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War.
He bunches the fabric of my ruined panties in one big fist, bringing it to his nose to inhale deep. I’m shocked and revolted, and yet a new swell of heat rises inside me when he looses a savage growl.
My mind fractures, protests shattering as big hands grip my hips, and he shoves my legs apart with his shoulders as he drops his mouth to my belly. The touch of his lips is searing, the brand of it forever inking his invisible kiss to my flesh. My nails bite into the hard muscle of his shoulders, leaving little half-moons as I try to wriggle free from the prison of his hold.
I manage to slide a few inches up the bed, my intent to escape him. I don’t realize my error until I feel the brush of his sharp stubble pricking my inner thigh as he places another branding kiss there.
“Please,” I beg, breathless. My heart is beating so hard, so ruthlessly inside my chest, I wonder if he can hear it echoing from my plea. “Please. Please.”
“I like when you beg, little wife.”
Thoughts stutter. “What?”
He brushes his stubble over the sensitive skin of one thigh, and then the other. And then he’s pushing down between my legs. I yelp, thighs squeezing around him as my fingers shove into thick, dark hair, attempting to shove him away and failing as he latches onto my most private place with his mouth. The wet heat of him connecting with the wet heat of me is a feeling unlike any other. Bolts of lightning strike my core as he flattens his tongue against the swell of nerves only to flick it with his tip a moment later. Then he sucks hard, tongue swirling. I wrestle with painful need and pleasure and a sense of wrong so great, I feel condemned.
Tears blur my vision, and I slam my eyes closed against the fall of them as Kirill feasts on me. Knots of arousal twist in my core as he slides his tongue down the seam of me to shove it inside me where no one has ever gone before.
My fingers twist in his hair and my core clenches around him as shameful noises escape me. I’m whimpering and pleading and moaning. I’m a mess of emotions too great to decipher while my monster, my devil, my husband, shoves his tongue into the deep of my most intimate, most guarded part of me.
My body begins to quiver, a bow stretched too tight. Knots of need tear at the fabric of me as he returns to sucking my clit with a tender kind of violence that shreds my resolve, a moment before a wash of something more violent, more consuming than I’ve ever felt, overtakes me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It engulfs the entirety of my body, twisting me into a whirl of pleasure. I am a wreckage of desire, the splinters of me lost to the ocean of this man.
He doesn’t stop his lovely assault. My shattered soul glistens like shards of glass in the moonlight as my legs fall to the side. The fight in me is gone. My body is spent. Even my hands fall from the thick of his hair to land limply at my sides. My chest heaves as he begins to kiss a soft trail from my core, over my belly, through the valley between my breasts.
Emotion nicks my heart, and my body jerks with the brutal mauling. I feel so tender, so conflicted in the aftermath of him. Too overcome, I lose the battle against the welling tears as they slide from the corners of my eyes to fall into my hair.
I hear the notch of his breath as he hovers above me, taking in the display of my weakness. My fragility. I want to hide myself from him. To roll onto my side and lick at the gaping wounds that bleed fragments of my soul into the dark of the night.
He calls gently, but firmly, “Ruby, look at me.”
I ignore him, my lids still shuttered against everything I’ll see in his face. The triumph. The ego. The awareness that he’s made my body crumble in pleasure against the will of my mind.
I hate him for this.
My heart hurts so much…
“Ruby,” his voice is less gentle now. “Look at me.”
Again, I refuse him. But a weak, terribly exposing sob rips into the space between us from the splintered depths of my ravaged soul.
He sighs, fitting his hard body into the naked stretch of mine. I feel his hands move to the sides of my face, thumbs streaking across my temples to wipe away tears. He presses his lips to my forehead, and I suck in a sharp gasp that tastes entirely of him.
His voice turns softer than I’ve ever heard it before. “Look at me, please, wife.”
This time, I do.
Sixteen
Kirill
She’s so lovely all the time. I catch myself watching her, lost in time, a prisoner of her allure more than I’m comfortable to admit. Her loveliness is arresting, captivating, corrupting. And yet, watching her now, as lovely as she is, there is a slight pinching of discomfort squeezing the air from my lungs. Her tears glisten on soft skin flushed with too much emotion. Ruby red hair is mussed against black sheets, her naked body pinned, trembling beneath mine.
Beautiful. So goddamned beautiful.
I’d known when I started this, intent to take more than a simple kiss from her lovely lips, that I would push the boundaries she set, ironclad, in her mind. But I couldn’t have imagined what her tears in the aftermath would do to me. How they would pluck at the armor I built around my soul long ago, to poke at the tender center.
I’m not a good man. I may have started that way, long ago. A man with a soft center, an unbroken moral compass. But life, and corruption, changed me. Altered me. A glaring need to protect that soft center birthed something dark, and dangerous. A monster that lurks never far from the surface of my skin.
I haven’t felt that soft center stir, in so long, I’m momentarily unsure what to do with it as I recall the man, I’d once wanted to be within the memory of the weak boy I’d been.
