I moan as he sucks a bruise into the hollow beneath my jaw, and my fingers claw through his hair, yanking just hard enoughto earn a feral sound from his chest. His hips grind against me, and I swear the friction alone could make me come.
“Kon,” I moan, “is this your form of punishment for running?”
He pulls back enough to flash me a feral look. “Running was never the problem,Lisichka.”
He dips his head, his breath ghosting over my jaw, causing my breath to stutter.
“What’s the problem then?” I whisper.
“You made me chase,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin. “And now, I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want you to,” I reply in a wrecked voice.
Konstantin chuckles darkly, dragging his fingers along the inside of my thigh. “Good. Because this? This is only the beginning.”
His fingers slip beneath my knickers, and I cry out, clutching his shoulders as he slides them over my slick heat.
“So fucking wet,” he mutters like a prayer. “All for me.”
I nod, barely coherent. “Always for you.”
His lips find mine again, swallowing the sound I make when his fingers push inside me. His fingers play with me as if he already knows my body. As if he knows just the way to work me to get me off. His palm drags against my clit with each thrust, and my head falls back against the wall.
“You take my fingers like such a good girl,” he growls, his hooded eyes burning hotly.
The rhythm builds, relentless and perfect. My release hits fast and hard, like lightning in my veins and my whole-body bows toward him as I shatter in his arms.
He holds me through it, petting me gently, not rushing or demanding more.
When I finally come down, gasping, trembling, and completely bloody wrecked, he kisses me slower.
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you liked being chased.”
I laugh, out of breath and shameless. “I loved it.”
He groans, a low, desperate sound that makes my stomach twist deliciously.
His forehead rests against mine, and for a second, the air shifts. The bond pulses between us, quieter this time and not so demanding.
It doesn’t feel like a chain anymore, but still . . .
“I don’t trust it,” I admit quietly, not needing to clarify, knowing he feels the same as I do.
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t trust you, either.”
That makes him smirk. “Smart girl.”
But he doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t pull back. He just stays there, breathing me in and holding me steady as if I’m something rare and reckless andwanted.
“I want to learn you,” he says, voice low and certain. “Not just through the bond. Not just because fate said we belonged together. I want to learn what makes you laugh. What pisses you off. What you look like when you cry and what makes you happy. I want to hear you scream in pleasure each time you pulse around my cock and watch the blissful look on your face as I feed it to you.”
My face flames, but I don’t look away.
