Somehow, his finger is at my mouth, and he shoves it in. I taste myself on him. Then he pulls out, and his wet finger slides against my clit again. I tremble, wide open to anything he wants to do.
He pounds harder, holding me in place, and then scrapes his nail against me.
I fly away into an orgasm that has me silently screaming, my mouth open, no sound coming out. My body jerks and flails, held in place by him. Fire blasts through me, and I shut my eyelids, the blood pounding through my head so loudly, it’s the only sound in existence. Just as I come down, finally, completely broken, he stops inside me, holding tight as his body jerks against me.
His climax takes forever.
Finally, he releases me, pulls out, and flips me back over. His hands on my hips toss me farther up on the bed, and then he’s on top of me. “It’s been a long seven years, Peaflower. You’re not gonna get a lot of sleep.” His mouth takes mine.
Hard.
NINETEEN
Rosalie
Ihave nobody but myself to blame for what happened last night. Mentally chiding myself, I finish fastening my little mirror earrings as my gaze catches on the sketchbook in the corner of my bedroom. The pad is resting against the wall by the chair, next to the bag. Casting a guilty look at the bathroom door, I move and reach for it, flipping open the top.
It’s me. I’m staring out, my eyes blazing and my hair all over the place. I expected to find a drawing of trees, or I don’t know, a car. But not one of me looking all wild and kind of sexy.
The bathroom door opens, and I drop the sketchpad, turning guiltily.
One of his dark eyebrows rises.
“You drew me,” I whisper, trying not to be touched.
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
This is way too much sensory overload. “I need to get going.” I hurriedly move to open the door.
He’s behind me, letting off heat.
Trying to ignore that masculine warmth, I walk gingerly down my private stairs from my suite to outside, sore in places I hadn’t realized existed. He bruised and bit me, leaving his mark everywhere on me. Head to toe, I wear him. I’d gotten about thirty minutes of sleep and had to spend extra time on my makeup to mask dark circles under my eyes and razor burn across my chin. The burns on my thighs would just have to heal on their own. Right now, I’m acutely aware of Alexei behind me. Things have definitely changed, and it is my fault. I had purposely gotten drunk.
Why?
My mind spins. I watched him kill three men yesterday. Why would I then get drunk and put myself into a bed with him? Was it some sort of biological mode of self-preservation? Do I want to mean something to him since I know he killed somebody? Or is it that the casual violence somehow ignites something in my blood, something primitive? Or even worse—am I just horny? I’m afraid that may be the answer.
But last night was more than sex. He was right. Even now, in the morning light, I’m too chicken to ask him what he meant by a claiming. I want to convince myself that he was just being dramatic or even romantic, but I know better. Alexei doesn’t mess around. The carefree young man in those videos I watched is long gone.
This man chooses his words with deliberation.
I smooth down my blouse and shiver as a biting breeze snaps at me when I walk outside. Bulbous clouds cover the sky, looking ready to open up any second. A thought occurs to me, and I stop cold.
“What?” He’s right behind me.
“Um, well, I think I should tell you that I’m on the pill.” It’s a little too late to have this talk.
He runs his hands down my arms, his body warming me from behind. “I know. Saw them in your cabinet.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m clean, just so you know. Had a checkup right before being arrested and haven’t been with anybody in seven years.”
Heat spirals into my face. The man either pinched, kissed, licked, or bit every inch of me the night before, andnowI’m embarrassed? I hurry around the corner to where I parked my car at the curb, wishing Alexei would just peel off without a word. I look up to see my beloved vehicle and stop short. “Oh my God.”
He walks to my side. “Go back inside.”
“No.” I hurry toward my now destroyed vehicle. It looks like somebody has taken a bat to it. How had I not heard anything? Heat flushes my face. Oh yeah, I was busy last night. All night.
The windows are smashed in. The tires are slashed, and dents are everywhere. Scrawled black paint very clearly reads, “You will die, bitch.”
Oh my God. I take another step back and look up at Alexei.
