The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

I felt his smile. “Right now, I’m getting paid to fuck you.”

“Like a salary sort of situation?”

He chuckled. “Da.”

The sound of his laugh did such heavy things to my chest, I turned my head and caught his lips with mine. He groaned into my mouth and fucked me slowly. My fingers traveled down his back, infatuated with the feel of him. I didn’t think I’d ever get enough—no matter how much I touched him or how close he was.

“What are we on, kotyonok?” he asked against my lips.

“Four,” I answered reluctantly. He’d made me count every orgasm he gave me, and I knew I wouldn’t survive another. “I’m a virgin. I can’t handle any more.”

“You’re no longer a virgin. I had the proof of that all over my cock.”

Who said romance was dead?

He sucked my bottom lip and released it with a graze of teeth. “You denied me this pussy for weeks. I’ve got time to make up for.”

“I’m too young to die,” I groaned. “I’m only twenty.”

He stilled, then a darkly amused gaze met mine. “Fuck. I forgot how old you are. I really don’t need the reminder right now.”

“Does it bother you?” I asked, my nails running down the length of his back.

His eyes dropped to half-mast. “Not enough.” He punctuated the statement with a deep thrust that made me groan. A rough palm found my breast and squeezed.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, sighing when he sucked a nipple in his mouth. It was so easy to forget everything with him inside me. But I wanted to be more than just another woman in his bed. I wanted to know him inside and out. Because he was so much more than a single shade of black or white.

“Were you so gray at twenty?” I asked. The words shouldn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else—but it only took Ronan a couple of seconds to understand my meaning.

“Nyet.”

I shivered at the darkness and truth in his voice. If he were twenty now, things would have gone very, very differently for me. I’d never had a problem with his age, but now I appreciated his experience even more.

His mouth traveled down my neck, leaving a hot, wet trail behind, while he leisurely fucked me as if he had all week to do so.

I tried to blink through the haze of pleasure. “Were you in prison then?”

“No. I was released when I was eighteen.”

“When did you go in?”

“Fourteen.”

“What could you have done at fourteen?” I asked, aghast.

He smiled against my throat. “I cut off a politician’s cock and shoved it down his throat.”

I swallowed. I really shouldn’t have asked that question. My body should be primed and ready to run for the hills after his answer. But I already knew Ronan wasn’t Prince Charming. I somehow also knew the man he killed had deserved it and probably more.

Bracing his hands on either side of me, he pushed up so he could see my eyes. “What? No comment about my blackened soul?”

I held eye contact for a moment before saying softly, “No.”

He didn’t look happy with my answer. “You really shouldn’t be letting me fuck you.”

I realized he did feel guilty for taking something he thought he didn’t deserve. The more he said, the harder I fell. I should shut my mouth and let him force another orgasm from me, but I suddenly needed to give him something I’d never given anyone else: the truth.

“I always knew, you know . . .? I always knew the man my papa was.” My throat felt tight. “He killed someone—a woman—when I was little. I saw her lying in her own blood. And I forced myself to forget because I didn’t want to believe it. But I never really forgot; I just got good at lying to myself. I’m not the angel my papa calls me . . .” A tear ran down my cheek. “I’m not even a good person.”