Page 46 of To Love a Monster
“Take it off,” he breathes, dragging his mouth along the curve of my jaw.“I want to see all of you.”I lift my arms and he pulls my sweater over my head, slowly like it’s a ritual.My camisole follows, then my bra.My skin prickles under the weight of his stare, but I hold it, meeting his gaze in the mirror as my breath catches
“Fucking perfect,” he growls.His hands come back to my breasts.He palms them fully, fingers tugging gently at my nipples until they’re tight and aching.I moan, pressing back against him and I can feel his cock straining
“Eyes on the mirror, little lamb,” he murmurs darkly.“Don’t look away.”Then he drops to his knees in front of me, his fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings.“Off,” he demands.I push them down and step out, heart pounding.
Just the sight of him there, on the floor for me, makes something tighten deep inside.He grips my thighs and spreads me open.His breath ghosts over my thighs, hot, jagged, and barely restrained.It makes my skin erupt in chills, my knees threatening to give out as he exhales like he’s savoring the scent of me.Then his mouth is on me.Not rushed, not rough, but deliberate.
His tongue licks a slow, teasing stripe through my folds and I gasp, one hand flying to the mirror to steady myself, the other curling uselessly at my side.His fingers dig into the backs of my thighs, holding me open as he does it again and again.
Soft at first, then firmer.My eyes meet my reflection, wide and glassy.My lips are parted, cheeks flushed, my chest rising and falling like I’ve been running.But it’s not fear, it’sneed.Pure and wild and burning.I can see it, the way my body leans into him, the way I tremble when he groans like he’s never tasted anything so good.
“Fuck—” I whisper, my voice breaking apart as he slides his tongue inside me.His rhythm changes, faster now, more demanding.He flattens his tongue and drags it up, circles my clit, then sucks hard and my whole body jolts like it’s been struck by lightning.
I cry out, my fingers splaying wide on the mirror for balance.My legs start to shake but he doesn’t let up.One of his hands moves to spread me even more, holding me still as I rock forward on instinct.“God, Nikolai,” I whimper, hips bucking forward as I choke out, right on the edge as I watch him.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glisten and his voice is wrecked.“You taste like fucking heaven.You know that?”His grip tightens on my thighs.“I’ll never get enough.”Then his mouth is back, relentless, perfect, and I fall apart with a cry that echoes through the room, shaking, panting, breaking against the glass.Just as I start to fall he pulls away and I cry out in protest.
“Not yet,” he whispers roughly, voice thick.“Not like this.”He stands again, and in one brutal, fluid motion, he wraps an arm around my waist and yanks me back against his chest.Hard.My gasp catches, cut off instantly as his other hand slides around my throat and clenches.
Firm, possessive, and absolute.His large palm presses against my windpipe just enough to dizzy me, just enough to make my pulse spike and my thighs clench even harder.I feel the strength in his grip, the careful precision.He knows exactly how far to go, how to make it feel like I’m flying and falling at the same time.
“You want to come for me, little lamb?”he growls, voice a low rasp against my ear.My only answer is a whimper.His fingers tighten enough to make the air thin and the room sharpens.My body goes molten as his other hand slips between my thighs.He finds my clit instantly, two fingers moving in slow, merciless circles.The friction is maddening, firm and calculated, like he’s trying to rip the orgasm from my body whether I’m ready or not.
The contrast of his rough hand at my throat and his skilled, devastating fingers lower down is too much.My knees buckle and my eyes begin to roll back.
“Keep your eyes open,” he commands, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.“Watch what I do to you.”I meet my own gaze in the mirror.All I see are red cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide.One of his thighs wedges between mine, forcing me open and leaving me to balance on him even more as he starts rubbing tighter and faster.Pressure coils low in my stomach, furious and hot, like I’m about to detonate.
“You like this?”he growls into my ear.“Being choked while I play with your perfect little pussy?While I make you come on my fingers like a good fucking girl?”He leans forward and his teeth graze my jaw.“You like knowing you’re mine when I do it?”I whimper, desperate, unhinged.
“Say it,” he demands.“Tell me how much you like being choked while I fuck you.”
“Yes,” I gasp, the word ragged and raw.“Yes.Fuck.I love it.”He groans deeply then, dark and low, like he’s been starving for that answer.
“Then come for me like this.Let me feel how hard you break for me.”His fingers move lower, slick and relentless before slipping in and thrusting deep.His movements are hard, fast, and unforgiving.I gasp, loud and raw as two fingers slam into me, curling just right, stroking that spot inside me that makes my knees buckle.The rhythm is brutal, just perfect and completely addictive.
He tightens his grip on my throat again, not too tight but just enough to push me over that thin, razor’s edge between pain and pleasure.His other hand never stops, fingers driving into me faster, deeper, curling and stroking and fucking me so hard my vision blurs.
I come hard, shattering around him with a sound I barely recognize, something wild, something wounded, something free.My hips jerk and my thighs tremble, my mouth falls open in a silent cry.But he doesn't stop.He holds me right there, tethered to his hand and his grip and the way he owns every inch of my body, dragging me through every pulse of it, every second of that slow, breaking ruin.
Then, with slow, deliberate control, he unhooks his fingers from my body and turns me in his arms.My legs are weak, my vision swimming, but he doesn’t give me a chance to fall.His hands are everywhere, steadying, claiming, and owning.
“You’re not done,” he says roughly, eyes locked on mine.“Not even close.”I barely manage a breath before he reaches for the hem of his shirt and strips.Shirt gone, pants gone, boxers gone.
Until all of him is bared to me, built and beautiful.He’s all broad shoulders, ink-painted arms, and scars that tell stories I’ll never be ready to hear.His chest rises and falls like he’s still trying to rein himself in, but his cock is already hard, thick, and flushed.My mouth parts before I can help it.He sees it and smirks, dark and feral.
“You like what you see, little lamb?”His voice is lower now, rough like it was made for sin.I nod, breathless, aching.“You’re unreal.”He stalks forward and scoops me into his arms without warning.
I gasp as my feet leave the floor.He doesn’t rush, doesn’t speak.Just walks me to the bed with slow, deliberate steps like he’s savoring the feel of me in his arms.Then he kisses me.Hard.
All teeth and tongue and the kind of pressure that steals the breath from my lungs.It’s not soft or sweet.It’s possessive, like he’s staking his claim with every brush of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth.I taste wine on his tongue, salt from my skin, and something darker, somethinghim.His kiss is heat and hunger and a thousand unsaid things.A promise, a punishment, a plea.
My fingers curl into his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle to anchor myself to him like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.He groans into my mouth, low and guttural, like he feels it too, like the taste of me is enough to drive him mad.
Then without warning, he lets go, letting me drop to the ground.“Climb up,” he growls, and I do.Legs trembling.Skin flushed.My breath shallow and hungry.The mattress gives under my weight, but there’s nothing soft about what I feel next.His hand grips the back of my neck as he follows me onto the bed, kneeling between my thighs, completely naked and completely in control.
He looms above me like war, his chest rising, ink stretching across muscle.Tattoos crawl over his shoulders, his ribs, down the cut of his abs.Symbols I don’t recognize.Foreign.Violent.Some of them scarred through, like his past tried to erase them and failed.He reaches down, trails a single finger along the edge of my jaw.
“You’re mine, Lila,” he says, voice low and dark and undeniable.“Say it.”My heart pounds.I don’t respond.He snarls.Grips my chin.“Say.It.”
