Page 52 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

And that darkness calls to something in me I didn't know existed. Something that's been buried under years of moving from foster home to foster home, of never letting anyone get close enough to hurt me when I inevitably had to leave.

Nick pulls back just enough to look at me, his green eyes dark and unreadable. "You want this."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I shouldn't."

"That's not what I asked."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "Yes."

His expression shifts and I see satisfaction in his eyes. He straightens, pulling me up from the couch with him, and walks me backward until my spine hits the wall beside the window. The impact isn't hard, but it's deliberate, reminding me exactly who's in control. The cool plaster presses against my back through my sweater, grounding me even as everything else spins out of control.

His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with surprising gentleness. "You're scared of me."

"Yes."

"Good." He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, making my legs go weak and hot arousal pool between my legs. "You should be."

The words should terrify me. Instead, they send heat pooling low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like liquid fire. There's something intoxicating about his honesty, the way he doesn't pretend to be anything other than what he is. He's not trying to seduce me with false promises or gentle lies. He's telling me that he's dangerous and letting me choose anyway. That choice, twisted as it is, feels better than anything I've experienced in years.

His hands move down my body, sliding under my sweater and pushing it up. The rough calluses on his palms scrape against my skin, sending shivers through me. I lift my arms automatically, letting him strip the sweater off and toss it aside. The cool air hits my skin, making me shiver, but Nick's hands are warm as they trace the curve of my waist, his fingers pressing into my flesh. I'm acutely aware of how exposed I am now, standing in just my bra and yoga pants while he's still fully dressed. The imbalance should make me feel vulnerable, and it does, but there's power in it too. Power in being wanted this badly.

I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his long black hair. The strands are softer than I expected, silky between my fingers, a contrast to everything else about him that's hard and dangerous. He's still fully dressed while I'm standing here half-naked, and the imbalance makes me feel exposed in a way that's both uncomfortable and thrilling.

Nick's mouth moves lower, kissing down my collarbone to the swell of my breasts above my bra. His stubble scratches against my skin, a delicious friction that makes me gasp. His hands work the clasp, and then the fabric falls away. He steps back just enough to look at me, his gaze traveling over my body, and I feel everywhere his eyes touch. I fight the urge to cover myself, to hide from that penetrating stare.

"Nick—"

"Quiet." His voice is low, commanding, and I fall silent immediately. The authority in his tone sends another wave of heat through me, and I hate how much I respond to it. How much I want to obey. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of my breast before his thumb brushes over my nipple. The touch is light, almost teasing, and I bite my lip to keep from making a sound.

"I want to hear you," he says, his eyes meeting mine. "Don't hold back."

Then his mouth closes over my nipple, and I cry out. The sensation is electric, shooting straight through me and making my hips jerk forward. Nick's hand grips my waist, holding me still against the wall while his tongue works in slow, deliberate circles that make my head spin. The wet heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool air on my other breast, and the combination is overwhelming. I can feel every nerve ending firing, every sensation amplified by the intensity of his focus.

My fingers tighten in his hair, and he makes a low sound of approval that vibrates against my skin. The sound is primal, possessive, and it makes my core clench almost painfully with desire. He switches to my other breast, giving it the same attention while his free hand slips behind the waistband of my yoga pants, and then his hand is inside, cupping me through my underwear.

"Already wet," he murmurs against my skin, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. "You want this as much as I do."

I can't deny it. My body is responding to him in ways I can't control, heat building between my thighs as his fingers stroke me. The pressure is perfect, maddening, but at the same time not quite enough. When he pushes my underwear aside and touches me directly I gasp, my head falling back against the wall. His fingers are rough and calloused, and I whimper at the texture against my sensitive flesh.

"Look at me," Nick commands, his voice rough.

I force my eyes open, meeting his hungry gaze. He watches my face as his fingers slide inside me, his thumb circling my clit with perfect pressure. His green eyes never leave mine, holding me captive as surely as his body does. I can see myself reflected in those eyes.

"Nick," I breathe, my hips moving against his hand. My tone is needy and urgent as I squirm against his hand. I want more. My body is demanding more.

"That's it." His voice is rough, strained. "Take what you need."

The pleasure builds quickly, coiling tight in my belly. Nick's fingers work with ruthless precision, finding every spot that makes me gasp and moan. His thumb circles faster, his fingers curling inside me, and I'm so close I can barely breathe. When I'm right on the edge, he pulls his hand away.

I make a sound of protest, but he's already moving, stripping off my yoga pants and underwear in quick, efficient movements. Then he's lifting me, and my legs wrap around his waist automatically as he carries me to the bedroom. His hands grip my thighs, supporting my weight effortlessly, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against me through his pants. The friction makes me moan, and I bury my face against his neck, breathing in the dark and dangerous scent of him.

He lays me on the bed, and I watch as he finally undresses. His shirt comes off first, revealing the tattoos that cover his chest and arms; dark ink that tells mysterious stories I'd like to one day discover. Cyrillic script curves along his ribs, and a wolf's head snarls from his left pectoral, its eyes seeming to follow me. Abstract patterns wind down his arms from shoulder to wrist, the designs intricate and beautiful. His body is all lean muscle and hard edges, his abdomen ridged with definition. Scars mark his skin in places that make my throat tight, realizing just how close he's come to death. A long scar practically bisects his ribs, another near his collarbone, and a third on his shoulder.

When he's completely naked, I can't help but stare. He's beautiful in a harsh, dangerous way. His cock is hard and thick, standing at attention, eagerly waiting to plunge inside me. My mouth goes dry at the sight, my core clenches, and heat builds almost unbearably. There's no softness to him anywhere, nothing gentle or safe. He's a weapon, and I'm about to let him inside me. Shouldn't I be terrified of allowing such an invasion? Maybe I should, but instead it turns me on even more.

He climbs onto the bed, settling between my thighs. His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, and then he's pushing inside me in one slow, deliberate thrust that makes us both groan. The stretch is intense and perfect, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders.

"Fuck," Nick breathes, his forehead dropping to mine, his breathing hard and hot against my skin.