Instead, I give that anger from earlier an outlet, and I bite him back.
I sink my teeth into his lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to sting. He jerks with surprise, then growls, a low, lustful sound that turns my blood molten as he jerks my panties to one side and unceremoniously drives his first two fingers into me, hooking me on his hand as he smiles cruelly against my mouth.
“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs. “But you’re not as good of a girl as you think you are,ptitsa.”
I tense at that, but his fingers curl deeper inside of me, moving, and I feel unable to do anything but sink against the shelves, gasping, my toes curling against the hardwood floor as his mouth hovers against mine.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so wet."
My face is flushed hot with embarrassment and lust and need. I grab onto his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers move in slow circles, teasing, building, finding the rhythm that makes my breath catch and my hips move against his hand seeking more.
"Look at me," he commands, as his thumb finds my clit and I whimper, hardly able to breathe. “Look at me,printsessa. Watch while this bad man makes you come.”
His fingers slide in and out of me, curling in that perfect rhythm that no one else has ever found so well. "I want to watch you come apart," he purrs, his accent so thick that I have to strain to understand him. "Want to see what you look like when you lose control."
His fingers move faster, harder. He finds that perfect spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. It feels so good, better than I ever imagined this could. And he hasn’t touched himself. Hasn’t tried to fuck me or put me on my knees. It’s as if this is everything he needs right now, just to have me under his power,caught on his fingers and mewling for him as he pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm.
I try to stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of control, but it's impossible. Not when he's touching me like this, when every nerve ending in my body is on fire. A moan escapes, and then another. I bite my lip trying to hold them back, but he notices.
"Don't," he says roughly. "Let me hear you."
His thumb works my clit faster. It’s too much, and just right, all at the same time. I’m so close, soaking his hand, breathless and desperate to come. Nothing can stop this now, not someone coming in, not me remembering who he is and what he’s done. I’m too far gone. I’d let him finger me in front of all his guards right now if he’d just make me come.
I cry out as I feel my muscles winding tight, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, and he groans.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let go."
I'm close. So close. The tension building low in my belly is almost unbearable. My head falls back against the bookshelf. My entire body is trembling with the effort of holding on.
"Come for me," he says. It's not a request. It's a command.
And I obey. As if his voice is all I need, his demands, my body obeys with a devastating climax.
The orgasm hits like a wave, crashing over me with an intensity that makes my vision white out. My legs give out completely. I would collapse if he wasn't holding me up, his hand still on my jaw, his hand still between my legs working me through it.
I hear myself making sounds—gasps and moans and his name over and over—but I can't stop. I can't control it. I can only ride it out until the waves finally start to subside.
When I can breathe again, I open my eyes.
He's watching me. His expression is raw and hungry, like watching me come apart made him all the more ravenous for me.
He withdraws his hand slowly. I'm still trembling, still trying to catch my breath, as he holds up his hand between us, letting me see my wetness soaking his fingers, webbing between them. Fingers still covered in some other man’s blood.
And then he brings his hand to his mouth, my arousal and someone’s blood coating his fingers. I stare at his hand, the dried blood under his nails, the split knuckles, the evidence of violence mixing with the evidence of what we just did.
His eyes never leave mine as he drags his fingers over his lips, between his mouth and mine, his tongue darting out to lick them clean. He licks all of me off of them, a low groan rippling from his chest as he tastes me for the first time.
It's primal. Raw. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. He holds my gaze the entire time, watching my reaction. Daring me to look away.
But I can’t. I don’t. I feel my breath stuttering in my lungs as he licks the last of me away from his fingers, and then reaches down, taking my hand and pressing my palm against the hard length of him straining against his pants.
"Feel what you do to me," he says roughly. “Feel how fucking hard I am,pevchaya ptitsa.” He moves my hand along his length, his teeth clenched. “Still think I’mgood, deep down?”
I can feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric. Howbig. He’s bigger than any man I’ve ever had before, and as he rubs my palm along him, I feel something else. Is he…pierced?
My face flames hot. I want to pull away, and I also want to explore him. I want to slide him out and see what he looks like.
I feel him pulse against my touch. I can feel the evidence of how much he wants this.
