Page 61 of Twisted Pact
How he did it all because Nikolay touched me.
My ex-boyfriend. Someone I dated two years ago when I was young and stupid and thought I could have a normal relationship despite my family’s world. My parents investigated him because any person in my life required a full background check. The Novikovs were neutrals at the time.
The situation changed along the way. Now, Nikolay works for the family that wants to kidnap me and use me as leverage.
And Alexei destroyed him for it.
The possessiveness of that act should make me demand that he take me home immediately and never contact me again.
Instead, it makes me want to tear his clothes off with my teeth.
I adjust myself in my seat, trying to ease the ache between my legs. Movement only makes me more aware of how empty I feel and how badly I need him inside me again.
The rest of the drive is torture. Every bump in the road sends vibrations through my body that make me want to whimper. Every time Alexei moves behind me, I catch his scent.
Fuck. I’m losing my mind.
Finally, we pull through the estate gates. Boris parks in front of the main house. Alexei climbs out, opens my door, and holds out his hand like a gentleman.
Like he hadn’t just beaten someone half to death thirty minutes ago.
I ignore his hand and get out on my own. My legs are shaky. Whether from adrenaline or arousal, I can’t tell.
We walk to the front door in silence. He unlocks it and steps inside. I follow him into the entryway and hear the lock click behind us.
The sound of the lock engaging flips a switch in my brain and removes the last shred of restraint I’ve been holding onto.
I whirl around, snatch the collar of his shirt, and shove him against the wall. Hard. His back hits with a satisfying thud, and his eyes widen with surprise.
“Mila, what?—”
I cut him off with my mouth on his, sudden and reckless. The moment my tongue grazes his, he responds—hands gripping my waist before his brain catches up and he starts to pull away.
“We need to talk about what happened at the university,” he breathes against my lips.
I reply with a breathless, “I don’t want to talk.”
“You’re in shock. The adrenaline is making you?—”
I kiss him again and bite his lower lip. “Stop. Talking.”
“You watched me nearly kill someone today,” he reminds me. “You should be scared of me. Not?—”
My hand finds him, hard beneath the fabric. He groans. Proof I’m not the only one losing control.
“Still want to talk?” I ask.
“Fuck.” He grabs my hips but doesn’t push me away. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m touching the man who broke my ex-boyfriend’s bones for daring to put his hands on me. The man who looked like a beautiful nightmare covered in blood. The man who makes me so wet I can barely think straight.”
His pupils dilate. “Mila?—”
I silence him by pulling my blouse over my head and dropping it on the floor between us. His eyes go dark as they rake over my black lace bra, and he lets out a low, animalistic growl.
“Still think I don’t know what I’m doing?” I ask.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
