He glances at me, his fingers tightening on my wrist. “I’m not interested in sleep.”
My anxiety grows. “I don’t want to have sex with you either.”
“No?” He stops at the foot of the stairs and turns me to face him. “So if I reached into your jeans right now, I wouldn’t find your panties soaked through? Your little pussy swollen and needy, just waiting to be filled by my cock?”
Heat climbs up my neck and blazes all the way up to my hairline. I am wet, both from before and from the way he’s looking at me now. It’s like he wants to devour me, like his dirty words are turning him on as much as they’re arousing me. The mental haziness from the wine isn’t helping, either, and I realize I made a mistake, trying to drown my sorrows.
Resisting him with my head clear is difficult enough; like this, it’s nearly impossible.
Still, I have to try. “I don’t—”
“Ptichka…” He lifts his hand, curving his big palm around my jaw. His thumb strokes over my cheek as he gazes down at me, his eyes like molten steel. “Do we need to discuss alternative arrangements again?”
I stare at him, ice crystals forming in my veins. For the first time, I comprehend the full extent of his ultimatum. He doesn’t just expect me to stop fighting him over meals; he wants me fully compliant, welcoming him into my bed as though we’re in a real relationship.
As though he didn’t murder my husband and forcibly invade my life.
“No,” I whisper, closing my eyes as he bends his head and brushes his lips over mine… softly, gently. His tenderness tears me into pieces, juxtaposed as it is with the looming horror of his threat. If I fight him on this, he’ll kidnap me, take away all remnants of my freedom.
If I resist him, I’ll lose everything that matters, and if I don’t, I’ll lose myself.
* * *
I stumble as Peter leads me up the stairs, so he lifts me into his powerful arms, carrying me up the steps with ease. His strength is both terrifying and seductive. I know what it’s like to have it turned against me, yet something primitive within me is drawn to it, attracted by the promise of safety it provides.
When we reach the bedroom, he lowers me to my feet and undresses me, pulling off my sweater and jeans in a calm, unhurried manner. Only the dark heat in his silver gaze betrays his hunger, the desire that he’ll stop at nothing to satisfy.
Once I’m naked, he undresses too, and I spot a metallic glint inside his jacket as he hangs it on a chair. A gun? A knife? The idea of him bringing weapons into the bedroom should terrify me, but I’m too overwhelmed to react, my emotions already veering from shock to anger to icy fear. And underneath it all is a strange, illogical relief.
With all my choices gone, I can give in.
It’s the only way.
A tear trickles down my cheek as he approaches me, fully naked and aroused, his large body a study of hard angles and sculpted muscles, of violent beauty and dangerous masculinity. Monsters shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t be as mesmerizing as they’re lethal.
It’s too hard on one’s sanity.
“Don’t cry, ptichka,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me. His fingers brush across my cheeks, wiping away the moisture. “I won’t hurt you. It’s really not as bad as you think.”
Not as bad as I think? I want to laugh, but instead I just shake my head, my mind hazy both from the wine I consumed and the heat his nearness generates. He’s right: I do want him. I ache for him, my body burning with a need so strong I can scarcely contain it. And at the same time, I hate him.
I hate him for what he’s doing—and what he’s making me feel.
His fingers slide into my hair, cupping my skull, and I close my eyes as he kisses me again, his other hand gripping my hip to draw me closer to him. His erection presses against my stomach, huge and hard, but his kiss is gentle, his lips coaxing out the sensations instead of forcing them.
It feels good, so unbelievably good that for a moment, I forget I have no choice in this. My hands grip his sides, feeling the hard flex of muscle, and my lips part as the heat builds inside me. Taking advantage, he licks inside my mouth, his tongue bringing with it the dizzying taste of wine and sweet seduction. This isn’t our first time, but in this kiss, there is a sense of exploration, of sensual discovery and tender wonder.
He kisses me like I’m the most precious, most desirable thing he’s ever known.
My head spins from the bone-melting pleasure, and it’s tempting to lose myself completely, to give in to the illusion of his caring. The way he holds me speaks of raw need, but also of something deeper, something that resonates with the most vulnerable corners of my heart.