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

Chapter 29

hi

Mikhail's POV

The clock ticked a third hour past midnight, and with it grew the budding sprout of insanity, just behind my piercing sight.

In my bed.

She was in my fucking bed.

What was worse, though, was her positioning. As if it was normal to be naked and tangled up between a Russian's sheets. Her hair wet from a shower, probably making my bed smell like strawberries just as much as my bathroom did. 

Not that I wasn't interested in touching her more, but I'd only had enough mind-space to muster out a work call as an excuse to evade her invite into the shower too. It's hard, denying the woman, but by the time I stepped back into the room she was already fast asleep, in one of my t-shirts. As if she couldn't make it any fucking harder. 

I couldn't help but spend some time admiring her, the faint bruises dotting her exposed thighs and shoulder peeking out, the swollen pink of her lips from the eager way she pulled me down to kiss me like she hadn't touched me for weeks. 

And she wondered why I spend so much of my time on pulling out poison-laced retorts from between her lips. When, in fact, the image of her tied up and being fucked had burned itself so deep beneath my skin I'd never get it out. 

I groaned, rubbing a hand down my face. Fuck, what was I doing? Was I gonna spend the rest of the night on this chair, throwing glances her way while she slept?

Think of all the other ways I could've worn her out using a coil of rope and a simple blindfold?

I'd had her cuffed not just for fun, but for my own restraint. That didn't mean shit when I could feel her hands on me from across my own damn room. 

It was already putting me on the brink of psychosis thinking of the adrenaline rush that pushed that boulder down my limits- that fucking look she gave me at the end, making my heartbeat turn into a swamp of shark-infested waters. Demented.

As much as I wanted to keep her, I knew I shouldn't.

I couldn't give her everything she'd ask, everything she needed. 

My hands clenched into fists at the though. A tailored Italian, complete with a few years of education in finance or whatever bullshit astute men delved into, and a handsome facade with enough sex appeal to keep her interested, but also a keen layer of caution towards the potential threats. A name came to mind, and a blue-eyed foreigner with sharp eyes and a tuft of black hair made my brain go haywire.

No fucking way I'd let Xavier Castellano have her. Not in a million goddamn years. Not for a trial-run, not for a few months paid free. He had the appearance of a man in a red and green Christmas present, but then pop went the weasel- he'd ruin her like the darkness I saw behind the cunning blue.

What would make her stay? 

"I'm on the pill."

They were, what, ninety-three percent effective? I glanced at her pliant body underneath the sheets, and ran a hand across my jaw. 

Jesus. Too far.

The moonlight shifted and so did she, until my shirt rid up the remainder of her thighs and exposed her ass. The longer I stared, the harder I got, and the faster my heart pounded. Fucking hell. She's asleep, you bastard. I got up from the chair and tugged my duvet over her body, covering it. Her skin was warm to the touch, soft and sweet like her.