I place Samira down on it and search her eyes for something, but all I’m given is emptiness. It’s as if she’s gone somewhere else, shielding herself from whatever will happen.

I bend my head and bring my lips to the shell of her ear. “I promise, no matter what, I’ll make it good for you.”

“You can’t make it good for a whore, and that’s all I am to men. Nothing but a piece of meat to be used for their pleasure. I can’t expect you to be any different.”

Her words are like sharp glass piercing my almost-dead heart that only beats for her. The way her gaze takes me in devastates me to my core because the disillusionment and pain she tries to hide are two things I see reflected in my own eyes.

“I’ll make it right.” My fingers rub against her long black hair, bringing all my memories of her to the front of my mind.

“Just get it over with so that I never have to see you again.”

I fist her hair in my hands and tug her hair back. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, Max. Meeting you is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Take what you need from my body, then get the fuck out of my life.”

I pull her head further back, her neck exposed to me, her body curling as she winces from the pain. Something primal surges in me. The man I’ve cultivated my entire life leaves, replaced by an animal that only wants his mate.

My Samira.

That she’d reject me never even crossed my mind. For some fucked up reason, I had this grand reunion planned in my mind. I thought she’d jump into my arms and I’d save her, but the truth is, ten years is a long time. I don’t know what she’s gone through, but I do know that she’s mine, always has been, and always will be.

“Don’t fuckin’ test me, Malishka.”

She grabs onto the lapel of my suit and drags me down to her, our lips practically touching, “Test you? I don’t have enough in me to test anything. I just want to survive.”

She doesn’t allow me to answer before she crushes her lips to mine and grabs my bottom lip between her teeth, bites down before she pulls away.

Her words are ice water over my head. My fingers tremble as they brush against my lips, and I rub at the trace amount of blood there. “You want it rough, darlin’? You’ve got it.”

Chapter 7

SAMIRA

All I want is whatever Max can throw at me. His aggression is palatable, and I lust for it. I want his pain and frustration, the marks he'll leave on my skin. But most of all, the way he touches me allows me to keep my anger, and that’s something I need. I want to let it wash over my body so it kills the last glimmer of hope that sparked in my heart when I saw him.

“Yes. Give it to me rough. Give me pain. Let me see anger.”

He doesn’t respond with words. The pain pulses at my scalp as he pulls my hair with such force that, for a moment, I wonder if he’ll rip it completely off my head. “You want to be my whore, Malishka?”

“I’m not your Malishka.”

“So, just a slut for me to use. A pathetic little cum rag?”

There’s a lump in my throat as I swallow and nod.

Something dark and demented flashes in Maxim’s eyes before he crushes his lips to mine. The kiss is desperate and hits me with such force that I’m sure it would knock me over if not for his brawny arm around my waist. His fingers curl in my flesh as he pulls me flush to his body, grinding his erection into me, a sign of how much he craves me. But I know that wanting someone sexually doesn’t mean you want into their heart.

He pulls away, his gaze freezing me into place before he skims his nose along my collarbone, driving me mad as he moves from my neck to my ear lobe.

His voice is low as he growls, “So you like to bite now, Malishka. For ten fuckin’ years, all I’ve thought about is eating you, but if you want it rough, if you want my teeth on your skin, I’ll gladly mark you. Every fuckin’ inch of you will be marked by me. Because as much as you want me to fuck you like a whore, you’re my fuckin life, and I’m never letting you go.”

I stare at him, letting his words wash over me. As much as I want to believe him, all I know of men is that they are liars and users. All I’ve ever been to them is an object.

“Liar,” I whisper.

His hand abandons my waist, his grip on my hair tightening as he uses it to hold me upright. He glides his fingers up my arm, trailing goosebumps in their wake before grasping my jaw. The tips of his fingers dig into my skin, and pain sets in.

Tags: Mila Crawford Crime
Source: readsnovelonline.net