Page 27 of Solemn Vow

But the way he’s looking at me, like a lion ready to devour the antelope, suggests he has no plans to leave yet.

“You don’t have… I mean you were just kidding.”

His thumb skims across my jaw, and then he slides his hand behind my neck, beneath my hair until his fingers curl into a fist at my scalp. He pulls my head back, exposing my throat.

“Viktor…” I lose my concentration the moment his tongue touches my skin and glides up my throat, over my chin and he covers my mouth with his.

He presses his mouth harder against me, turning my body and walking me further into the room. I fist his shirt to keep myself from tripping. At least that’s what I tell myself.

When the back of my knees hit the bed, he releases my hair and breaks off the kiss.

“On the bed,moy sladkiy voin. I don’t like repeating myself.” He stares down at me with a darkness that should send me running for the door. Instead, I find myself sinking onto the bed. “Good girl,” he grins.

“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to loosen the hold he seems to have on me.

We can’t do this. He’s my best friend’s husband’s cousin. Surely, there’s a rule about that sort of thing. Aside from that fact, he’s possessive when there’s nothing to be possessive over. If I let him in my bed, it will only encourage him.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he grumbles. “Take off those clothes.”

“If it’s my reward, shouldn’t I get to pick? Maybe a nice dinner out?” Am I really trying to negotiate with a Russian mobster?

“I will take you to the best restaurant in town, tomorrow night. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll have to help you, and I’m not in the mood for being gentle.”

He reaches for the hem of my shirt. It’s old; I got it at a thrift store last summer.

“Okay! Okay!” I don’t exactly have the funds to be replacing clothing because the insanely hot, irritatingly bossy man destroyed a shirt.

I pull the shirt over my head. Hoping it’s enough, I look back up at him. His dark eyebrow is peaked over his left eye and his lips are pinched together in a line.

His patience, what little he seems to possess, is waning. I shuck off my leggings and kick them to the foot of the bed.

When I check back on him, he’s standing beside my bed nude.

Holy fuck.

The man has tattoos everywhere. His pecs are covered, his perfectly shaped abs, his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms.

But it’s the muscle beneath the ink that has my mouth watering. This man could break me with a flick of his wrist.

Suddenly, the harshness of the spanking he gave me earlier doesn’t seem so harsh. He held back, I think.

A lot.

My eyes slowly drape down his body.

I snap my thighs shut.

I’m not a virgin, haven’t been for many years, but I suddenly wonder if I’ve ever seen a man naked before. Because none of the men I’ve been with have been so… much.

“Your bra and panties are still on,” he says as he climbs onto the bed, one knee then the other.

I scoot back from him until my back hits the wall. Then there’s nowhere else to go.

My eyes are fixed on the sensual darkness of his features, so it doesn’t register to stop him before he grabs hold of my bra and tears it down the middle between my breasts.

“Viktor!” I snap out of my haze and look down at the mess he’s made of my bra. My last good bra.

“I warned you.” He wraps his hands around my thighs and yanks me until I’m flat on my back.

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