Page 51 of Twisted Cage

He seemed nice enough, good-looking, but the farther we got into the garden, the more he sipped from the flask he’d stolen from his dad, and by the time we made it to the fountain, he’d turned into a raging jackass.

Callum is a goddamned dead man walking. And where the fuck was I when all this was going down? Her sixteenth birthday had been kind of a shit show full of distractions. But also, Vlad wasn’t there, so maybe I was too lax.

Logan stepped in, all affable, with that unassuming smile of his, but the look in his eyes… lethal. It was a quick flash, but holy shit! #Drool

I’m not proud that it’s that look that does it for me, but here we are.

Anyway, with Callum taken care of… meaning leaving with a broken arm, Logan sat me down for a talk, but not in a condescending way.

“What are you up to, Nik?”

I loved how he called me that. Like I could hang with them. I wasn’t just some helpless Bratva princess daddy would be peddling off to expand his power.

“The way it’s going, I’m not going to have my first kiss until my wedding and I just can’t live with that.”

He studied me for several silent minutes. Finally, he sighed and for a second I thought he was going to dismiss me, but then he stood, took my hand, and said, “Your brother would kill me for this… and rightfully so.”

Not. Just. Her. Fucking. Brother.

It’s all burned in my brain from that point on and I cannot stop playing it over and over. I’m not going to sleep tonight. I’m just going to keep hitting the rewind button.

He tugged me to my feet and with his index finger to the underside of my chin, he pushed my mouth closed.

“First rule, find your chill. Don’t look so amazed that someone is going to kiss you. You’re beautiful and smart. It’s not a stretch.”

“No one has dared yet.”

“Yeah, well, kissing you is dangerous. But if the choice is me or another Callum, it’s going to be me.” He took my arms and dipped his head, looking me in the eye. “You’ve been playing with boys. Boys grope. Men, a real man worthy of you, won’t. He doesn’t need to. He can make you feel with nothing more than his hands on your face. If he can’t make you feel by touching you from the neck up, he sucks, and when you’re ready and you go there, the sex will be an even bigger letdown. Anything less isn’t worth your time. Remember that.”

This smooth fucker. But he wasn’t wrong and I really resent the fuck out of that.

When he cupped my jaw, tipped my head up, and grinned down at me, I had no fear, no hesitation, no worry that I’d suck at it and he’d laugh. Because with just that look on his face, he assured me that it didn’t matter what lack of skill I brought to the kiss, he’d control it and it would be amazing.

I could not hate this journal entry more.

He tasted like summertime and lemon. My mouth just naturally opened under his. I wasn’t sure that’s what I was supposed to do, but it felt right. If the way he stepped into me was any indication, it was.

I loved the feel of his fingers flexing on my jaw, like he had to fight the urge to take it farther. I felt powerful and finally in control of my fate.

When his warm tongue slid along mine, I almost fell over. Lightheaded, my skin tight and hot, I grabbed ahold of his belt loops and steadied myself.

The minute I found my balance, though, I walked my fingertips right up his sides, over his ribs, and slid them around his back.

His muscles went rigid under my hands, his kiss deepened, and his dick… welp, let’s just say it was noteworthy. The minute I felt it, he pulled back.

“Remember what I said Nik,” he said before running his thumb along the skin meeting my bottom lip and coming away with a smear of lipstick. “Anything less is not good enough. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want and don’t settle for less than you deserve. Ever.”

I snatch my glass of whiskey, sending it splashing over my hand, and medicate myself with a massive gulp.

So why, if Logan was all the amazing things, did I go home and touch myself with Konstantin in my head, and when I came, his name on my lips???

I swallow hard. My heart hammers behind my ribs. Every rough breath strains my tight chest. The wave of grief from being a voyeur, peering into another time and place, threatens to consume.

Knowing her first kiss was just as shaped by her love and desire for me, means it belongs to me too, even if I wasn’t the first to breach her soft, full mouth.

God, I hate that he tasted her. He had no intentions of pursuing anything with her. This was just a means to an end. A way of making sure her first kiss didn't come from some selfish, clumsy kid who didn’t care about or love her the way she deserved. But did he think about their kiss every time he happened to see her since? Will he continue to think about it when he sees her in the future?

What the hell am I even thinking? Of course he will. How the hell do you look at her and not think about the way she tastes and how she moves under you? How do you forget the sounds that bubble up from deep in her throat when sensation drowns her?

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