Page 115 of Ivory Ashes

His lips crash against mine before I can even gasp.

41

VIVIANA

His mouth slams against mine, forcing my jaw open wider so he can taste me. But his lips are soft, tender, teasing.

Like everything with Mikhail, it’s a dichotomy I don’t understand.

I press closer, sliding my tongue into his mouth to try to figure it out… before I remember I hate him.

Then I clamp my teeth down on his lower lip until the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.

He growls and rears back. When he swipes his hand over his mouth, it leaves a trail of bright red blood on his skin. I want him to curse and rage and vent, but instead, he just sighs and asks, “Do you feel better?”

“Hand me the other lamp and we’ll see.”

He grins, but it’s devilish. Dark. His blue eyes are almost black. There’s a dangerous sheen in them I’ve never seen before.

“There are better ways to take out your anger, Viviana.” He thrusts his hips against me. His erection is hard and hot against my stomach. “Want me to show you?”

“I want you to choke while I watch.”

He bands his hand around my throat. “We can take turns.”

Making death sound delightful—add it to the growing list of things about Mikhail that don’t make sense.

Along with why seeing him with another woman only makes me want him more.

From the moment I saw Mikhail, I was drawn to him. Sucked into his orbit. Years later, I’m still out here spinning around him like horned-up space junk. It’s not fair.

“Fine. You first.” I lunge for his neck, but he shifts out of the way. I catch his cheek instead, leaving four red slashes across his face.

He snatches my arm out of the air and gathers it with the other one in his grip. He arches me back, the wood of the bed frame groaning under the pressure.

“Hurting me isn’t going to make you feel better, Viviana.” He presses his teeth into my neck and my collarbone. Then he chases the hurt with his lips.

I hold my breath and try my best to look unaffected even while every nerve ending in my body is buzzing.

“If you want to feel better, I can help.”

“Fuck you,” I growl.

It’s unoriginal, but it’s the only thing I can think of while his breath is hot on my skin and his knee is forcing my thighs apart.

He chuckles softly. “That was the idea.”

He bites the collar of my shirt and pulls. The thin material shreds off of me. There’s no hiding from his watchful eyes now.

My chest is heaving, my nipples pointed and aching against the lace of my bra. Mikhail circles his tongue there, scraping his teeth against my pebbled skin.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathes. “And all mine.”

The words send a zing of pleasure through me, but it’s vestigial. Some leftover remnant of whatever I felt for him this morning.

But now? After he lied to me and sent me upstairs to my room so he could talk things out with his fiancée?

I feel nothing for him.

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