Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 24

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Mikhail's POV

I was fucked.

Unconditionally, thoroughly, fucked.

My hand clenched around the wheel of my car, and her cloying, treacly smell filled the expanse of the front. I glanced and caught the side of a solemn expression as she looked out the window, glowing-blue from the city lights making her wet hair gleam. 

Obsessive thoughts pulsed in the places her marks lay on my skin. Neck, chest, fucking everywhere. Little spots on my skin that felt hot against my shirt, and made my heart rate speed up the longer the image of her in my shirt made heat rush to my groin. I was hard for her again. I shifted in the driver's seat.

No one's had this effect on me. Sweat was only supposed to run down my back when I slammed my fist into a man's face, not when an Italian princess occupied a space inches away. Italian, for fuck's sake.

It was like trying to stop an addict's addiction, and she was the best hit I'd ever goddamn took.

It wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to clean her up. 

But once she'd turned around with nothing but pink lace and looked up at me, doe-like eyes shining bright with that fucking look, I couldn't do anything else except show her what I thought of it. Lick her all over, taste her skin and mark her with my teeth. My jaw ticked as the image of her wet, sprawled across the shower's wall, made my chest go uneven with irritation. I fucked her. Again.

She had a God-given impulse to listen to every single goddamn thing I said. I won't lie and say I didn't like it.

I saw the way her pulse fluttered as I had her in my lap and she pretended to act focused cleaning the cut on my brow. How, even with my dick in her hand, the slight twinge of submission behind the confidence in her eyes had told me she knew the truth- I was in control. I always have been. 

And she'd looked at me different. The light in them resembled the somewhat ugly saint of hope. 

I didn't fucking make love and she knew it. But, with her naked body still in my hands, water like pearls against her slightly pale skin, I hadn't bothered kissing her like that sentiment didn't mean shit. 

And the way she trusted me, let me do whatever the fuck I want without hesitation, made something like regret twinge my chest each time the sound of her steady breathing filled the car. Clank. I looked to my right and saw her head pressed up against the window, eyes shut.

My hand tightened around the wheel, itching to angle her neck better. But I stopped myself before this pulse under my chest got the better of it. The limits I'd crossed.. they were nothing short of destructive. She'd ruined me, one might say. Won me over, when I'm the one who known for it. 

And now, as her lips were parted in the softest, peaceful expression I'd ever seen, I didn't know what the fuck I was gonna do. 

I'd been telling her this whole time, she wouldn't escape me. How I wouldn't stop until she was mine. To keep. To have for myself. I was struggling to remember why I didn't think of the opposing consequences. No part of me would've expected to drown in this ocean of endless pink, sweet-pleading moans, and that little 'please' everytime she wanted my dick as bad as I wanted her. 

The obsessive part of me- the one that took note of her every move, drank in every word that spilled out of her pretty mouth, didn't give a fuck about the consequences. Having her to myself would only make its life ten times better. It would throw all the factors aside and hand me her on a silver platter.