snakes around my waist, pulling me close, and I let Killian move me.
Warmth pools in my belly when his lips find mine in the dark, and he gives me a surprisingly tender kiss. Then, with my body tucked snugly against his side, he hums contentedly and lets his eyes drift closed.
My heart skips a beat at the open vulnerability.
He isn’t resting after an arduous night of sex. Instead, he seems to enjoy not just having sex with me but the intimacy of snuggling after. And that more than anything leaves me feeling like we might have just made love for the first time.
The possibility terrifies me, and I pray that he can’t feel the sudden jump in my heart rate.
To mask my emotion, I settle in, resting my ear against his pecs, my leg over his leg. The warmth radiating from his body lulls me into a sleepy trance. But I can’t let myself drift off completely. No matter how relaxing it feels to be wrapped in his strong arms.
I focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and I wait for when I’m sure he’s asleep. That helps me stay conscious even though every fiber of my being wants to simply sink into oblivion and forget about my responsibilities—why I’m really here tonight.
Because, as much as I thought about sleeping with Killian on my way over, I didn’t just stop by of my own volition. I’m here to put an end to the mockery he’s making of my family.
And my best chance of doing that is to wait until he’s unconscious.
Finally, his vitals slow into the steady pace of a man asleep.
And now that I’m sure he’s vulnerable—and he won’t catch me halfway across the room, digging for my knife again—I slowly extract myself from his strong arm.
Carefully, I ease the knife out from under my pillow.
And gripping it firmly by the hilt, I position it against his throat.
But as I hold it there, I find my hand is shaking.
That’s never happened before—not even when I killed my first target.
My heart hammers painfully against my ribs, silently protesting. As if to say that what I’m about to do could be the biggest mistake of my life.
A deep throbbing ache begins in my chest—one that’s entirely different from the intoxicatingly pleasurable one Killian awakens between my thighs. No, this ache is jagged, raw, like the edge of a serrated knife sawing against my sternum.
I can’t do it. I can’t kill the man I’ve been trying to kill for weeks now, the man I’ve been dreaming about killing for months.
I’ve murdered more men than I can count, all in the name of my father, but now, it’s as if my nerve has completely failed me.
No, worse—because I’m not scared of murdering Killian.
I’m terrified of living without him.
Horrified by that realization, I freeze. My blood turns to ice in my veins as I lie naked in his arms, my blade hovering less than an inch from his carotid artery.
He looks so impossibly calm, peaceful, perfectly at ease with the possibility that I could end his life, here and now. And I wonder if he already knew I couldn’t face his death—that I care too much about him to end his life.
Damn you, Killian.
The heat of my frustration, my complete inability to prove him wrong, overwhelms me. And for a moment, I can almost find the steely defiance to go through with it, despite the consequences.
But as the blade creeps closer, my hand starts to shake more violently. My fingers go numb. My stomach revolts at the thought of stealing this infuriatingly enchanting man’s life.
Quickly, I withdraw the knife, slide it back into its sheath.
And before the tears of confusion can start to fall, I slip out of Killian’s arms and flee into the night.