Chapter 9 – Sofia #2
“Boring?” Lukyan repeats, his voice a low, lethal purr that vibrates right through the floorboards. He stops at the edge of my bed, towering over me. “Is that so? Let me make it a little fun for you.”
Before I can even think to scramble backward, his hand shoots forward. His fingers fist tightly into my hair, anchoring me in place and yanking me upward until my face is mere inches from his. The sudden, intense proximity makes my breath hitch.
He tilts his head, his dark eyes burning into mine. “Maybe it’s boring because I don’t touch you, hmm? Because we haven’t consummated our marriage?”
A sudden, fierce heat explodes in my chest at his words, a dizzying rush of friction and adrenaline. My hands press against his chest, trying to create distance.
“Leave me alone,” I gasp, though the demand sounds breathless, stripped of any real authority.
“Do you really want that, zaychik?” With his free hand, he brings his fingers up to the side of my neck, pressing a single finger firmly against my throat. A dark, knowing smirk touches his lips. “Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, Sofia.”
I can only glare at him, my eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and absolute vulnerability, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal admission.
His gaze drops to my lips, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m going to kiss you now. Pull away if you don’t want it.”
Every instinct in my brain screams at me to pull away, to wrench myself from his grip and re-establish the boundaries between us. I almost do. I make the internal decision to move—but his mouth is already so close to mine, the warmth of his breath brushing against my lips.
A sudden, desperate craving paralyzes me; I want to feel him. Just for a few seconds. I’ll push him away right after. I swear I will. I just need to know what it feels like, even for a moment.
When I don’t pull away, his mouth claims mine.
A quiet gasp escapes me, and he immediately uses the opening, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth to dominate the kiss completely. I have never felt a more powerful, intoxicating rush of desire in my life.
His hand tightens so hard in my hair that a sharp ache blossoms across my scalp, but the pain is entirely swallowed by the sheer, devastating power of the kiss.
Suddenly, his hand shifts, sweeping down to the column of my neck.
His fingers wrap around my throat—a heavy, anchoring pressure that breaks the kiss and pushes me backward.
A soft whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it.
Keeping his hand firmly at my neck, he presses me flat against the mattress, a dark, triumphant grin spreading across his face.
My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, my chest heaving, my entire body humming with a terrifyingly sharp awareness.
Before I can recover, he reaches down, catches my ankle in a firm grip, and yanks me down the mattress until I’m positioned right at the edge of the bed. In one fluid, seamless motion, his hands slide up to push the fabric of my dress up past my thighs.
I freeze, my hands clutching the sheets. “What are you doing?” I breathe out, the question a mix of panic and anticipation.
He looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine, heavy and unyielding. “Relax, Sofia,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a gravelly command. “Trust me.”
To my absolute surprise, a realization settles over me through the haze of adrenaline: I do. Despite the danger, despite who he is, I trust him.
His hands slide higher up my thighs, his fingers brushing against the damp lace of my panties. The contrast of his cool skin against my heat makes me writhe against the mattress, an involuntary arch of my hips betraying how badly I want this. Then, he leans down.
When his mouth presses against me through the thin fabric, a sharp gasp tears from my throat.
I’ve read about this very sensation in dozens of the romance books currently sitting on my nightstand.
I’ve pictured it, imagined the words on the page coming to life.
But as someone who has never been with a man before—someone who has never experienced sex—nothing could have prepared me for the reality.
I never knew it could feel this intensely good, this overwhelmingly sharp. I lift my head slightly, looking down past my stomach at Lukyan positioned between my legs, and the visual alone turns my blood to pure fire.
He shifts his weight, his fingers hooking into the edge of the lace to slide the fabric to the side. The moment his bare mouth makes direct, wet contact with my core, a sharp scream breaks from my lips, my fingers clawing into the bedding as the world completely spins out of control.
The contact is electric, shattering whatever thread of control I have left. Lukyan takes his time, his tongue moving over me in slow, deliberate strokes that make my hips arch off the bed completely unbidden.
Then, his mouth centers directly over my clit, his lips creating a firm, rhythmic suction while his tongue sweeps over the hypersensitive peak.
My hands tear at the bedsheets, my knuckles straining as I try to ground myself against the sheer volume of sensation.
A violent shudder ripples through my legs.
The world narrows down entirely to the heat of his mouth and the tightening coil deep in my abdomen.
It builds with terrifying speed, a pressure so intense it feels like a physical ache.
“Lukyan—” I choke out his name, a desperate plea for him to either stop or speed up, though my hands instinctively press into his shoulders to keep him right where he is.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, his hands grip the undersides of my thighs, holding me utterly still as he quickens the pace.
The suction deepens, his tongue striking the exact right spot over and over until the tension inside me stretches to a breaking point.
I’m entirely at his mercy, suspended over a ledge, my chest heaving as the pleasure threatens to consume me completely.
The tension reaches a fever pitch, the coil inside me wound so tight I can barely breathe. Just as I feel myself hovering on the edge, Lukyan shifts, his lips framing my hypersensitive clit before his teeth catch it in a sharp, incredibly gentle bite.
The sudden spike of friction snaps the final thread.
A loud, broken cry tears from my throat as my body fractures, the orgasm crashing over me in violent, pulsing waves. My hips arch off the mattress completely unbidden, every muscle locking as the release ripples through my core.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Even as the aftershocks roll through me, leaving me entirely exposed, Lukyan continues to pace his tongue over my skin, drawing out the pleasure until it crosses the line into pure agony.
“Stop—Lukyan, please,” I scream, my voice cracking as I writhe beneath him, my hands frantically pushing at his broad shoulders. I’m so agonizingly sensitive that every touch feels like an electric shock.
Only then does he slowly lift his head. He settles back on his haunches between my knees, completely unbothered by my panic.
His dark hair is mussed, his chest heaving slightly, and his lips are glistening wet with my juices in the dim light of the bedroom.
He watches me with a heavy, unreadable silence.
As the fog of pleasure begins to clear, the brutal weight of reality crashes down on me.
What did I just do?
Panic, cold and sharp, replaces the heat in my veins.
I scramble backward on the mattress, kicking my legs free of his hold and desperately pulling the hem of my crumpled dress down over my thighs.
My hands are shaking so violently I can barely smooth the fabric.
Lukyan doesn’t move to stop me; he simply tracks my frantic movements with those dark, piercing eyes, an unreadable expression settling over his features.
Overwhelmed, my chest constricting with a sudden panic, I don’t say a word. I can’t. I scramble off the opposite side of the bed, my knees nearly buckling beneath my weight, and bolt toward the door.
I throw it open and flee my room entirely, needing immediate distance to process the sheer gravity of what just occurred.
By the time the sun begins to dip below the horizon, I’m hiding away in the furthest corner of the estate’s conservatory, curled tightly into myself. The initial panic has settled into a cold, deeply unsettling conflict.
I pull my knees up to my chest, staring blankly out at the darkening grounds. I had spent weeks building walls against Lukyan Rusnak, framing him as the villain, the captor, the man I was forced to endure. I knew how to handle anger. I knew how to navigate hatred.
But as I press my fingers against my lips, still tingling from his touch, a terrifying truth settles into the silence.
The neat boundaries of my resentment have been completely dismantled.
My feelings toward my husband are no longer defined solely by anger, and that uncertainty is the most dangerous thing of all.