Page 51
I crowd him further just to watch the warning flare brighter in his eyes.
I look down at his lips, and I want to—
My phone rings.
I close my eyes, already entertaining several murderous thoughts. Then I glance down at the screen and already know from the name flashing there that I have to go. I wasn’t supposed to kill Maksim, so I’m sure I’m going to get a creative lesson on that.
Ilya looks far too pleased by my irritation. “What, your whores calling you already?”
I lick my lips and slide the phone back into my pocket without answering yet. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
He scoffs. “I am thrilled.”
I let my eyes drift over his mouth one more time and say, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
His glare sharpens. “Take your smug face and leave.”
“Such a rude host.”
He pushes at my chest again, this time with real intent behind it, trying to drive me toward the door.
So naturally I grab the back of his head, and before he can twist away, I pull him in and crash my mouth to his.
He makes a furious sound against my lips and struggles, palms slamming at my chest, shoulder, the side of my neck. I don’t let him go. I kiss him harder, deeper, taking the fight in him and turning it into friction.
His lips are soft for someone so violent.
That fact delights me every time.
I angle his head and taste him properly, slow for one second just to feel the way he trembles, then rougher when he tries to bite back. I swallow the sound he makes and press him back into the edge of the table, one hand tight in his hair, the other braced beside him.
His hands keep trying to shove me away, but every push smears into grip, every angry breath feeds the kiss instead of ending it. I drag my mouth over his lower lip, suck it between my teeth, and bite.
I lick over the bite and kiss him again before he can recover, letting my tongue slide against his.
When I finally let him breathe, his mouth is redder and his eyes are bright with the kind of rage that only exists around me.
Beautiful.
I rest my forehead briefly against his and whisper, “You taste sweeter than anything I dreamed you’d be.”
“Go,” he snaps, voice wrecked and mean.
I grin and let my thumb drag once across his bitten lip. “I was planning to.”
He swats my hand away with murder in his eyes.
I step back at last, ignoring the pull in my side. At the door, I look at him one more time. “Try not to miss me too much, prince.”
He picks up one of the blades from the tray and throws it.
I duck.
It embeds itself in the doorframe an inch from my head.
Then I laugh and slip out.
Ilya
