Serpentine Desires

The predator

Her eyes were wide—terrified, confused, furious—and I fucking loved it. The way every flicker of fear, every tremble of uncertainty on my little troublemaker's face felt like a shot of adrenaline straight into my veins. A personal drug of mine I couldn't help needing more. Fuck when did it come to this?

The way she looked at me like I was some untouchable force, something dangerous, something she didn't understand but couldn't escape. It was intoxicating.

I stared at her—my little bird. Her hair clung to her skin and the fucking drops of water slid almost tauntingly down the heavenly curves of her body, and for a moment, I lost myself. My mind, always so sharp, so fucking precise, went hazy as I drank her in. The sight of her—bare, soaked, trembling—it did something to me.

God, she was beautiful. More than I could admit. 

Not in the way those plastic, made-up women flaunted themselves. No, my ptichka was raw. Real. Unpolished and fucking perfect. It was torture how her soft, trembling body, all curves and edges, had me trembling too for some dirty reasons. I was the one who broke men like twigs, the one who struck fear into every motherfucker's heart—but this woman? She had me coming apart at the seams.

And the worst part? She didn't even fucking know it.

She wasn't aware of the power she had on me. Not aware that she could have me fly back to Russia in less than a day just because my cock fucking missed her.

I needed her, more than I needed air, more than I needed power, more than I needed control. Fuck, it twisted me up inside, this sick obsession, this hunger that gnawed at my insides like a goddamn animal. But I wasn't just hungry for her body—though, Christ, I'd bury myself in her every fucking chance I got—I wanted her soul. I wanted every thought, every goddamn breath, every beat of her heart to belong to me. I'd settle for nothing less.

I wanted to know what she thought of me.

"Fucking look at you," I rasped feeling her needy cunt dripping on my palm. I moved my hands lower and traced the outline of her throat with the other hand feeling the fragile bones under her delicate skin. I could snap her neck in a heartbeat if I wanted to—fuck, if I so much as twitched wrong—but the idea of breaking her was the last thing on my mind. For once. And that was alarming.

No. I wanted to own her. Consume her. Swallow her whole and keep her inside me until there was nothing left but us.

She fucking undo me.

My grip tightened just enough to make her gasp. Her lips parted, and fuck me, I was so close to slamming my mouth onto hers, tasting every sound she made. But I didn't. Not yet. Not until I'd wrung every inch of control out of her. I could feel it in the air—the push and pull between us. She didn't want to yield, but she would. She'd fucking give in because I'd leave her no other choice.

Because I'm her fucking monster now.

"Say it, Fenochka," I lowly growled. My fingers danced over her wet skin, teasing her nipples and the studs, watching as they peaked under my touch. "Say you're mine."

But she didn't speak. Stubborn fucking woman.

I should've been pissed. Hell, I should've thrown her over the edge and fucked the fight right out of her. But instead? It lit a fire under my skin. That spark in her? That stubborn little refusal to break, no matter how hard I pushed? It drove me insane, and not in the way I thought it would. Oh no, it made me want her more, like some deranged addict craving just one more hit. It fucking did things to me.