Page 30 of Beautiful Monster

"You're drunk," she murmurs.

"Yes." There's no point in denying it. "Too drunk to pretend I don't want you."

Now she does turn, and I let her. Her eyes are wide in the darkness, searching my face.

"Mikhail—"

I kiss her before she can finish, pouring all my hunger, desperation, and fear into the contact. She tastes like toothpaste and sleep and forgiveness I don't deserve. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.

"Please," I whisper against her lips. "Let me... I need..."

"What do you need?"

"You. Just you."

She kisses me back then, soft and sweet and devastating. I trail my mouth down her throat, tasting salt and silk, feeling her pulse flutter under my lips.

"I've been going insane," I confess against her collarbone. "Watching you, wanting you, knowing I can't have you."

"You can," she breathes. "You can have me."

I work my way lower, pushing up the shirt she wears—my shirt—to expose the curve of her waist and the soft swell of her breasts. She arches under my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"So beautiful," I murmur, mapping every inch of exposed skin with my mouth. "So perfect."

When I reach the apex of her thighs, she tenses, hands fisting in the sheets.

"Let me worship you," I whisper, pressing kisses to her inner thighs. "Let me show you what you mean to me."

She nods, breathless, and I lose myself in her taste, her scent, and the way she calls my name like a prayer when I use my tongue to drive her toward the edge of pleasure.

Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging desperately as I work her with my mouth, alternating between gentle caresses and firm pressure. She tastes like honey and sin, like everything I've been denying myself these past torturous days. The soft sounds she makes—gasps and whimpers and my name broken on her lips—fuel something primal in me.

"Misha," she breathes, and the nickname she's never used before nearly undoes me. "Please, I?—"

My finger plunges into her soaked pussy, my tongue relentlessly circling her swollen clit. Her body’s reaction to my every touch is fucking perfection, her back arching, hips writhing like she was born for this moment, born for me. The thought scares the shit out of me and turns me on like nothing else.

Her thighs clench around my head as I drive her closer to her climax, my free hand gripping her hip to keep her in place. She's on the edge—I can feel it in the way her body tightens, hear it in the increasingly desperate moans escaping her lips.

"Come for me,kisa," I growl against her dripping cunt. "Let me feel you come all over my face."

She detonates with a scream that goes straight to my throbbing cock, her body spasming as orgasmic waves crash through her. I ride her through it, easing my touch as shedescends, pressing feather-light kisses to her trembling inner thighs, tasting her release.

When I finally lift my head, she's gazing at me with fuck-drunk eyes, chest heaving. Her hair is a chaotic mess against the pillows, lips parted and bee-stung. She's a vision of raw, sexual abandon.

"Fuck me," she pants, reaching for me.

I prowl up her body, settling my weight carefully over her. She crushes her mouth to mine, licking her release from my lips without an ounce of inhibition, and it nearly obliterates the last of my self-control.

"I want you," she breathes heavily against my mouth. "All of you. Not just tonight."

Her words cut through the vodka haze, making the world come crashing back. The danger. The Novikovs. Alina's blood on my hands.

“Kira—"

"No." She grips my face with determination, forcing me to lock eyes with her. "No barriers. Not tonight. Just be with me. Really with me."

Her legs envelop my waist, and I can feel the burning heat of her against me. It would be so easy to sink into her depths, to lose myself in her intoxicating warmth and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

---