The fabric pulls off of his shoulders, revealing more of that sculpted form. He tosses the shirt to the floor. Those defined muscles of his pecs and stomach, those scars nipping at the edges of his ribs, that dizzying combination of beauty and damage leaves me breathless.
Heat rushes through me. Embarrassing. Potent.
He watches my reaction. His mouth quirks. “Do you want your husband inside you?”
“I... I don’t know,” I answer earnestly, twisting my fingers.
From what seems like thin air, a knife appears in his hand.
I step back.
“Relax, devushka.” He moves behind me in one smooth motion, turning my shoulders gently. His fingertips float down my spine, following the tiny buttons on the back of my dress.
A thread pops, and a button topples onto the hardwood floor, landing by the crackling fire. My lungs freeze.
A pause.
Then—
His blade cuts along the seam, quick and deft. A ruckus of countless buttons sounds as they crash onto the floor.
“You will be the last to wear this dress,” he says.
I swallow hard, nervous as hell. My words fumble. “Gustav, um, we don’t know each other that much. Maybe we should get to know each other first.”
He chuckles low.
I persist.
“Like your favorite food, color—”
“Steak. Black,” he answers near my ear.
“Oh. Uh. I love chocolate. Favorite color is blue. I like cooking, too. And crafting. And swimming. What about you?”
My eyes close as his lips press to my neck. He trails soft caresses, his long fingertips glide up and down my arms.
“I like... weapons,” he rasps against my shoulder. “And killing. And my new favorite thing? Fucking a virgin cunt.”
I gasp, my knees bending as I swivel around, cowering instinctively from the man who was standing behind me. I can’t tell if he is trying to scare me or being honest. Either way, I don’t like it.
He smiles sharply with delight in his eyes.
“Why unhappy? You wanted me to like you. Now you’re a frightened thing when you have all my attention.”
“Oh yeah?” Tears gather behind my eyes without warning. “Then why do I feel like a mouse that’s about to be eaten?”
Something sharp flickers in his eyes, almost like restraint, then it’s gone.
“Mmm. Moyá mishka. My little mouse. How fitting.” He snatches my wrist with an iron fist and drags me close, yet his body is relaxed and carefree, as if this is all a game. His lips skim the shell of my ear. “Tell me, mishka. Has a man ever tasted your sweet pussy?” he murmurs.
I shake, unable to stop it. “No.”
“Fuck. Do you know how sexy it is,” he taunts, “to feel so much innocence tremble against me?”
I shudder.
Just then, he grabs the edges of my ripped dress, and pulls sharply. Fabric tears and the silk slides off my shoulders. The torn dress falls in a soft pool around my feet. Goosebumps race down my bare skin.
