Nikolai
Rosalind is staring at me with murder in her eyes. I’m used to fear, so this is refreshing.
Still, this pretty, innocent little bird’s going to be taught a whole bunch of fucking lessons. If I’m lucky, she just might like some of them. Behind the hate and want to see me hurt in her eyes is desire, a confused burn of heat, something I’m going to have a wonderful time building, twisting, molding.
She’ll never be able to look at another man without wanting me. She’ll neverwantanother man after me. After she’s mine, after I’ve destroyed her, I’ll decide what to do with her, whether she lives or dies. To be honest, though, I don’t really give a shit.
All I want is to see her father’s worst nightmare up close and personal. His daughter, defiled by me. His daughter, desperate for me. His daughter, ready to spread her legs for me. I want him to know I’ve had every hole. I want him to know she’s marked mine—or worse, that shewantsto be mine.
Then, and only then, will I decide what to do with her.
Right now, the look on her face is riotous, a pouty little glare that should be fucking ridiculous but instead, is all kinds of hot. I wait, because I can tell she wants to say something. What’s more, though, is that she knows she wants to kill meandtouch me. She’s confused, and it infuriates her.
This isn’t my ego. It’s just what I know to be true. The dilated pupils in those blue eyes, the way her tongue touches her dark red lips, the rise and fall of her sweet tits beneath the thin satin slip I put her in. No underwear—I want her to know I touched her. She remembers the kisses and damn if she doesn’t want more. It was in the way she lifted her face, the way her breath caught, the erratic pulse in her throat.
I’m not touching her now, though. Right now, I’m standing, because she’s still sitting, and my height intimidates. Emotions dart over her face, and finally she clasps her hands as she says, “I don’t know you, so you’re wasting my time.”
I don’t answer.
A small frown appears when I stay silent, intelligence bright in her eyes as she fights her emotions. She’s not going to win. I’m going to keep her messed up, like the sweet virgin she is. Funny, I never used to give a shit about virginity. The untouched are more trouble than they’re worth, holding their so-called prize, thinking they’re in love.
But I don’t think this virgin sees it that way.
I’m betting, from her glorified bodyguard to how fucking difficult it was to find her, that she hasn’t really had the chance—on the move, no real connections.
Roles reversed, I’d do that, if I was Steph. Steph wasn’t deadly, no matter what she did. She wasn’t one of us, just like my aunt wasn’t, but Steph’s dead now, and not by my hands, so its just left my sweet Rose.
“You said revenge. We’ve never met, so I don’t see—”
“Rose.” There’s a flash in her gaze, next to all that heat and confusion, and it spikes up her hate. She doesn’t like the name; fucking Rose it is. I smile slowly, the kind that makes people recoil. She wants to flinch; her hands bunch, but she doesn’t move. Breaking her is going to be the highlight of my year, almost as delicious as my revenge.
“Steph never told you who your father was? Who your dead… uncle was?”
She moves from the bed, taking half a step forward, and I can tell fire is boiling her blood at my question. “Who?”
I sneer as I answer. “Mommy dearest? That’s her real name. Your father is a piece of shit. You’re the revenge.”
I move now, slow and deliberate. Her gaze clashes into mine, and it’s pure fucking heat that makes my cock twitch. I can see her nipples under the thin slip, the line of her lower lips where she’s waxed smooth. When she moved, the mid-thigh slip caught a little between her legs and… I lift my eyes. I move closer, trailing a hand down her side to her hip.
“You are mine, Rose. Mine, and if you want to keep breathing…” I slip my fingers down over her hip, her thigh, to the hem of the slip to slowly pull it up. “You’ll do every single fucking thing I say.”
Her breasts heave as she draws in a deep breath, having that fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it—effect of brushing my shirt as they rise. A tiny little sound that might be a moan breaks free from her lips. “And then you’ll let me go?”
I lean in, skimming my lips against the warm soft skin of her throat. “Then I’ll think about letting you live.” I bite down, just hard enough for her to spasm against me and gasp. The slip is at her waist now, and she wrenches back as I brush my knuckles on her abdomen.
I grab her face hard between my fingers and narrow my eyes. “Do not ever fucking pull away from me again.”
She practically spits fire at my face in return. “Or what?”
“You don’t want to know.” I let her go with a rough push and walk to the door. “I’ll see you soon, Rose.”
* * *
Downstairs, I sit, tapping my fingers on my armrests as I sit at my desk.
I wanted to touch her all over when I changed her clothes, as she lay there, unconscious. I wanted to fucking slide my fingers into her pussy, see if she felt as good as she looked. I wanted to lick and kiss and bite and mark hereverywhere.
Of course, I didn’t.