Page 43 of Wicked Savage

I shake my head, trying to push past the sting of memories. “My siblings and I moved in with my older cousin. I never really got along with my dad.”

My eyes drop as I’m haunted by the last time I saw my father—furious when he found out I was leaving with Konstantin.

“Are you okay?” His hand finds mine, holding it with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten.

“Yeah…” I force a smile.

When his brow furrows, I’m not sure if he believes me. But he doesn’t press further. Instead, he shifts the conversation.

“So, what does that saying mean? The one your mother used to say?”

I fight the urge to laugh at the confusion that flashes across his face. “It’s a Russian proverb. Like the American saying ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’”

“Ah,” he muses, his grin widening as his eyes darken, the room’s soft lighting casting shadows across his features. “I like it. And…am I that risk?”

I meet his gaze. “You are. And if I don’t take it…I’ll never know if there’s a reward waiting for me.”

He chuckles. “I promise there is.”

“I don’t mean the one in your pants, even though that isn’t so bad.”

“I didn’t mean the one in my pants either, love.” He leans in, his elbows resting on the table, the veins in his large hands straining against his skin. “And not so bad, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. Plenty of fish in the sea to try out. You know, for comparison,” I add, a mischievous tone to my words. “Wouldn’t want to settle.”

The muscle in his neck jerks. I don’t know why I like making him jealous. Maybe because I can. Maybe because I enjoy knowing that he hates imagining me with other men already. Maybe I have daddy issues and am starving for love. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter, because I really like torturing him.

“Say that again and see what I do to you, Dinara.”

“I’d say I mind, but I really don’t think I would.”

In an instant, he’s up on his feet, striding over to my side. There’s a steely look in his eyes, and the way his chest rises and falls just before he grabs my hips sends a jolt through me.

He lifts me into his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” I fight a laugh as he carries me over to his side of the table and drops me onto his lap.

My legs straddle him, dress hiked up to my upper thighs as he grabs my jaw, staring so deep into my eyes, I feel it in every cell of my body.

“I thought you needed reminding whose pussy this is.”

“You’ve fucked me once. My pussy is not yours, Cillian Quinn,” I whisper, his lips pulling closer to mine.

“Once, twice, a hundred times. It doesn’t matter, Dinara. You’re gonna be mine. Because I’ve already decided.”

“Decided what?”

His cock presses into my pulsing core. “I’m your first, and I plan to be your last.”

My heart skips a beat, completely overtaken by his words even when I know logically that all these feelings I’m experiencing, the things he’s saying… It’s all too soon.

What is it about him that draws me in? Is it his self-confidence? His masculinity? The commanding aura? The way he just claimed me as his when we barely even know each other?

This truly could go one of two ways. He’s either insane or I’ve just hit the jackpot.

“My last, huh? Well, that doesn’t seem fair.” I nip his bottom lip, and he groans, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling until it stings.

“What doesn’t?”

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