Page 46 of Possessive Vows

Yearning floods my soul.

“Show me,” I demand.

The lines bracketing his eyes soften and the barest hint of a smile flits across his face as I challenge him.

He pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, revealing his muscular, tattooed chest, thick biceps, and six pack abs. My mouth waters as he tosses his shirt aside.

He isn’t all muscle—as a model, I’ve seen countless male bodies in their prime and at their limits—but the extra weight only makes him seem more real. More lethal. More tempting.

Underneath his tattoos, scars of all shapes and sizes pepper his body. They tell of a dangerous, brutal life.

I watch in mesmerized glee as he removes a knife from his ankle, the pack of children’s bandages—which makes my heart squeeze in relief and worry—from his pocket, and several weapons from his waistband. With methodical yet graceful movements, he ensures each weapon remains in easy reach on the vanity before turning back toward me.

He places his hand on his belt buckle but waits for me to meet his eyes and nod my permission before he works the leather free and opens his jeans.

I swallow and will my heart back into my chest.

He pushes his pants off his hips.

His boxer briefs struggle to contain his massive, hard cock. A maze of scars travels down his legs, creating texture within his tattoos. Russian characters and other designs flow to create an intricate tapestry over most of his body. I long to trace and explore every inch of him. My curiosity pulls my feet closer, but I stop myself before I touch him. With embarrassment heating my cheeks and my heart pounding in my ears, I lower my hand to my side.

“Do not stop,so´lnyshka. Touch me. Hurt me. Use me. Whatever you need, I am yours,” he growls.

Liquid desire floods my core. My arousal slickens my panties and hardens my nipples into diamond points. His nostrils flare and pupils dilate, but he keeps his eyes trained on my face.

I lift my hand and drop my attention to the broad expanse of his chest. There’s so much of him, I don’t know where to start. My fingers hover less than an inch from his flesh. His warmth seeps into my digits.

I flatten my hand over his sternum before my courage flees and suck down a surprised breath at the mix of sensations. One touch and his smooth flesh, raised scars, heat, and hard muscles scramble my brain.

I wasn’t a virgin before the attack, but the creature who emerged afterward—the broken woman who swore off all contact with men—erased the pleasures of my experiences.

Even without those memories, I know this ismore. So much more.

A steady pounding within his chest guides my hand over his heart. I marvel at the strength lying underneath his tattoos as he stands in front of me with rigid control.

His flat, round nipples pebble, but he keeps his hands loose at his sides and his breathing steady. My chest heaves and my head spins as need pulses low in my belly.

I should pull back, but instead I place my other hand on his chest and rub my thumbs up his sternum. He’s so big. So strong.

He could break me so easily, but the encouragement in his eyes assures me he won’t. I rise onto tiptoe and skim my hands up his collarbones and over his shoulders, careful to keep distance between our naked bodies despite the throbbing in my breasts. A bundle of scars on his right arm captures my attention. When I tilt my head for a better look, the world spins. I lose my balance.

My breasts flatten against his abs.

Panic snaps through me. I dig my nails into his arms and scramble upright, using him to find my footing.

“S-sorry, I—”

“Breathe, Camilla. I am no schoolboy. I will not lose control no matter how much I want you,” he growls.

Impossibly lower with a hint of roughness, his voice lifts the hairs on my nape and inches me closer to the voices in my nightmares. I tremble as my mind hovers on a knife’s edge, but he remains as steady as a mountain, so I cling to him and use his bright blue eyes as a beacon.

The even rise and fall of his chest encourage me to follow, and within a few moments, my breathing matches his tempo. My head stops spinning. When I release his arms and step back, the sticky wetness between my legs makes my panties cling to my sex. My face heats on a blush as the scent of my arousal cuts through his subtle cologne and my body spray.

“Turn around,” I say.

His brows draw together at my demand, and I realize he might misunderstand and think I don’t want him to look at me anymore, so I clarify, “I want to see your back.”

Understanding softens his expression and he steps out of his jeans. His cock jerks in his underwear and I can’t help the lowering of my eyes as he turns.

---