The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

“I’m an emotional fuck,” I replied. “Get over it.”

He chuckled roughly. When my thumb brushed over his scar, he nipped it hard between straight white teeth. I hissed in pain and pulled it free with a glare.

“I’m a rough fuck,” he returned. “Get over it.” The look in his eyes turned turbulent. “If you want to turn me in, so be it. I’d go back to prison for you, kotyonok, but when I get out, there’d better be an ocean between us.”

I suddenly couldn’t even imagine returning to The Moorings; to Carter and the lonely sounds of the Atlantic. A weight compressed my chest, forcing the word from my lips.

“Why?”

His fingers tightened on my cheeks, voice dark. “You have no idea what you would be unleashing on Moscow after years of celibacy.”

As his words sank in, a hot rush of jealousy evaporated all other emotion. The idea of him with other women kicked me in the gut. My entire body rebelled against the idea. I suddenly wanted to imprint myself on him; to make him remember me forever—no matter the consequences.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to mine, sliding my tongue between his lips. He hissed and lifted me so I could wrap my legs around his hips. I’d never felt so small; so feminine and complete. I suddenly knew I would never feel this again; never fit so well with someone else; never meet another man like this.

I may as well enjoy the happily-for-now while it lasted.

He pressed my back against the overturned table and licked the roof of my mouth. At the taste of him and the heat of his body, a fire brewed inside, searing need through me in thick waves. I hummed against his lips, dying for more—for everything he had. Grinding against him and unable to find the friction I needed, a frustrated noise escaped me.

“Fuck me,” I breathed, tugging at his belt buckle.

He groaned and pulled back. “Not here.”

“Here,” I begged, closing the gap again and nipping his bottom lip. “Any way you want. Please.”

“Nyet.” He tried to slide me down his body, but my legs tightened around him. I felt how hard he was and relished in his reaction—that is, until he gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. “Don’t tempt me, kotyonok,” he growled. “I’m not noble enough to turn down the offer.”

“Then don’t.”

He watched me for a second. “Jesus Christ.” With a frustrated noise like he was in pain, he released my hair. “I’ve Stockholm syndromed you.”

I fought a smile. “Mmm,” I agreed and sucked at his neck. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.” I dragged my mouth to his, and after a second of kissing his tepid lips, he kissed me back, gliding his tongue against mine. An empty ache pulsed between my legs, and I grinded against him.

?

?I need it,” I pleaded.

He stilled my movements. “You’ll get it in my room where someone can’t just walk in.”

“Then take me to your room . . . please.”

One of his “fucks” sounded, and I kissed it off his lips then slid my mouth down his neck, sucking and biting wherever I could reach. D’yavol carried me to his bedroom, and the fact I was here against my will no longer mattered when I knew he’d fill the void inside me.

In one way, at least.

phosphenes

(n.) the colors or “stars” one sees when they rub their eyes

Ronan dropped me onto his bed from a height that made me bounce and fell on top of me. Roughly, lips and teeth ran down my throat, drawing a sigh from me. Even bracing himself on his forearms, he was heavy. The weight was perfect, yet so consuming, a fleeting thought of self-preservation rose to the surface.

Though all uncertainty was forgotten when he pushed my dress to my waist, pressed his face between my legs, and inhaled.

“Fuck, kotyonok.” He pulled my thong to the side and slid his tongue inside me.

I groaned, my hips arched, and my hand found purchase in his hair. My legs fell open farther when he licked up to my clit, a shudder running through me.

“God, yes,” I breathed. My fingers tightened in his hair to hold him right there, but he shook off my grip before moving his mouth back down to my entrance. I made a noise of frustration, which turned into a moan when he fucked me with his tongue.