Page 34 of Twisted Cage

I had just decided to walk right up to him and demand he knock off the spy routine when a blond waif strutted up to him, her hands going right to his abs, red-tipped nails flirting with the buttons running up his chest.

She leaned into him and he did nothing to stop it. In fact, the way he smiled down at her told me he very much enjoyed the attention she lavished on him. Intimate. Familiar.

I hated her on sight.

I could see myself slicing off each of her pretty little fingers and shoving them straight up her ass.

She peered up at him through ridiculously fake eyelashes as she pushed her surgically enhanced tits against him, right in his line of sight.

His gaze flickered down for the briefest moment. Curling his fingers around hers, he spun her into his arms solidly before leading her in a slow, intimate dance between them.

Maybe I’d chop his cock off for good measure.

And there was my Pcholka’s fire.

Veronica Ellis. The last woman I’d spent any intimate time with before Nikoletta. A woman who knew the deal. Flirt, socialize, scratch the itch, and walk away until we met again. A distraction to pass the time and nothing more.

A distraction who inspired violence in my girl.

Interesting.

I couldn’t watch anymore. Not without doing something that would get me into a heap of trouble. I climbed the curved staircase and stopped, overlooking the crowd before a sound grabbed my attention.

Moaning.

I danced my fingertips along the wall as I crept closer, the sounds getting more crude. I found them in the atrium surrounded by glass, with the moon and stars winking overhead. The transparent walls overlooked the garden spilling off the grand foyer where the party pulsed with what had to be a hundred guests socializing and drinking below. They drifted in and out the wall of open French doors. At any moment, they could look up.

Wide shoulders blocked my view of her for just a moment. Then he fisted the hair cascading down her back and forced her to turn and face him while keeping her body pressed against the glass.

Her lips parted on a gasp and a satisfied smile tipped his lips as he tilted his head down to study her.

My God, what would that be like? To have Konstantin command me in a bold display of ownership, just daring the people below to glance up and watch him take what belonged to him.

Towering over her, I wouldn’t grip her hair and turn her face to the side to look at me. No, I’d grip her throat, her gulp of excitement rippling against my palm, soaking up her every breath and moan. I’d tip her head back impossibly far, until she balanced on the edge of pain. Until she couldn’t handle another millimeter without breaking. With defiance flaming in her cheeks, her golden eyes blazing, I’d devour her mouth and swallow her cries. I’d consume every ounce of want from her bow-shaped mouth.

My head swam as I panted against the sensations flooding me. Clenching my thighs, I tucked behind the corner, my nipples pressed against the wall barely offering an ounce of relief. I dropped my hot forehead and struggled to control my racing heart.

She cried out and my gaze snapped up. His huge hand held both her hair and the fabric of her skirt against her shoulders now exposing her from her heels to her ass. Legs spread, his hand disappeared between her legs, pulling back just a bit before he drove his fingers into her with a lewd violence I craved.

Pain. He brought her pain, but the kind that had her pushing her hips back, chasing his fingers every time he slid out of her.

My heart climbed straight into my throat. Wetness flooded between my thighs, burning me up. Panting and needy, I watched him take her, own her, and make her scream for him while her palms slapped against the glass and she thrashed in his hold.

My Pcholka liked to watch. I’ll remember that. Oh, I’ll remember that. And in a deeper part of her hid an exhibitionist at heart. She wants to be made a spectacle and I’m all too happy to give her everything she wants.

I’ll give her the illusion of being watched. She doesn’t have to know I’ll slaughter the man who dares look at her while getting thoroughly fucked. Her body, her desire, her every release belongs to me.

Only me.

My cock throbs painfully behind my zipper. Weakness and surrender grips me as I tear myself free from my confines and grip my cock, giving it a series of hard strokes. Dragging my thumb through the cum leaking from the tip, I bring it to my mouth and suck it clean. There’ll be more and I’ll consume every last drop until its rightful place returns to me. In or splattered over my Nikoletta.

Nowhere else will do.

How many fingers can she take? She’d been impossibly tight, but the way she stretched for me—she will again. One finger will bring a whimper. Two, a needy gasp and moan from deep in her chest. Three, the pained cry tearing from her throat will end on a groan of helplessness and lust.

Even then I won’t stop.

My hips have a life of their own, chasing the grip of my hand, begging with every thrust for me to hurry and finish this.

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