Page 43 of Her Darkest Possession

My eyes flutter close. Heat rushes up my face. And Anatoly's strong fingers begin working between mine, slow and methodical.

He strokes the soft tender flesh gently, and everywhere his finger touches, heat blooms. It runs up along my knuckles, past my arm, and shoot straight towards my heart until I feel it pulsing at my throat and pooling in my belly.

A warm gentle breeze wafts over the top of my head, and a soft halting gasp tumbles from my throat when I feel the heat of his arms envelope me between them.

The breeze caresses the top of my head again and only when I feel his powerful chest bump into my back do I realize that it's not a breeze but his breath.

Heavy. Hot. Straining for control.

When did he move behind me? Or has he always stood there as he continues to stroke and rub my hands?

"Britvochka?" Anatoly's lips scrape against the lobe of my ear, and liquid fire pours into my veins.

Yes… Your britvochka. Your little blade.

I bite down on my lips before a moan can escape. How do I tell him that ordering a man's death made me feel more powerful than I've felt in years? How do I confess to him that after everything that happened to me, after being made to feel so small and insignificant, and after nearly losing everything, that the rush of power is more intoxicating and arousing than anything he can ever offer me?

"Breathe,britvochka." His hot breath tickles my ears, sending goosebumps rising along my arms.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until he said it. I inhale slowly, my body shuddering as I do.

Electricity dances under my skin as oxygen rushes into my lungs. Small shivering bursts course through my body from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. It moves along my arms, tumbles down my spine, and settles in a familiar throbbing pulse between my legs with a delicious yet terrifying familiarity that makes every nerve ending come alive.

His hand, wet and warm, moves up my arms until they settle heavily around my shoulder.

Gentle and overwhelming all at once.

And from each point of contact comes ripples that move through my body with growing intensity. They begin like tiny lightning strikes where his skin meets mine and grow faster and hotter as they ripple outward until I can feel it everywhere.

When his lips brush against my neck, just below my ear, my knees buckle and I lean back into him to seek his heat. His hardness. The terrible and wonderful power he pours into me.

A power that I and only I can hold.

He killed, yes. But he killed atmycommand. There's something primally satisfying about that knowledge.

"You did well," he praises me with his deep voice as he continues to kiss my neck. "You didn't look away."

"He deserved it," I whisper, my voice husky. "He touched what is yours. Tried to fuck what is yours."

"Hmm."

He pulls me closer. His hands are still wet and they leave damp prints on my clothes that do nothing to dull the heat growing between us. I slowly rise until I'm on my tiptoes, and wriggle my ass against his pulsing cock.

"And are you mine,britvochka?" he asks, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Yes…" My body responds before my voice, and I press back against him. "Always."

"Open your eyes,britvochka."

He commands, and I obey.

The image in the mirror shocks me. I look like a mad woman in the reflection. My cheeks are flushed. My lips are red and parted. My hair is wild and messy.

But it's my eyes that scare me the most.

The pupils are so dilated that they make my hazel eyes look almost black. And the longer I stare into that darkness, the more it feels like I'm staring into the abyss.

"Who gets to touch you?"