Page 48 of Twisted Cage

His warm, spicy scent fills my lungs. With every exhale, his breath brushes over my lips. At his first touch, he transports me right back there, on that altar, him between my thighs, everything I ever wanted in my hands.

Just to end up the only one in the room not in on the joke.

They made a fool of me.

He made a fool of me.

I reach for the knife at my thigh, only to have him anticipate my move. Snatching my wrists, he binds them behind my back with the steely grip of one hand.

His other hand goes to my jaw in a savage hold, forcing my head back and my face up to his.

I drop my head back even farther. He doesn’t get to run this shit.

“I. Hate. You,” I bite out each word, waiting, hoping to see each one cut him deep.

His eyes narrow to slits as he leans in and drags the tip of his nose over the bridge of mine. “I can work with that, Pcholka.” His fingers flex where they hold my wrists, the adjustment relieving the ache. “Hate means you still feel something for me, and I’m just selfish enough to take it.”

He seizes my mouth in a bruising kiss. Tongue sweeping across mine, he steals total control, the way he devours me obliterating my anger and plunging me into overwhelming sensation.

The profound ache I carry finally starts to abate and I hate him for that too. Hate him being the fucking cure to my pain when he is the one who delivered the excruciating blow.

My skin burns to feel his hands on me. Shivers snake up my spine until my scalp tingles deliciously. Head swimming in him, I can’t help but succumb. I’d been the one to push him in that crypt, the one to try his patience in the church.

But here and now, he is the one out of control, helpless to stop himself.

The broken part of me clings to the power in that.

A jagged growl rumbles through his throat, every single hot inch of him pressing into me. His hard chest, thick arms locking me in his hold, his hard cock driving into my stomach, even his feet cage me in, keeping me trapped against him.

Longing makes my eyes burn with hot tears. He resurrects dormant, excruciating memories of safety and love that slash ruthlessly at my heart.

My grip on my indignation slips with every glide of his firm, warm lips–embers of that foolish girl I’d been, flickering to life somewhere deep inside me.

I can’t let him see her. Won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she exists somewhere. To do so will give him power and I am done giving men power over me.

He pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he tastes me as he cups my cheek, this thumb gliding back and forth over my skin.

Lowering his head, he brushes a reverent kiss over the corner of my mouth that has me sucking in a shaky breath.

“Nikoletta,” he whispers.

My gasp ignites something in him and he plunders again, but everything inside me, all the feverish sensations racking my body turn into shards of ice, stabbing through me with a viciousness that threatens to take me to my knees.

I want him to hurt. Need him to bleed.

Pulling back just a fraction, I sink my teeth into his bottom lip and only stop when I taste his blood.

A feral growl rises out of him. He jerks away, but I haven’t let go of his lip yet, so it only makes the gouge on the inside of his lip deeper, longer.

Coiling his fist in my hair, he yanks my head back.

The balm to my pain… the beautifully stunned outrage on his face.

19

KONSTANTIN

The taste of copper fills my mouth, the sting of her bite turning into a throb with a heartbeat of its own.

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