Page 56 of Born into Madness
“What are you doing?”
She looks so adorably confused that I can’t help but grin and say, “I’m holding you.”
“Put me down. I’m too heavy.”
“That’s absurd, and no.” I lean in, brushing my nose along her neck as I breathe in the sweet scent of her. “I fucking love your coconut shampoo.”
“I’m being serious,” she insists. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I ignore her and nip at her neck. I run my tongue up her in one long lick before whispering against the wet skin, “I will wait as long as you need me too,krovinka. I don’t want you to be unsure about our first time. I want you dripping wet, legs spread wide while you beg me to fuck you.”
A shiver runs through her, and then her fingers are threading into my hair, and she’s letting out a breathy moan that’s impossible to resist. She might not be ready for sex, but there are other things we can do, and right now I want to do them all.
“I want to take you to my bed,” I say, and when I feel her body tense, I whisper, “I just don’t want to be cramped on the couch, Cyn. I promise I won’t push things or do anything you don’t want to do.” My teeth scrape the crook of her neck. “I need room to worship you. That’s all I want to do.”
I feel her nod before I start to carry her to the stairs. On our way, I grab one of Chort’s favorite chewy bones and toss it to him. He grabs onto it midair and trots over to the couch, jumping on it and happily gnawing away by the time I start to carry Cyn to the upstairs loft.
“Your place is really amazing.” Her mouth is near my ear, the heat of her breath sending a shiver down my spine. “Thank you for showing it to me.”
“Aside from family, you’re the only person who’s ever been here.”
When we reach the top and she eyes the king-size bed, she asks, “Really? I am?”
“You are.” I carry her over and gently set her onto the dark grey blanket. “And now you’re the first person to ever be in my bed. Besides, Chort, of course. He insists on hogging the damn thing every night.”
She smiles at hearing that and then pats the down comforter. “It’s comfy.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’m glad you think so.”
Knowing it’s going to be pure torture, I still feel the intense need to be as close to her as possible, to feel her body pressed against mine and to hear the soft little moans I know she’s going to make. It’s going to be a true test of my willpower, but I still want it. I want as much of her as I can get, as much as she’ll allow me to have.
When I brace my hands on either side of her, she scoots back, giving me more room as I slowly make my way up her body until I’m hovering over her. Resting my weight on my forearm and knees, I run my eyes over her. I never once thought I’d ever have a woman beneath me, but now that I have Cyn here, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I know it’s only because it’sher.I wouldn’t want anyone else lying beneath me, staring up at me with those beautiful, trusting eyes.
“You look good in my bed.”
She smiles up at me while her fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck. Every touch makes my pants a little tighter, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to be painfully hard from here on out. My dick wants to be buried inside her, and it’s dead set on screaming its anger to the world until it gets its way.
Pulling me closer, she whispers against my lips, “Kiss me, Sasha. Show me that sweet side that no one else gets to see.”
I don’t make her ask twice. With a groan, I cup her face and press my lips to hers. She opens for me, letting me in deeper as my tongue brushes hers, the sensation forcing my hips to instinctively rock up, just like I would if I were sliding into the wet heat between her legs. She’s too short for our bodies to line up properly, so it’s her thigh that my cock is rubbing against. It still feels fucking amazing, and when she moans and hikes her other leg over mine, trying to get our bodies closer, I know I’m in serious danger of losing control.
My hand slips under her shirt, and this time she doesn’t tense up or try to stop me. Instead, she grabs my shirt and tries to tug it off me.
“Is this okay?” she asks when I break our kiss. “Can I see you?”
I think about all my tattoos, especially the Grim Reaper on my inner forearm that proudly marks me as a member of our Bratva, but I doubt she’ll recognize it, and even if she does, she’s going to learn about it sooner or later.
Sitting up, I reach a hand behind my head and grip the fabric before tugging it off and tossing it aside. Cyn’s mouth drops open as she lifts up onto her elbows, eyeing me with open curiosity and lust.
“I knew you were ripped, but feeling you is not the same thing as seeing every inch of you right in front of me. Jesus,Sasha.” It takes her a second to bring her eyes up to mine. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“What do you mean?” I look down at myself. I know I’m muscular, but I’ve never really paid that much attention to how I look. I’ve been getting tattoos since I was eighteen, so I’m covered in them, and it suddenly occurs to me that Cyn might not like that. I eye the macabre images that I’ve chosen to mark my body with—bloody thorns that wrap around my upper arm, skulls and black roses with a few knives thrown in for good measure. That’s not even counting the large tattoo that covers my back. It had taken Benny months to finish it, but it had been worth every painful hour I’d spent beneath his tattoo gun.
The result is a stunning work of art, as beautiful as it is dark—a gnarled, winter-bare tree, limbs stretching and reaching across my back with ravens perched in its branches while some swoop down to pick at the pile of bones that cover the ground. Every detail is skillfully rendered, even down to the blood specks on the birds’ beaks and the small pieces of flesh still clinging to the bones. The heavy shading makes it look like it’s carved into my back, and I genuinely hope Cyn likes it, because there’s no getting rid of it. It’s as much a part of me as every other brutal thing in my life. I can’t hide who I am or the darkness that lives inside me, and I’m hoping she’ll never ask me to.
As if she can read my worries and fears, she reaches out, brushing her fingers along the black roses that cover my forearm. The only color are the drops of blood that cover some of the petals and her small finger lights on every single one of them before she starts exploring the rest of me. Her touch is hesitant at first, but the more she touches, the more confident she becomes, and soon her fingers are digging in harder, tracing not only the tattoos, but also the peaks and grooves of muscle and the various scars that mar my skin until my body is tense with need and I’m barely hanging on. When I feel the soft scrapeof her nails along my lower abs, I grab her wrist and gently pull her hand away.
“You want me to stop?”
