“Say it.” I curl my finger inside her and put more pressure on her clit. “Tell me you fucking want this.”
She swallows, her pale throat moving, and I feel her pussy squeezing my finger as a long shudder ripples through her. “Lucas, please...”
“Fucking say it,” I grit out, but she shuts her eyes, turning her face away from me. She’s breathing fast now, her chest expanding and contracting in a frantic rhythm, and I feel her muscles clenching as I push a second finger into her, stretching her tight channel.
She’s fighting me, denying me.
My hunger turns dark, lust intermingling with rage and frustration. How fucking dare she do this to me? She’s mine—her body’s mine to do with what I will. I don’t have to give her a choice. She’s my prisoner, my spoils of war, and I’ve been more than patient with her.
“Look at me.” Keeping my hand on her sex, I rise up on my knees and grab her jaw with my other hand, forcing her to face me. “Don’t play games with me,” I growl when she opens her eyes. “You’ll lose, do you understand me?”
She blinks, and I feel her inner muscles rippling around my fingers. She’s dripping wet, her body welcoming my touch. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” It’s all I can do to keep talking instead of fucking her right then and there. My thumb moves over her clit, forcing a gasp out of her. “Yes, what?”#p#分页标题#e#
“Yes, I—” She sucks in a breath, her voice shaking. “I understand.”
“Good. Now stop lying and answer the fucking question.” I curl both fingers inside her, wringing another ripple out of her. “Do you want me?”
Her nod is faint, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough.
I release her face and withdraw my fingers from her pussy, my balls ready to burst. I’m tempted to take her right on this blanket, but I’ve been imagining her in my bed all these weeks, and that’s where I want her this time.
Too impatient to bother with the knots in the rope, I get up and go to the laundry room, where I left my bloodied clothes. Thirty seconds later, I return with my switchblade.
Approaching Yulia’s legs, I open the knife. Her eyes widen with sudden fear, but I just cut through the rope, freeing her ankles.
“Lie still,” I order, getting up to walk around her. A second later, her arms are free too. Not wanting a weapon near her, I go to the other side of the room and put the knife into the top drawer of my dresser before turning to face her.
Yulia’s already on her knees, about to get up, but I don’t give her a chance. Closing the distance between us, I bend down and lift her up against my chest. I know she can get on the bed herself, but I need to touch her, to feel her. I can see the pulse beating in her throat as I place her on the white sheets, and my lust intensifies.
Mine. She’s mine.
The words are a primal drumbeat in my mind. I’ve never felt so possessive about a woman, have never wanted to claim one so badly. The desire is purely visceral, a need that’s as dark and ancient as the urge to kill. I’ve already had her that one night in Moscow, but it’s not enough.
It’s nowhere near enough.
Watching her, I reach into the bedside drawer and pull out a foil packet. Ripping it with my teeth, I take out the condom and roll it onto my throbbing cock. Her gaze follows my fingers, and I see her body tensing even more. With fear, with lust? I don’t know, and I’m past the point of caring.
“Come here,” I order, climbing onto the bed. I don’t know what I expect when I reach for her, but what happens isn’t it.
The moment I touch her, Yulia wraps her arms around my neck and presses her lips to mine.
26
Yulia
I don’t know what makes me kiss Lucas at that moment, but as soon as our lips meet, my anxiety melts away, replaced by aching need. I want him—this hard, confusing man who is my captor.
With my fantasies fresh in my mind, I want him more than I fear him.
The panic I felt earlier today is absent, the dark memories quiescent as he bears me down to the mattress, his hands sliding into my hair. I arch against him, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth and exploring it hungrily. He tastes like heat and raw passion, like my dreams and my nightmares. He consumes me, and I consume him in return, my hands moving frantically over his muscular back, his neck, his short hair. I know he’ll most likely kill me in the not-too-distant future—I know the hands cradling my head might one day crack my skull—but at this moment, none of that matters.
I’m living solely in the present, where his touch is bringing me pleasure instead of pain.