Page 33 of Brutal Monster
His breathing turns ragged, the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath my palms. "Inez," he warns, the word half-command, half-plea.
I hum around him, feeling a fresh surge of wetness between my own legs at the knowledge that I—and I alone—can reduce this dangerous man to desperate need.
When his control finally snaps, it happens in an instant. He yanks me away from him with a growl, flipping me onto my back. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide as he positions himself at my entrance.
"You test my control," he says, his accent thickening as it always does in moments of intense emotion.
I barely have time to draw breath before he drives into me, filling me so completely that pleasure borders on pain. My back arches off the bed as I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into corded muscle.
"Is this what you wanted?" he demands, setting a punishing rhythm. "To make me lose control?"
"Yes," I gasp, meeting each thrust with an upward roll of my hips. "Always."
We move together like we've been choreographed, each of us knowing exactly how to give the other maximum pleasure. Vanya slides his hands beneath me, lifting my hips to change the angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and I pull him in deeper, wanting—needing—to feel every inch of him. The room fills with the sounds of our passion—skin against skin, breathless moans, whispered curses in two languages.
"Touch yourself," he commands, his gaze fixed on where our bodies join. "I want to watch you come apart."
I slide my hand between us, finding the swollen bud of my clit. The dual sensations—my fingers circling, his cock drivinginto me—quickly push me toward the edge. When I hit my peak, I whisper his name, feeling him deep inside as waves of pleasure roll over me. He’s right behind me, his pace shaky as he lets go with a deep moan that sounds like he's finally giving in. For these few special seconds, all our defenses drop—no power struggles, no big egos, just this raw connection that both freaks us out and thrills us. As we start to calm down, he stays with me, his forehead resting against mine. It's a rare moment where he lets his guard down, showing a side that’s usually hidden from the world.
"You're the only one," he whispers, so softly I almost miss it. "The only one who really sees me."
The words settle in my chest, warming places I thought had frozen years ago.
"And you're the only one who doesn't flinch from what I am," I reply, tracing the scar along his jaw.
His smile is slow and predatory in the dim light. "We're cut from the same cloth,milaya."
"Different patterns," I counter, feeling him hardening inside me again, "but compatible."
He shifts his hips, drawing a gasp from my lips. "Very compatible."
The second time is slower, more deliberate—a conversation without words about all the things we're still too guarded to say aloud. In this dangerous world we've built, trust is the ultimate luxury. But with each thrust, each kiss, each shared breath, I edge closer to something I never expected to find.
And I believe it's something worth fighting for.
I manage to get a few hours of sleep, but something wakes me up. The spot next to me is empty, and the sheets feel cold. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and sit up, looking around the dim room.
Vanya stands at the window, a dark silhouette against midnight blue. Moonlight spills across his bare shoulders, highlighting the landscape of scars that map his violent past. He's completely still, hands braced against the windowsill, eyes fixed on something beyond the glass.
I slip from the bed, not bothering with clothes. The marble floor chills my feet as I cross to him. He doesn't turn, but his body shifts slightly, making space for me beside him without breaking his vigil.
"What is it?" I ask, following his gaze out to where the moon lays a silver path across the black water. The ocean stretches endlessly before us, swallowing the horizon.
"I've been thinking about your stepbrother." His voice is low, roughened by our earlier activities.
"Which one? Emilio?" The name tastes bitter on my tongue. "What about him?"
Vanya's jaw tightens. "He's been too quiet."
I lean against the cool glass. "Emilio is licking his wounds. I think he counted on his mother being persuasive enough to convince my father that he should lead."
"That's what concerns me." Vanya turns to me, his face half in shadow, half in moonlight. "He's been systematically stripped of power, influence, and allies. And now he knows about us. He knows that stealing your throne has become twice as hard––nearly impossible. "
The weight of his words settles between my shoulder blades. "You think he'll make a move here?"
"Desperate people take desperate measures when they have nothing to lose." Vanya's fingers trace the outline of a bullet scar on his ribs. "And from what I’ve learned, Emilio has always been a man who believes he deserves more than he has."
