Page 21 of Beautiful Monster

"Stand up," he commands softly.

My legs feel unsteady as I rise, whether from wine or proximity to this dangerous man I've married. He towers over me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

"You want to play games?" His hand cups my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip with agonizing slowness. "I've been playing them longer than you've been alive."

"Then teach me the rules," I breathe against his thumb.

His control snaps like a taut wire. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, setting me on the edge of the table. Crystal glasses chime softly as the surface trembles, but his hands are steady on my waist, holding me captive between his arms.

"The first rule," he murmurs, leaning down until his breath fans across my lips, "is that there are no rules."

Thunder crashes overhead as he closes the final distance between us, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that steals my breath. The kiss is nothing like the chaste press of lips at our wedding ceremony—this is possession, demand, a claiming that sends fire racing through my veins.

I thread my fingers through his dark hair, pulling him closer, and he groans against my mouth. His hands slide up my sides, reverent and desperate, as if he's mapping territory he never expected to claim.

"Come here," he rasps against my lips, his accent thicker now, roughened by desire. Without waiting for an answer, he lifts me from the table, carrying me to the leather chair by the window, where he settles with me across his lap.

The storm rages beyond the glass, but inside this cocoon of heat and wanting, nothing exists except the taste of him on my tongue and the solid strength of his body beneath mine. His fingers tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss, and I arch against him, shameless in my need.

"Kira," he breathes my name like a prayer, like a curse. "You're going to destroy me."

"Good," I whisper back, claiming his mouth again as lightning illuminates us both in silver fire.

Chapter 9

Mikhail

Kira’s mouth is soft fire against mine and every rational thought I've ever possessed burns to ash. The taste of wine on her tongue, the way she yields and then demands in equal measure—Christ, she's going to be the death of me.

My hands find the silk of her dress, bunching the fabric as I pull her closer. She shifts in my lap, and the friction nearly undoes me completely. I've had women before—many women—but none who've made me feel like I'm drowning and being saved all at once.

"You taste like sin," I murmur against her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the delicate skin there. Her pulse flutters like a caged bird beneath my lips, and I can't resist the urge to bite gently. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.

"Mikhail..." His name on her lips is better than any prayer I've ever heard. She rocks against me, unconscious and devastating, and my control frays further.

The storm outside mirrors the chaos in my chest. Rain lashes the windows while thunder shakes the walls, but all I can focus on is the way she melts against me, how her auburn hair spills over my hands like liquid copper.

"Look at me," I command roughly, pulling back just enough to see her face. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire and wine. Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine.

"I'm looking," she whispers, and there's something in her gaze that stops my heart—trust, want, and something deeper that I don't dare name.

I trace the line of her jaw with trembling fingers. When did my hands start shaking? "You don't know what you're doing to me,kisa."

Her smile is pure temptation. "Show me."

The words break something fundamental inside me. I capture Kira's mouth again, hungry and desperate, pouring years of loneliness and pain into the kiss. She meets me stroke for stroke, her hands fisting in my hair, and I forget everything except the weight of her in my arms and the storm that rages both outside and within me.

Lightning flashes, illuminating her face in stark white before plunging us back into the amber glow of candlelight. In that brief moment, I see everything—her vulnerability, her courage, the calculation behind her eyes. She's testing me as much as I'm testing her.

I slide my hand up her spine, feeling each delicate vertebra through the silk. When I reach her nape, I tangle my fingers in her hair and tug—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to assert control. Her eyelids flutter, pupils dilating.

"Is this what you expected when you agreed to marry me, Kira Malakhov?" My voice is gravel, barely recognizable to my own ears. "To be devoured?"

She hums, the sound both nervous and aroused. "I don’t know what I expected. I wasn’t sure you’d want me for more than my money.” The confession stuns me. Has she looked in a mirror? Does she not see what I see?

"Foolish girl," I murmur, tracing the curve of her collarbone with my thumb. "I've wanted you since the moment I first saw you.”

Her breath catches. "Did you?"

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