Page 35 of Runaway Queen

His gaze stayed on me. He looked like he was having the time of his life. His mocking eyes swept down me, taking in my rumpled silk shorts and thin cami top. The hunger in his look made it hard to breathe.

“Come on, Sofia. Call the cops. I won’t stop you. Send me back to prison. It would be so easy. I’ll even confess to harassing you.”

What the hell? It wasn’t enough for Nikolai to fuck with my safety and body, but he had to mindfuck me, too. He was still the man who had crawled so far inside my head, I’d never been able to get him out.

He pushed himself off the wall and approached.

“Don’t come closer.” My warning was muted at best.

He tilted his head to the side. He had a predatory grace that was stronger than ever. “I don’t see you calling the cops,lastochka. Are you sure that’s smart?”

“Maybe I just want to finish you myself and put you in that box you left so handily in the woods.”

Nikolai laughed. There was something jagged in that sound. It wasn’t quite right. He stopped in front of me and spread his arms open. “Go ahead then. You won the game. You got out of my little box. Hurt me back.”

My throat was so dry it ached. My arm hurt from holding it out before me for so long. Nikolai advanced until the point of the knife pressed into his chest, just above his heart.

“Can you still remember how it feels when the blade slides in? If I’m going to die, it’s only right that you should do it. You sliced up my face when we were kids, then you cut out my heart and left me to bleed to death for seven years. It’s only right that you should finish the job.”

His words struck me hard. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes.

“Take your shot or stop pretending that you can.” His words were too hard for the look in his eyes.

His hand slowly closed around the knife, and he tugged it out of my hand. He was right, after all. I couldn’t hurt him. I deserved his wrath. Every single second. The guilt that had plagued me clung on to his hurt. He tossed the knife away and moved closer, his gaze dropped over me again.

His hand came to my chin, and he tilted my head back, so my eyes never left his, then dropped his grip to my neck. He circled my throat, pressing lightly at the sides. His gaze slid lower, to my chest, scouring across my breasts.

“Your nipples are hard. Are you that cold?” His finger rose to one of the tight peaks, pressing through the thin silk of my top.

I flushed, embarrassed by the evidence of how my body reacted to this man, even when he was threatening my life.

His finger traced a circle around my nipple, and I shivered.

“I can feel your heart beating,” he muttered, his fingers against my pulse.

He stepped closer to me, resting his forehead against mine. His fingers closed on my nipple now, pinching. The touch rode the line between pleasure and pain. His breath was hot on my forehead, and my eyes closed for a second, enjoying his volatile touch. I didn’t know what the hell he was going to do next. I should be more scared than I was. I’d clearly lost my goddamn mind. Maybe Chiara was right, it was dangerous to go too long without sex. The hormones had messed with my survival instincts.

His hand closed over my entire breast, squeezing it just the right amount to make my knees weak. Thoughts of this man had kept me company in my cold bed for so long, that now, his touch was all my fantasies come true.

He kept one hand on my breast, and the other hand landed on my stomach, pressing lightly against me and sliding down the way. How could I have gone from terrified and furious to wet and desperate so quickly? I really was as crazy as him. He tugged at the elastic waist of my shorts, snapping it against my skin.

“Last chance to call the cops on me, prom queen. Take it or leave it.”

His hot breath burned my cheek. My face tilted up without my consent. It wasn’t Nikolai doing it, but my own desire.

I felt his smirk against my skin as his hand dropped lower, sliding between my legs.

I was embarrassingly wet and had no panties on to hide behind. He pulled the shorts down by the gusset, and they went easily, pooling in a silk puddle around my ankles. His hand delved between my legs, long fingers finding my clit before stroking down my slit. Then he thrust two fingers inside me. The sudden stretch hurt, but not in the way that made me want to stop him. It felt good to be ruthlessly touched like this. Any touch of his felt good.

My head fell to his shoulder, and he jammed me against the wall to keep me up. His thumb rubbed my clit relentlessly, and his fingers worked inside me, so thick and long, my pussy drooled over them, trying to suck them deeper.

His hand picked up speed, finger-fucking me fast now, and only the wall and his hard body kept me from falling. I was holding his shoulders, my legs awkwardly splayed as I was chased toward coming. I could feel it, the first twinges of a hard orgasm rushing within reach. Just as my pussy clenched, he pulled his fingers abruptly from me. I cried out. It was disappointment, not pain. My eyes snapped open, and I glared up at him. He leaned a hand on the wall, and the other the one that had been inside me, he brought to his lips and cleaned with his mouth.

“Do you think you deserve to come, Sofia?” His deep murmur made me shake.

Embarrassment scorched me, and my hand was flying for his cheek before I could rethink the wisdom of such a moment. He caught my hand before it could land, and only more embarrassment filled me. I pushed at his chest, trying to get some space between us. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. As I twisted madly, my bare foot slipped on the polished wood floor, and I fell.

I never met the floor, however. Nikolai somehow managed to cushion my faceplant, getting his knees under me just in time. I twisted away from him, kicking at him with my legs. He was laughing. The bastard. Whatever I’d hoped to come off as, if we ever met again, it wasn’t a desperate housewife who exploded at the first touch of a man. My pride had gone out the window. My dignity was lying at the bottom of that half-dug grave.

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