“I’m sure it’ll be different than your experiences with pampered college boys.”
Frustration tunneled beneath my skin. That was the exact thought that led me into D’yavol’s arms, putting me in a position to be circling a couch to stay away from him.
“Ivan isn’t a college boy.” There Madame Richie went again, throwing Ivan under the bus.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he braced his hands on the back of the couch. “Maybe not, but he is a pussy.”
“You don’t even know him,” I accused.
The subtle, dry look he gave me only affirmed my suspicion they knew each other, but the thought faded when fury reflected in his gaze, his voice harsh. “Mention him to me again, and you’ll be sleeping outside with the dogs.”
Uncertainty tugged at my throat. I countered one of his long strides, quickly taking a few steps to match it. “Stop sweet-talking me,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t think my heart can take any more romance right now.”
He almost looked as if he wanted to laugh—this man who was stalking me like a psychopath—but the darkness in him contained the humor.
“Your mouth isn’t going to save you this time.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I also didn’t care at the moment. When I stepped to the side, he mirrored the motion. Nervousness radiated in my every cell, pouring out in winded words.
“I hope this isn’t how you normally get laid. It’s exhausting.”
A humored brow rose. “It’s a first for me, but thankfully, I’m open to new things.”
It was so nice he found the situation amusing while my heart was close to stopping. “I’m sure there are a number of nice women in Moscow who will accommodate you for a decent price.”
He watched me, shadowing each of my slow steps. “If I wanted another, it would take a single peach emoji text to have a woman here begging me to fuck her ass.”
The dirty mental image played behind my eyes, rose an innocent flush to my cheeks, and sent a cramped sensation to my chest. The feelings were so at odds with themselves that when he stepped around the couch, I faltered before finding my footing.
“I really can’t figure out how you get a woman after you open your mouth.”
“You’ll find out in a moment.” The weight of his stare made my throat dry.
I was growing a little dizzy from moving in a circle—especially with the small amount of food I’d consumed lately—but it didn’t stop my mind’s endless circus. I wondered about peach emojis and Nadia. I wondered if Ronan had been to the opera lately; if the singer wrote him another note and he took her up on the indecent proposition. The idea squeezed my lungs, creating a ripple effect from uncertainty to dejection to anger. Ronan could be having a threesome every night for all I knew, and I couldn’t even kiss another man without him turning into a virgin’s worst nightmare.
“Save your stamina for the next unlucky girl who catches your eye,” I said coldly. “Trust me, you’ll waste it on me.”
His stare threatened me to hold in what was on the tip of my tongue, but, admittedly, I didn’t take orders well.
“There are so many men in Miami. You’ll soon be forgotten along with all the rest.”
The words didn’t get the time to settle in the air. A single kick from him to the side of the couch sent it sailing across the floor, where it hit the wall and left me grossly unprotected. Holding his dark eyes, the coolness of the marble beneath my feet spread through me, my blood whooshing in my ears.
I took off for the doorway, but I didn’t make it that far. Ronan could have easily grabbed me by the hair and thrown me to the floor like the guard did, though he caught a fistful of my dress instead. I resented it more than if he had hurt me. I was suddenly desperate for pain; for agony to remind me of how little I meant to him before he stole my innocence and, in consequence, my soul too.
As he started to pull me back, I grasped at the side table, knocking things over in search of a weapon—or at least a way to push him to a point he’d make me recall I was nothing but his pawn. Clammy fingers found purchase, and before I could think it through, I spun around and shattered the vase against the side of his head. Glass fell to the floor around us, the room going deathly still.
In the movies, men went down.
Ronan didn’t go down.
My chest heaved, feet rooted to the floor as he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. When he opened them, I expected his retaliation; I didn’t anticipate him to silently wrap an arm around my waist, lift me over the broken glass, and drop me onto the couch.
When his body came down on mine, so did the guilt, blending with the heaviness of him on top of me. His legs forced my thighs apart, his hands holding my wrists above my head.
Regret thickening in my throat, I breathed, “I won’t apologize.”
He pressed his face into my neck, making a dark rumble of satisfaction. “So you are learning something after all.”
As the adrenaline faded, it left me sensitive, exposed, ashamed. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hurt others just because they hurt me. Something inside of me hated the idea of hurting him more than anything, even though nobody deserved it more.
Inked fingers may be holding my wrists captive, but they’d also saved and avenged me.
Guilt inflated in my chest like a balloon, and suddenly, all I could see was a little boy in a car sinking to the bottom of the Moskva at his own mother’s hands. I wondered if it was how Ronan got the scar on his bottom lip. The fact I could be the person to add another mark made me feel sick. The pressure forced an apology up my throat, but when I opened my mouth, he skimmed his lips across mine, saying harshly, “Nyet.”
We only inhaled each other’s exhales for a second. A heaviness invaded my chest, pulling me into dark waters alongside him, where I’d sink, and he’d swim. My only question was: Would he grab my hand, or let me drown?
I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
I kissed the cut I’d made on his bottom lip. The action flooded the room with my silent apology, eliciting a noise in his throat that reeked of displeasure, but the feeling swelling inside compelled me to continue.
I dragged my lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, then the thin scar, which I softly drew my tongue across. With a rough sound, he gripped my chin and angled my head back so I met his eyes.
“I thought you had reservations about kissing me.”
The Bible dug into my spine. I was sure there never was a clearer sign to resist sin than literal scripture burning one’s back, but the idea didn’t stop me from looking the devil in the eye and saying two words that would lead me straight to the gates of hell.
“I lied.”
Two heartbeats passed, his gaze a dark, stormy night that charged the air with electricity.
“That’s a bad habit.”
“Mm,” was all I could manage, my entire body vibrating beneath the surface.
I exhaled when he slid a thumb across my cheek, and a satisfied, villainous look so akin to him touched his lips. “Don’t worry, kotyonok . . .” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his warm breath raising goose bumps on my skin. “Ya vyyebu vsyu lozh iz tebya.” The statement sounded like a threat, but there wasn’t time to ponder it.
He ripped my romper open.
Buttons popped off and scattered across the floor. The thin seams tore easily down both thighs, leaving only the skinny straps intact.
I wasn’t wearing a bra—which was a normal wardrobe adjustment since being here—and as soon as the cool air touched my bare breasts, so did he, molding the soft flesh of one to fit his hand before squeezing.
My skin was so sensitive it hummed. The roughness of his palm worked a tremble through me. I was burning everywhere, the simple friction of Armani branding me with a hot and uncertain edge. I couldn’t seem to do anything but lie there, my wrists remaining where he’d put them above my head.
I sighed, my fingers curling into fists, when he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Pleasure slid south, compelli
ng me to raise my hips to meet his erection. With a scrape of his teeth, he pulled back, leaving the tips of my breasts tight and aching.
As he tugged my thong down my thighs, I suddenly knew there wouldn’t be any more foreplay involved; the hands on my body were rough and selfish. Although, this man had one mortal weakness: the covetous haze in his eyes that told me he was past the point of reason. The sight should scare me. Instead, I only desired to let him take whatever he wanted from me.
With a half-lidded gaze, I watched him lift my legs to pull my thong off. He tossed the fabric to the side, then gripped the undersides of my thighs and edged them back toward my stomach. A flush consumed me at how exposed I was, but the warmth of his stare on my sex, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it first, swelled a raw ache inside.
I let my calves fall to touch the backs of his hands and instinctively spread my legs farther. A heated glance met my eyes before he dropped one of my thighs, ran two fingers across my clit, and pushed them inside of me. As hot pressure expanded, I arched my back, a moan passing my lips. I gripped the edge of the couch cushion above my head, unable to do anything but rock my hips against his hand to stroke the fire.
Ronan dropped my other leg, gripped my face, and forced my gaze to meet his. “Eto moye.” This is mine. He punctuated the harsh words by scissoring his fingers inside of me.
My eyes rolled back, stars flying. Pleasure licked at my veins, building and building, until the feeling was all that existed.
Panting, I lifted my head to watch his hand between my legs, then dropped it back to the couch with a moan when he rubbed my G-spot. I was so close to release—so close I’d do anything to get there.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed.
“Ty dash’ mne trakhnut tebya?”
I didn’t know what he said, but I wasn’t sure I’d comprehend the words even if he spoke them in English. I could only close my eyes and chase friction until he pressed his lips to my ear and demanded, “Otvet’ mne.” Answer me. The words were soft and coarse but a command nonetheless.
I didn’t have the breath to tell him he was speaking Russian. All I knew was, if he kept fingering me, he could have anything he wanted: my heart, my soul, anal—whatever. So I hoped he sought a “yes” response, and I nodded.
He abruptly pulled his fingers away. The budding release crashed, and desperation seared through me in waves.
“No. Please,” I begged, my eyes flicking open. “Please—”
He covered my mouth with a hand and pushed into me with one hard thrust that tore a cry of pain from my throat. It felt like a lance of fire, burning so intensely tears pooled in my eyes. I gripped his forearm for something to hold onto, my blunt nails digging through his shirtsleeve. Reflexively, my back arched in an effort to shove him out, but he was too heavy to remove.
Ronan’s heart pounded against my chest, every inch of his body tense. “Kotyonok . . . yesli ya—” He clenched his teeth and tried again in English. “If I pull out, will I have blood on my cock?”
I didn’t know how he expected me to answer with his palm still covering my mouth, so I only shook my head in a hopeful lie. It was the perfect timing for a tear to run down my cheek and over his hand.
He watched the tear’s descent like it was acid, then pulled his palm away and braced both of them on the couch beside my head. “Fuck,” he growled before closing his eyes and exhaling. “Please tell me you’re just a really tight and emotional fuck, Mila.”
Clearly, I just gave my virginity to the most charming man in Europe.
Ronan already knew the answer, but it seemed he was grasping at straws. A tightness spread in my stomach with the feeling he would end this if I confirmed I was a virgin. Even though the foreign fullness inside of me burned, the walls of my chest threatened to fall apart if he pulled out. I wasn’t sure whether it was pain or something else that convinced another tear to run down my cheek.
“I think I just have some dust in my eyes,” I said shakily, throat thick.
He stared at me for a beat before releasing a frustrated noise between his teeth. I winced at the sting when he leaned back so he could watch his thick length slide out an inch. As a drop of wetness slid down my thigh, I realized he’d probably find evidence he thoroughly popped my cherry.
“Malen’kaya lgunishka . . .” he rasped, confirming I bled.
I forced a swallow when he ran a hand across his mouth, his gaze still between my legs. I didn’t know if he was fascinated by the sight of the blood or if he thought it would give him some kind of allergic reaction that would ruin his entire night.
Apparently, he was willing to risk it because, with a rough breath, he gripped my hips and eased back in. Inhaling, I slowly adjusted to the fullness of him inside of me before he pulled out a little bit again. He watched himself fuck me an inch at a time, the look in his eyes clouded thunder. His grasp threatened to bruise, but with every slow slide, the throbbing in my core began to warm and tingle. I shifted, which pushed him inside so deep he hit a pleasurable spot that drew a small hum from my lips.
“Fuck.” Ronan pushed away from me like I was on fire, releasing an angry, tortured growl as if I was the villain in the room who just stole his innocence. He left me lying there naked, a shaky coldness in my veins and an emptiness swelling between my legs. Confusion ran rampant as I felt him walk to the other side of the room.
“I don’t fuck virgins, kotyonok.” It was an icy, uncompromising statement.
I flinched as if he’d slapped me. The words were a blow considering he just took something I couldn’t give to anyone else and then threw it away like it inconvenienced him. My heart clenched. I hadn’t felt so vulnerable in my entire life. A hot and heavy mass invaded my throat.
With shaky hands, I closed my ripped romper as best I could and sat up, feeling so sick and naïve. I didn’t know why I did this to myself; why I cared so much tears burned the backs of my eyes; why I couldn’t hate him even now. If anything, I despised myself for serving Ronan the vulnerability on a silver platter, only for him to reject me like cheap vodka.
Je ne pleurerai pas. Tu ne pleureras pas. Nous ne pleurerons pas. I will not cry. You will not cry. We will not cry.
Pride seared like an ulcer in my stomach at the thought of Ronan seeing how much he affected me. So, even as a tear escaped, I managed an ill-humored, unsteady response.
“I wanted rose petals and lit candles for my first time, but, really, what could outdo this?”
His back was to me like he didn’t even want to look at me. “Trust me, I did you a favor.”
Honestly, what did I expect handing over my virginity to the man who abducted me? The fact that sentence even existed in my head told me I needed help.
Getting to my feet, a resentful scoff rose in my throat. “Yes. I can feel your good intentions. They’re a warm ray of sunshine.”
He released a dark, bitter breath and turned to face me, his eyes fierce. “I promise, your entire body would feel them like the weight of the fucking sun if I stayed inside of you even a second longer.”
I held his stare, the words washing over me but unable to find purchase among the humiliation and self-loathing within. All I wanted right now was to lick my wounds anywhere Ronan wasn’t. Too bad I couldn’t eat my sorrows in a carton of ice cream without the chance of getting a spoonful of cyanide in the mix. This place sucked.
I took a step toward the door but halted when he spoke.
“You aren’t leaving this goddamn room,” he gritted, looking completely disgusted with me.
Today was going to give me a massive complex.
“Sit.”
Frustration singed my spine, but I knew if I refused, he would bodily set me on the couch. I didn’t have the energy to fight him right now—trying to hold the walls of my chest together was a battle of its own—so, numbly, I sat, looking at everything but him. To say the room was a mess would be an understatement. Yulia was going to have a seizure.
I stared at the wall as Rona
n dropped to his haunches in front of me. My throat grew tight when he wiped a tear from my cheek. I was tempted to push his hand away, but the heat of the caress overwhelmed me, tugging at the twine around my heart.
“Stop crying,” he demanded softly.
“No.”
His hand dropped from my face. “Keep crying then. Don’t stop until I say so.”
The tears suddenly stung like bleach, and I tried to blink them from my eyes. He made a dry, disbelieving sound in his throat, and I realized I was too distraught to gather he was using reverse psychology on me. Apparently, he’d learned I would do the opposite of whatever he commanded.
It went silent for a second before he spoke. “I can’t fuck you like that, kotyonok.”
I didn’t want to talk to him right now, but I was also too curious to let the brewing question go.
“Like what?”
“How you need it.”
I pulled my lip between my teeth, the uncertainty and feelings inside going up and down like a yo-yo. The confusion became too much. The moment was just too much.
Finally, I met his gaze. “Can I go now?”
He held my stare for a beat, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Nyet.”
I sighed in frustration. “What else do you need from me tonight? I don’t care if you send me five peach emojis, I’m not giving you my anal virginity too.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled roughly. “Stop talking about being a virgin.”
“Why? Does it make you feel guilty?”
“It makes me want to be the first to take your ass too.”
Ignoring the heat rising up my neck, I raised a brow. “What’s the point when you’d take it for two seconds?”
His gaze hardened, then a ragged exhale escaped me when he grabbed my thighs and yanked my ass to the edge of the couch. I had to brace my hands behind me to maintain any sort of dignified pose.
“Don’t spread your legs, kotyonok.”
I glared at him, unwilling to let the trick work this time. Ripped fabric parted, revealing the curves of my breasts, my nipples hardening in the cool air. Why was I always the naked one? The only bare part of Ronan I’d seen was a few inches of his dick because the rest of it was inside of me.
The Darkest Temptation Page 24
