Page 62 of Twisted Pact
“Touch me, or I’ll take care of myself.”
He stares at me for a heartbeat, trying to decide if this is really what I want. If I’m thinking clearly. If he should be the responsible one and stop this before it goes further.
Then he grabs my face in both hands and kisses me like he’s trying to devour me. Tongues and teeth and barely restrained violence make my knees weak and my core clench.
I fist my hands in his bloody shirt and pull him closer. I need him against me, to feel every hard plane of muscle and know he’s real and here and mine… for tonight, at least.
His hands glide over my body. Over my ribs. Along my spine. Down to cup my ass and lift me against him like I weigh nothing.
I wrap my legs around his waist and grind against the bulge in his pants. The friction makes me moan into his mouth.
“Upstairs,” I gasp between kisses.
He carries me through the house and up the stairs without breaking the kiss. Alexei kicks open the door to his room and sets me on the bed with surprising gentleness, given the franticness of moments before.
I reach for his shirt, but he catches my wrists.
“Wait.”
“I’m done waiting.”
“Just—” He takes a step back and runs both hands through his hair. “I need to clean up. I’m covered in blood.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. Give me two minutes.”
He disappears into the bathroom before I can argue. I hear water running. Clothes hitting the floor. The sound of him washing away evidence of what he did for me.
Every second he’s gone makes me more desperate. More aware of the emptiness inside me that only he can fill.
I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I shimmy out of my pants and underwear until I’m naked on his bed.
The cool air makes my nipples harden even more. I’m hyperaware of how exposed I am, but I don’t cover myself or second-guess this decision. I want him to see me like this. I want him to know what I’m offering.
The bathroom door opens. Alexei steps out wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is damp, and his skin is clean. All traces of blood have been washed away as if it never happened.
He stops in the doorway when he sees me, and he stares at me with something like reverence.
“Come here,” I order, crooking my finger.
He crosses the room slowly, like he’s giving me time to change my mind, realize this is a terrible idea, and tell him to leave.
When he reaches the bed, I grab the towel and yank it off him.
His cock springs free, thick and already leaking from the tip.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” I admit.
“Have you?”
“Every night since you left. Remembering how you felt. How you tasted.”
“Every night?” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, and something predatory slides across his face. “Did you touch yourself while you thought about me?”
“Yes,” I admit, heat flooding my cheeks.
“Tell me how. Did you use your fingers and imagine they were mine?” His hand comes up to cup my jaw, and his thumb brushes across my bottom lip. “Did you pretend it was my mouth on you instead of your touch?”
