The atmosphere shifts. The lazy confidence in his posture vanishes, replaced by a coiled, predatory stillness. A darker emotion rises to his features. One that conjures the thrill of the hunt.
“Fine.” He cradles my face, his thumb stroking along my jawline in a touch that’s both possessive and oddly gentle. “No sex.”
I resist the urge to rear back. “Good.”
He leans in, his lips brushing mine in the barest whisper of contact. More of a promise than a kiss. “But I will have every other part of you. How and when I want it.”
My body hums with a traitorous electricity I refuse to acknowledge. This is survival. This is strategy. Nothing more than a necessary evil to keep myself, along with Samantha, alive.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I breathe against his mouth. “Deal.”
I know, even as the word escapes my lips, that I’ve just bargained with the devil. But I’m alive. Samantha is taken care of.
It’s not freedom.
It’s not safety.
But it’s something. And it’s mine. For now, that will have to be enough.
Chapter 24
Aurora
He’s moving before the word “deal” even leaves my lips.
No hesitation.
No pause to consider what our agreement means.
Alexei’s hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck as he tangles his fingers in my hair. He pulls me toward him with unmistakable intent. My body hums in nervous anticipation.
This is survival. This is strategy.
Repeating the mantra in my mind, I steel myself for what’s about to happen.
I don’t have long to wait.
His mouth crashes against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head. His demanding, all-consuming kiss swallows my startled gasp.
This isn’t a kiss to seal our bargain.
It’s a declaration of ownership.
There’s nothing tender in the way his lips move against mine or romantic in the insistent pressure. There’s only hunger in its rawest, most unfiltered form.
I should fight this. Pull away. Remember who he is and what he’s done.
But my fickle body betrays me. I respond to his touch like a flower angling toward a forest fire.
His hand ghosts down my throat until his thumb finds my pulse point and presses. Electricity zings through my veins in a dangerous yet irresistible current.
I’m vulnerable. Aware of what he could do to me. Yet instead of terror, treacherous heat builds low in my belly.
Our lips dance, tongues twining as his palm continues its downward journey. He tastes like vodka and bad choices. Everything I want but shouldn’t have.
What’s wrong with me? How can I want this? Wanthim?
After skimming my collarbone, he cups my breast through the thin fabric of my borrowed t-shirt. The possessive, confident touch belongs to a man claiming what he believes is rightfully his.
