Chapter 6 – Adrian #2
She’s lashing out because it’s the only weapon she has left.
Still, her voice crawls under my skin like a slow venom.
My eyes narrow. “Careful, kroshka.”
Her chin lifts. Brave. So damn stupid. “What, are you going to hit me now?”
My hand flexes at my side.
No.
I’d never lay a hand on her like that. Not even in my worst moments. But she doesn’t know that.
And maybe that makes her hate me more.
Maybe I deserve it.
“Go ahead,” she says, her voice cracking at the edges. “Do your worst. But I swear, I’ll never love you. I’ll never even like you. You can force me to marry you, but you will never have my heart.”
For a moment, the room goes still. I can hear her breathing. Hear mine.
I step closer until we’re eye to eye.
“I don’t want your heart,” I say, my voice low and flat. “Just your body. I want to fuck you recklessly, like your eyes are begging me to.”
“You’re a liar.” She tries to hit me, but misses. “Don’t you dare touch me. I’ll never want you.”
She’s terrified. And she should be. I’ve ruined better men for less than the things she’s said to me tonight.
But I don’t touch her.
Not yet.
Instead, I let the tension hang between us like a wire ready to snap. Then I speak, low and steady. “I’ve fucking wanted you for a long, long time now.”
She swallows.
I move closer, slowly, watching her body tense.
“You don’t even know how many times I stopped myself from coming for you. You were too soft. Too sweet. I thought if I touched you…I’d break you.”
Her eyes search mine, confused now. Breathing uneven.
I close the distance. I don’t force her, don’t grab her. I just lean in, and let my lips brush the curve of her neck.
She freezes.
But she doesn’t push me away.
And when I press a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath her ear, I feel it.
The melt.
The soft, involuntary yield of her body.
She leans into me, just barely. Just enough.
And I lose my damn mind.
“Fuck, I want you so bad.” The words flow out of me in a whisper. “And tonight, for all the things you’ve said, I want to punish you. Fuck you like a ragdoll, fuck you until you learn to keep your little mouth shut.”
She sucks in a breath.
I trail my hand down her arm, slow, reverent. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft beneath my fingers.
Not bone.
Not sharp angles like the women who tried to buy my attention before.
Jennie is all curves and heat and sweetness.
“God,” I murmur against her throat. “You feel like heaven.”
She doesn’t respond.
But her eyes flutter closed when I kiss her collarbone. Her breath catches when my hand curves around her waist and pulls her just a little closer.
“I love your body,” I whisper. “Every inch of it. Do you know that?”
Still no response.
But she doesn’t pull away.
And I know—I’ve crossed a line. A dangerous one. The kind you can’t uncross.
But I can’t stop.
Not when she’s soft and trembling in my hands.
Not when she’s looking at me like that—like she doesn’t know if she wants to slap me or sink into me.
“Do you want to forget tonight, moya groza?” I close the space between us, still not touching her, but our faces are almost merging, and I can almost feel her lips.
“Hate me tomorrow, but tonight, let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
Before she can respond, I claim her lips with mine, swallowing her gasp. I half expect her to push me away, and I swear I’ll leave and finish myself off in the shower, but she doesn’t. She melts into me with a sigh.
Fucking hell. This girl will be the end of me.
I lower her onto the bed, my arousal cranking up to a hundred percent as I attack her with my lips. It’s like she’s injected into my veins, and I can’t stop—I don’t stop. She doesn’t stop me either.
When we finally pull away to suck in air, I wrap my hands around her neck, finding joy in how her eyes widened with fear and nerves.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” I whisper into her face. “I’m going to fuck you until there’s no doubt who you belong to.” I push the gown up her legs and force my hands between the swirls of velvets, searching for her panties.
Suddenly, she overcomes the lust, and her brown eyes flash with defiance. “What if I say no?”
My hands find their target, and I rip her panties open with a loud tear, pushing my hands in to meet folds so slick and wet with moisture, I growl.
“Say it.”
She grabs my biceps, her eyes drifting close as I rub my finger across her clit in slow patterns.
“Say it, damn it.” I nip her earlobes, and she gasps. “Do you want me or not?”
I slip one finger into her pussy, and she moans so prettily, my cock hardens to the point of pain.
“Dirty girl,” I bark. “Did cursing me make you so wet? Or was it my touch? Does your pussy get this wet for all the men you hate? Or is it just me?”
“I hate you,” she says with another long moan, her eyes drifting open to reveal twin pools drenched in lust.
That’s my breaking point.
I snarl and push away from her, taking off my belt, pants, and briefs in one pull. Her eyes are daring and hateful, but her body welcomes me as I lie over her, lining the head of my cock against her entrance.
“What did you say?”
“I hate—oh.”
With one hard thrust, I push inside her so deeply, I won’t be surprised if she spits out my cum. Pleasure explodes across my nerve endings, cementing the fact that I’ll never let this girl go. She’s mine for life, whether she likes it or not.
She whimpers, pushing her legs further apart, giving her pussy more room to accommodate my girth and length. I laugh in her face, clocking her battle for control and her weakness in the throes of her desire.
“See how well you’re taking my cock?” I whisper. “Your body loves me, kroshka. I own it now.”
Her eyes start to drift close, but I tap her cheeks with two fingers, causing her to open them. “Look at me while I fuck your tight pussy.”
Her eyes flash again, and I laugh, enjoying the battle behind her eyes. An image of Jennie flits through my mind, but this time, there’s someone else above her. I freeze, burning with rage at the picture my brain just conjured. Jennie’s eyes search mine silently, and I lean close.
“Who has touched your body before me?”
Jennie sucks in a breath, like she can’t believe me right now. I honestly cannot believe myself, either, but it suddenly matters to me.
“My high school sweetheart,” she says, and I see red. “It was my first and last time. In a hotel room after prom.”
“Your high school sweetheart?” There’s a warning in my voice, but either Jennie doesn’t realize or doesn’t care.
“Yes. I loved him, so I gave him my body.”
Jealousy rages through my blood, and although I have so many questions, I file them away for later. Whoever he is, I will find him.
“Are you jealous?” Jennie snaps at me. “You can only have my body. Any other—”
“Shut up.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I yank her off the bed and position her on her hands and knees, her wedding gown bunching at her waist. She doesn’t complain, but her body trembles with pleasure as her head drops softly to the mattress.
“Open your fucking legs, Jennie,” I command. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Her knees shuffle apart, displaying her engorged clit and glistening pussy. I’m tempted to put on a bib and eat her to my heart’s content, but I’m too jealous, angry, and horny. My cock is already hard and painful. I want to fuck her until she forgets her high school sweetheart’s name.
I take hold of her hips and press my head into her slick entrance, sliding in with one deep thrust. The satisfied groan she makes goes straight to my head and balls, and my jealousy douses, just a little bit.
I lean against her bare back, fisting my hand in her hair like I’ve been dying to do for the past year since I met her.
I pick up speed, thrusting and pounding while she meets me halfway. Using her hair as reins, I draw my hip back and slam back into her with a rock of my hips that makes her cry out as she dissolves into a loud orgasm that has her shaking and trembling in a heap of limbs.
“That’s it,” I croon into her ear as I pump into her, chasing my own finish line. At the third thrust, I pull out of her and release on the bed, biting back an animalistic groan.
I’m still breathing like I just got out of a fight ring—ragged, heavy, bone-deep.
What the hell just happened?
I glance at her again, the way her hair’s fallen across her cheek, the way her skin is flushed and glowing. She looks peaceful.
She looks like something I should never touch.
And yet I already have.
She’s not speaking to me, and for a moment, I let the silence hang until I clear my throat.
“Do you want me to run you a bath?” I ask, voice low, softer than I mean for it to be.
No response.
I look over, and that’s when I see she’s asleep. Completely out. Breathing soft and steady like I didn’t just drag her through hell and high pleasure.
My chest tightens.
I stare at her for a moment too long—memorizing the curve of her jaw, the lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, the faint pink mark at her throat where I kissed her like a man starved.
I shouldn’t be here.
I tear my eyes away.
She shifts in her sleep and latches on to me, her bare back pressing against my chest, and before I can stop myself, I wrap an arm around her waist.
She doesn’t flinch.
She doesn’t pull away.
She exhales—deep, content—and settles there, like I’m not the monster who ruined her life less than twenty-four hours ago.
Her body melts into mine, soft and warm, and I can feel the steady beat of her heart against my palm.
I hold her.
God help me, I hold her like I deserve to.
Her breaths are slow and even, her eyelashes fluttering once, then stilling. The rhythm of her breathing anchors something deep in me. Something feral and half-dead that hasn’t known peace in years.
But I don’t sleep.
I never do.
Sleep doesn’t come easy to men like me. Not when my hands have done the things they’ve done. Not when my nights are full of blood and old ghosts.
But tonight…tonight is different.
Because I’m holding her.
And for the first time in years, I want to close my eyes.
I bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in. She smells like my soap now. Like heat and honey and something I never thought I’d deserve.
My eyes burn.
I blink the feeling away.
I’ll let her sleep.
Even if I can’t.
Even if I’m the one who stole her peace to find mine.
Almost an hour later, she’s out cold.
Her face soft in sleep, one hand curled by her cheek like she’s still dreaming of something gentler than me. Maybe someone.
But I can’t lie still anymore.
The quiet is too loud. My head won’t stop.
Carefully, I slide my arm out from under her, lifting her head just enough to set it on the pillow. She doesn’t stir. She’s gone deep, like her body finally gave out.
I sit at the edge of the bed for a moment, rubbing my chest, that dull ache still there like something’s stuck under my ribcage.
Should I take off her wedding dress? I feel like I should, but I know she’ll hate it in the morning.
As uncomfortable as the dress looks, I’ll leave it on her. It won’t hurt.
I pace the room once, then again. My fists clench. My jaw tightens.
I should go to my study. Grab a drink. Kill the silence. But just as I open the door, I notice it—her suitcase sitting against the wall where Zalar must’ve dropped it earlier. Untouched.
I drag the luggage into the room and crouch. The zipper is smooth, the sound slicing through the silence like sin.
Clothes. Soft, simple, pastel. Neatly folded. Of course. I’m about to close the luggage again when I find it, tucked between a sweater and a book. A soft leather journal. Worn and personal.
I should stop. I know I should. But I don’t.
I flip it open, careful with the spine, like it might scream if I crack it. Pages of scribbles. Notes on abnormal psych. Little doodles in the margins. Lyrics and quotes about healing. Something about a serial killer.
Then I freeze.
Near the back—tucked into a blank page like it doesn’t belong there—is a tiny pencil sketch.
Of me.
My breath catches.
It’s rough but unmistakable. The hard lines of my jaw. The haunted stare. The shoulders. The scar just under my eye.
It’s me.
No doubt.
But it’s not from today. Or yesterday. It’s from before. Months ago, maybe more. I know because of the shirt I’m wearing. One I haven’t worn in months. I sit back on my heels, staring at the drawing. She saw me. Before I ever knocked on her door.
She knew me.
And she remembered.
The moment at her apartment flashes in my mind—her shocked whisper, “You?” Not fear. Recognition.
She lied about it, but this is enough evidence to prove that she noticed me before. Just like I noticed her. I turn my head to stare at her sleeping form, my heart beating silently, wondering what this means and what tomorrow will bring.