Page 21 of Cain
I hum, my eyes never drifting from hers. “You are mine now, Katerina.”
“What does that mean?” She widens her feline eyes, her arched brows rising.
I gently weave my fingers through her loose hair, feeling her shudders deepen. “In here, there’s no boyfriend. There’s only you and me.” I tighten my grip just enough for her to feel the weight of the moment. “Unless, of course, you’d like poor Kryštof to end up in a ditch somewhere … ideally with rats gnawing at his eyes.”
“You’re sick!” she squeals, fear lacing her voice. “You … you bastard, you’re a madman!”
“Like I told you, I’ve been called far worse, ružicko,” I hiss, my other hand sliding up until it rests around her throat. “And I’m sure that, eventually, you won’t want to escape this madness.”
Sweat slicks her upper lip, her jaw tightens, and her eyes remain locked on mine. “I want to go to my room.”
A wicked smirk crosses my lips.Your room.Of course, it’s your room, baby. And you have no idea what kinds of moans and screams will fill it soon enough.
My grip on her throat tightens. “Don’t be afraid.”
She gently rests her hand on my wrist. “Do I have a choice?”
I run my thumb across her full and soft lips, causing her to close her eyes and her to sink into my touch. She likes it; I know. Under the fear and denial, desire is hiding, far stronger than she thinks.
“Do I look scary?” I whisper. She doesn’t talk; she merely opens her gorgeous eyes slowly and looks at me. “Answer me. Do I look scary?”
“N-No … now you don’t.”
Fuck, I need her. I need her wrapped around me. I need to feel the actual impact of my touch on her. Slowly, I trace my fingers on her firm calves and rise.
“Tell me that you don’t like what my touch does to you, and I will stop.”
“I … I …”
I know you love it, baby.
I grab her outer thighs, pull her closer to me, and roughly grip her jaw. “Tell me those shivers aren’t from my touch.” I brush my lips against her ear, eliciting a louder sigh from her lips. “Tell me that you don’t picturemy cock shoving deep inside your little pussy the way I do.”
A soft moan escapes her, proving that she indeed wants me to fuck her right here, right now. Her body temperature increases.
A droplet of sweat drips down her chest, between her breasts, attracting my eyes to it. I want to taste it so badly. I want to taste every inch and every part of her. Carefully, I wipe the droplet with my fingers, and she lets out a sharp sigh as if surprised. I drive my fingers to my tongue and lick her sweat.
She’s fucking divine …
“Fuck, little rose. You are delicious.”
She is fully submitting to my touch, and that only makes it harder for me not to act like a savage.
I live for the frantic beats of her heart under my palm, each one a silent confession that she’s mine, even in her fear. Especially in her fear. Because in that helplessness, in that delicious surrender, she’s more beautiful than any lie she could ever tell me. And I will keep breaking her, again and again, until she finally understands there’s no escape—only me.
Still, my plan isn’t that simple. I want her to beg. I want her to burn for me as much as I’m burning for her right now. To turn wild and plead for more. I want to see the despair in her eyes.
My hand reaches for the rose beside me, and I trace its velvety petals along her neck, causing her shudders to intensify.
Fuck, I savor how she’s mine, even when she still thinks she has a choice. I savor the way she shudders under my touch, knowing how helpless she is.
I savor how she’s spiraling in the sickness I’m pouring into her, and she doesn’t even realize I’ll make her need it.
Because the more she loses herself, the tighter I own her.
“Ring around the Rosie …” I murmur slowly.
Her lower lip trembles faster.
