11. Emily
11
EMILY
The kiss starts slow, but there’s an insistence behind it. A hunger, a need to be reciprocated.
My body acts on its own, opening for him, allowing his tongue to sweep into my mouth and find mine until we’re sealed together.
This is for me, I tell myself. I’ve felt like something has broken inside of me since the last time he was inside of me in the dungeon. Pain and pleasure have mixed into a single thing, driven by a heady combination of fear and excitement as my heart and mind vie for impossible answers.
Everything feels so right, and yet so wrong. I should be demanding answers to firmly chase away my doubts, not trying to paper over them through mindless sex, but I want this so bad.
I lock myself inside of that craving like it’s a coffin burying me miles under the earth. Sharp stubble grazes my fingertips, their sandpaper texture waking up my other senses.
His pulse thrums under my thumb, flexing harder and faster the longer we kiss. Konstantin reaches down, and opens my robes until it pools uselessly on bed around me.
The aching desire in my belly is rising rapidly. It feels stronger than a furnace … stronger than even the sun itself. I’ll become cinders at this rate.
But as long as it burns away all of my thoughts and fears, that’ll be good enough for now.
His tongue traces mine, making shapes that I can’t repeat. Each new swipe of his tongue silences another tiny voice expressing my own doubt.
I can’t keep up. He tastes like the steam of a hot shower lingering in the air. An oppressive vapor takes hold of every inch of my body, penetrates every orifice, and buries itself so deep inside me that I know I can’t ever get it out.
I push my knees together to survive the wave of arousal that sinks into my bones. I focus there, seeking the one thing that can help distract me from the fact he offered to let me go forever.
That possibility—that he was so close to never seeing me again—are with us in this place even as his hands pull me closer as if he’ll never let me go.
I trace my nails over his broad, powerful shoulders, and slip them beneath his shirt to feel the raised scars that texture his flesh. The story of his tragic past becomes so much clearer now that I’ve faced the demon who put them there.
I can understand him even if I don’t know what our future truly holds.
“Emily,” he moans my name.
I tense up, unsure if the edges of that word are soft or sharp. I can’t pin down how he feels. Cold one minute, needy the next.
Stop thinking so much , I tell myself .
I kiss him harder, trying to shut up the voice in my head. He follows my cues, eagerly circling my waist with his powerful hands. It’s amazing that he can be gentle when he wants to be. But I don’t want him to be gentle.
I want him to be like the man who dragged me down into the dungeons with him.
I want him to be rough.
I want him to make me scream.
To make me beg.
To make me lose my mind.
Because it’s the only way for me to stop wondering if he loves me.
So long as he’s the brutal monster who won’t hesitate to break me, I can steel my heart for what feels like the inevitable moment when he tells me that our love will only ever be conditional.
You’re thinking again , I remind myself. Stop it.
Why can’t I enjoy myself right now, dammit?
Breaking the kiss with a gasp, I back away from him. He searches my face, clearly wondering what’s on my mind. There’s sorrow in the depths of his ice-blue eyes. It’s so intense it takes my breath away. If I told him right now that I’m accepting his offer for me to leave …
He would do it.
This is why it’s hard to hate him. These glimpses of the kind, caring man that he tries so hard to hide behind the brutal mask he wears as the pakhan. Lifting my head higher, I motion for him to come to me.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask.
He moves on me swiftly, like a river when I’ve knocked down the dam throttling the flow of water. He kisses me, his lips lingering on mine while he lays me back onto the top of the bed. I hear the shuffle of cloth as he strips down .
He continues to hover over me. Our mouths press inward, and he searches for new ways to go deeper. The metallic clink of his belt buckle swinging free and hitting the floor causes me to shiver.
I don’t have to open my eyes to check and see that he’s naked. Focusing on the darkness of my eyelids, I stroke his hair, tugging the soft strands, and holding on for dear life. His hands drift down my collarbone, riding the slopes until one finger runs between my breasts to my navel. He caresses my hips, and I know that he’s making a blueprint of my body, like a sculptor might caress a piece of marble.
He’s cementing this moment in his memory.
That I can understand.
Because I’m doing the same.
Neither of us has spoken for a while. Not just because we’re kissing, but because there’s nothing to say …
No, that’s not true. There’s so much to say and we don’t know where to start.
I’m not willing to make myself vulnerable and tell him how I feel. He can conquer my body, but I won’t allow him to rule my mind.
I don’t want to give him that kind of power.
For him to know me that deeply is too risky.
And if I say how I feel, and he doesn’t reciprocate … God … The pain would be too much.
It’s easier to say nothing.
Light as a hummingbird sipping nectar, he cups my breasts, hefting them, giving them tender touches that summon new waves of excitement in my body. My thighs clench together, seeking relief from the pressure building momentously inside.
He leans up, giving me room to take a breath. I open my eyes and stare into his. I’m hunting for … I’m not sure an ymore. Proof that he cares? A hint that his heart hovers on the edge of breaking like mine?
All I survey is a sea of lust, desire, and torrid heat. He’s hazy with the mix, lost in it, even.
Fuck it.
I should do the same.
I shift on the bed, getting more turned on by how carnally he stares at me. Even with all the terribleness and tragedy between us I still respond so easily to him. I glance down just slightly to confirm my suspicion. His cock arcs into the air, proud and thick.
Reaching over I give it a tentative stroke. He hisses through his teeth, the sound making my pussy flex.
Desperate for more normalcy, wanting to pretend things are okay, I circle my fist around the base of his cock. One light jerk has him groaning. I experiment with the pressure, the speed, checking him for reactions.
Konstantin is anything but placid. He shuts his eyes, tossing his head and thrusting into my grip. His panting is thick with grit as I start jerking him off. He’s been playing with my nipples all this time.
But now he stops, reaches lower, and spreads my knees.
I open them eagerly, one foot dangling over the side of the bed. I give him all the access I can.
He strokes along my slit, discovering how wet I am. He groans loudly, loving what he’s done to me. The savage, animal-like sound has my heart dancing. Slow and patiently, he works his finger inside of me—just one at first, taking it easy even if my body is giving him all the signs that he’s free to speed up.
The sensation of being stretched by just a single finger is glorious. I rock upward, seeking more. He fingers me with the utmost patience, savoring the moment like he’s afraid it will end.
My hand is erratic on his cock; I’m too distracted by the tingles he’s causing in my lower belly. His thumb rubs my clit. I inhale sharply. He sinks a second finger in, curving, rubbing the inside of my walls, scraping the roof, and I twist wildly on the bed.
This is what I want. There’s no time for doubt or sadness in this moment.
I’m too busy enjoying the pleasure. I can forget for a while what he’s done and what he’s still going to do. I can forget that I was ready to leave.
I can pretend we’ll be doing this every day for all eternity.
I tense up as the first wave of orgasm crashes into me. My hand falls away from his rigid shaft, useless as all my tendons become slack, then steel, then slack again. My toes curl from the delicious sensation of coming as his fingers hook inside my pussy and his mouth drains me of my breath.
His kiss has all the desperation of a broken man. It bruises me from the need of it, and it almost convinces me that he’s doing this because he really cares about me.
Konstantin withdraws his fingers and gazes at me. I’m overwhelmed and suddenly trying not to cry. It’s unfair to feel this good and be this fucking conflicted about what the future holds for us.
I turn my cheek to the pillow, trying to hide my reaction.
Please look away ... Please.
If he doesn’t look away, then he might see …
And I can’t let him see—let him know.
He can’t know how doubtful I am. He can’t.
Konstantin barely breathes as he looks down. He simply watches me while the silence between us multiplies like the endless stars in a million galaxies as he lines his cock up to my weeping pussy, and I can feel my doubt return.
He’s about to re-stake his claim in me. He’ll mark me as his again.
And remind me that my body belongs to him.
But what about my heart?
And just like that, I feel tears rolling down my face.