Page 107 of Filthy Promises

He reaches for his nightstand, retrieving one and rolling it on. Then he’s pushing inside me, filling me completely.

I cry out at the intrusion, the stretch. It’s both pain and pleasure, too much and not enough.

“Did I say you could close your eyes?”

I wrench my eyes open, meeting his gaze. In this moment, with him inside me, I feelseenin a way I never have before. He watches me in a way that no one ever does.

As if he can’t look away.

As if I’m the center of his universe.

I know it’s an illusion. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to his world of power and politics and arranged marriages.

But tonight, in this bed, he’s mine.

I’ll take what I can get.

“Move,” I plead. “Please.”

He does, starting a rhythm that’s both punishing and perfect. His thrusts plow me into the mattress, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

“Vince. Vincent. Please?—”

“Please what?”

“Make me come. I need— I need?—”

He slips a hand between us, finding my clit again. “Like this?”

“Yes! God, yes!”

It takes only a few circles of his thumb to send me over the edge. I shatter beneath him, his name torn from my throat as pleasure consumes me.

He’s right behind me. He erupts inside me and I clamp down as he empties himself, pulsing, shivering, snarling.

Afterward, he doesn’t immediately pull away. He stays inside me, his weight a welcome burden, his breath hot against my neck.

When he finally rolls to the side, he takes me with him, tucked me against his chest like he wants me to stay.

That’s the most dangerous part.

More dangerous than the gun in his desk. More dangerous than the men who tried to kill him. More dangerous than the Russian mafia and all its violence.

The way he holds me afterward—that’s what will kill me in the end.

“Stay tonight,” he says, his voice rumbling against my ear.

I should say no. There’s a sad, miserable apartment and a sad, miserable life waiting for me to step back into it. They both know I’m fooling myself by pretending I can fit into this grim and twisted fairy tale.

Instead, I nod against his chest.

“Just for tonight,” I warn.

I’m lying to myself as much as to him.

Because I know I’ll be back tomorrow night. And the night after that. Even as I tell myself it’s just physical. Just an addiction I need to work out of my system. Even as I promise myself not to fall for a man who belongs to a world I’ll never be part of.

Even as I whisper in the darkness of my own mind:It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t you dare fall in love.

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