"It is possessive. I'm a possessive man, Shanice. I don't share. I don't do casual. When I claim something, it's mine. Forever." His thumb brushed over my lower lip. "And I want to claim you."
Heat pooled low in my belly. Everything he was saying should've sent me running. Should've made me push him away and tell him he was insane. But it didn't.
Because some dark, hidden part of me wanted exactly what he was offering. Wanted to be claimed. Owned. Possessed by thisdangerous, intense man who looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"That's crazy," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Probably." He smiled. "But you want it too. I can see it in your eyes."
"You're so full of yourself."
"Am I wrong?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, to tell him he was completely wrong and arrogant and out of his mind. But the words wouldn't come.
Mikhail's smile turned predatory. "That's what I thought."
Before I could respond, he moved. Fast. One second I was lying beside him, the next I was pinned beneath him, his body covering mine, his hands capturing my wrists and pressing them into the mattress above my head.
"Mikhail," I breathed.
"You talk too much," he said.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't soft or sweet or tentative. It was consuming, devastating, a claiming of my mouth that left no room for doubt about what he wanted. I moaned, my body arching up into his. He was everywhere, his weight pressing me into the bed, his scent surrounding me, his taste flooding my senses. I tried to free my hands, desperate to touch him, but he held them firm.
"No," he murmured against my lips. "You don't get to touch yet. Not until you're ready to give me everything."
"I am ready," I gasped.
"Liar. You want to give me your body. I want the whole damn package. Baby, I want all of you."
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with possessive strokes. I whimpered, my hips rolling up against him, seeking friction, seeking relief fromthe ache building between my legs. Mikhail growled, low and rough. He shifted, his thigh pressing between mine, giving me something to grind against. I did, shamelessly, chasing the pleasure he was offering.
His mouth moved to my neck, biting and sucking, marking me the way he had earlier. One hand released my wrists to slide under my shirt, palming my breast, finding my nipple and tweaking hard.
"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was asking for.
"Not yet." He bit down on the spot where my neck met my shoulder, hard enough to make me cry out. "You're not ready."
"I hate you," I gasped, even as my body betrayed me, grinding harder against his thigh.
"No, you don't." He soothed the bite with his tongue, then moved to the other side of my neck. "You hate that I'm right."
His hand worked my breast with ruthless precision, tweaking and rolling my nipple until I was writhing beneath him. His thigh stayed pressed between my legs, giving me just enough friction to build the pressure but not enough to tip me over the edge.
I was burning. Desperate. So close I could taste it. Once again he was making me lose my mind and without question of what we were doing.
"Mikhail, please," I sobbed. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need." He released my breast and pulled back, his eyes black with desire. "But you're not getting it. Not today. Not now. I told you, I’ll fuck you when you’re mine."
"What?"
He climbed off me, off the bed, and adjusted himself in his jeans. "Get ready for class. We're leaving in thirty minutes."
I stared at him, my body still thrumming with need, my mind struggling to process what just happened. "Are you serious?"
