Page 23 of Wrath
“There’s something he needs that only you have. Don’t give up on him, Misha,”Evan had said.
Naturally, she’d run back to her apartment in the city like a scared little girl and planned to go out clubbing all night. She didn’t do relationships, and the predicament she was in was the perfect reason why. But this wasn’t a relationship. This was one last night of pleasure before she was pushing up daisies. She could relieve her aching body. He could do the same. Then they could go their separate ways.
“You’re going to ignore me?” Misha stepped closer. His silence only encouraged her. “C’mon,koteczek. Time to play one last game before you go.”
She hoisted his duffel bag over her shoulder and headed to the steps leading up to the apartment over the garage. Without waiting to see if he followed, she took them two at a time until she burst through the front door.
She had his bag. He couldn’t leave without it,so there.
Jumping onto the bed, she scooted the bag behind her, and waited. She supposed she could spend her last few minutes trying desperately to find another solution to the Dimtiri problem. She’d even considered imploring Wyatt for help. He had crazy mad strength and skills. He’d put those two in the hospital, after all. Alek had said he didn’t even break a sweat. But no man was a match for Dimitri’s resources.
Anastasia had phoned her after she heard about Misha’s beating. She’d warned her that coming back to the club wouldn’t be the same. Dimitri had new blood—freaky white robed and masked soldiers—who were in and out of the club, leaving pure white, returning splattered in blood. Something was going on. Dimitri was flexing his metaphoric Bratva muscles. No one was safe.
When the sound of heavy boots pounded the steps, Misha almost squealed in excitement. She wanted this release so badly, sheneededit. Her nipples were already hardening beneath her tiny crop-top. She didn’t want to spend her last hours crying over her situation. She was going out with a bang… or two.
When he crested the doorway with anger filled eyes, she hesitated.Maybe this is a bad idea.
He pounced, fingers encircling her ankles, dragging her toward him on the bed. She bumped down the coverlet, reveling in the sensation of the smooth fabric on her already sensitized body. She nimbly twisted out of his hold and scrambled back to the end of the bed, turning toward him at the last moment with a challenge in her eyes.
He lunged, but she kicked him back with a foot to his chest. It was like kicking a brick wall. But he yielded. He retreated to stand at the foot of the bed and gaze down at her, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching, pupils dilating.
Yes, Wyatt. Get excited.
His fists flexed at his side, as though he were testing his strength. Maybe he worried he’d hurt her.
“I assure you, I can take whatever you dish out.” It wouldn’t be any worse than what she’d suffered already.
Those sapphire eyes narrowed darkly, hotly, landing heavily on her lips. Oh, he definitely considered. To give him a nudge in the right direction, she licked her lips seductively.
“Come and get me,” she teased.
Eleven
Misha sat against the headboard,eyes round and bright, blond ringlets wild and free. She wore knee-length gray yoga pants and a tight crop top that barely contained her generous breasts. So fucking beautiful, Wyatt couldn't move his eyes away.
He was hard the moment she’d stolen his bag and run off. Now he was agonized. Zippers and erections weren’t a good combination.
Grinning, her eyes roamed down his body to where he strained. Hot desire washed over her features, and,hell, it made his cock twitch with want. But the damned thing was, while his body wanted—needed—to take her with a crippling desperation, his heart screamed for him to leave. Get on his bike, hit the road, and never come back. Fuck this bullshit. Fuck being led by his cock into more heartache.
Time to play one last game before you go.
Her teasing words resounded in his memory, reasoning with him. This woman was different. She only wanted one night. One time. But with each instinct telling him to take her, to fuck her until they both ached, there was another voice saying she would hurt him, just like Sara.
Misha purred like a cat and made a kissy face at him. “What are you waiting for?”
He launched across the bed. It collapsed under his strength and she squealed.
Shit. He broke the bed. Face hovering inches over hers, he looked into her expectant eyes. Even if this was a one-off, he wouldn’t be responsible for damaging her… perhaps worse. He could actually kill her with his disregard. He was trained better than that. Until he got a hold on his ability, he had to be careful.
He never got a chance to try because Misha’s swift fingers unbuttoned his fly, springing him free. Before he formed a coherent thought, her cold hand wrapped around his shaft, shooting waves of pleasure through him. Unbidden, he groaned, and she responded with her own.
“That’s right,” she murmured. “This is for me. I want it. Give it to me.”
Fuck, the way she moaned in appreciation, the way she moved her hands, gliding along his length. His vision blurred, his balls tingled. Everything went—
No.
He pushed away and sat back on his haunches. Her cheeks were stained pink, and she glared at him with defiance, but he’d made up his mind. He got off the bed and zipped himself up, clearing his throat.
