Page 62 of Vows in Violence

I watch, heavy-lidded, as he strips himself of his shirt, then unbuttons his pants. His cock rises, thick and ready, between the plackets of his pants, and I feel an answering wetness dampen my panties. His hands grip my knees almost painfully as he holds them for a moment, then wrenches them apart. He slides his palms up the skin of my thighs, pushing my gown out of the way.

My heart pounds in my chest, heat flushing through me. I want to reach for him, to touch him, but instinctively I know that’s not what he needs tonight.

For whatever reason, Ivan needs control right now. Mastery.

Ivan’s hands continue their rough journey, kneading my flesh through the silk of my gown until he places them beside me, his fists balling into the coverlet.

Leaning over me, he nuzzles his face into my neck and drags his nose along my skin, inhaling deeply. His arms bracket me, the muscles of his forearms cording with the intensity of his posture. Lifting his head, he meets my gaze across the length of my torso.

“I won’t be gentle tonight, pet.” The words are a low rumble, the timbre primal and beastly. They make the hair rise on my arms, and my stomach clench with need.

“I don’t need gentle,” I manage.

His eyes darken with approval and lust, and he lowers his head once again. He bites the side of my breast, not hard enough to break the skin, but firmly. “Good.”

There are no words after that. His hands grip me, hard and sure as they shove my gown out of the way and rip my panties down my hips. He twists me beneath him until I’m face down on the bedding, pushing my shoulders down with one hand as he lifts my hips with the other, and I feel the fabric of his pants scratch against the backs of my thighs an instant before he drives his cock home, sliding me up the mattress with the force of his thrust.

I cry out, but not in pain. Never in pain. It feels too good.

Ivan yanks me back against him, pulls almost all the way out, and shoves himself back in again.

One hand moves to grip the hair at the base of my skull and hold me in place, and then he sets a punishing rhythm.

I should hate what he’s doing to me, how he’s holding me down andfuckingme, especially after our tender lovemaking the time before…but I don’t. Irevelin it.

He owns me, body and soul. I am his, and he is mine.

My breath quickens, and when he reaches beneath me to thumb my clit, I climax hard and fast.

With a groan, Ivan follows moments later, his big body collapsing over mine and pushing me flat into the mattress. His hand loosens its grip on my hair, moving to stroke it softly, and I feel his lips ghost against my shoulder before he withdraws from my body and rolls to the side.

Afterward, he cradles me against him as he stares at the ceiling, a slight smile on his face while he catches his breath.

“That was nice,” I murmur. From where I recline against his chest, I raise up and kiss him.

“Nice.” He grunts. “I did something wrong.” Pulling himself into a seated position, he pulls me onto his lap and kisses me, his cock already hard at my core and his touches getting rougher. Something clicks suddenly, my memory sliding back to a night at the Romanov mansion. I remember him being this way with me, before.

I remember that most of the time, when Ivan was like this, he had had to wash blood from his hands before he began.

I pull away from his questing lips and hands, but undeterred, he returns to kissing my neck. Placing my hands on his chest, I push him back.

“Ivan, wait.”

“Shh, pet,” he shushes me, pulling me to him again.

“No—” I flatten my palm over his heart and sit upright on his lap. “Ivan, stop.”

When he realizes that I’m serious, he stops.

My eyes meet his, searching. “You’ve killed someone.”

He laughs. “Not entirely.”

My fingers curl against his chest. “What does that mean?”

Ivan sighs. “I’ve been asked by your brother-in-law to make use of my expertise. We are trying to crack Azrael.”

“The gift?”

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