Page 17 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

Desire throbs with a wet aching heat—hot and coppery.

And every step closer to the source makes it taste just a little bit sweeter.

The door swings open soundlessly to reveal Indigo standing with her back pressed against the window, wild-eyed in her wedding dress where the plunging neckline that reaches nearly to her navel.

She stares at me with her full parted lips, and I notice the dark red that smears at the corner. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, and her face flushes pink as those soft hazel eyes look at me.

But in what? Fear? Anticipation? Anger?

I know she felt what I felt the moment our lips touched at the altar. And I know why she bit me when she did.

Not because she wanted to, but because she needed to.

Fuck, I needed her to bite me as well.

If she hadn’t, I don’t think I would’ve stopped kissing her. I don’t think I would’ve been satisfied with just holding her close to me with my hand caressing her face my tongue tracing the roof of her mouth.

Her skin peeks out from the slit running up the side of the dress as she shifts ever so slightly, and my eyes can’t help but glance at the tantalizing flash of caramel, so perfectly contrasted against the white of her dress. Heat rushes down to my cock until it strains against my pants.

Her eyes dart down towards my dick, and she swallows when she sees just what the fuck she’s doing to me. At how crazy she’s driving me.

Trembling heat sears my lungs with every step I take towards her, drawn to her. Like I’m a helpless moth circling towards a flame, oblivious or not caring that it’s about to get burned.

And all I want is to be burned by her.

When I finally look down at her, she lifts her chin and defiance takes shape once again in her eyes. "Have you come to claim your wife? Or to punish her for drawing your blood?”

Her voice is small but even, but the sound of it sends my balls tightening. A drop of wet heat beads at the head of my dick, and I feel my lip tugging up into a wry smile.

"I came to congratulate you."

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, even as the redness of her face now begins to move towards her ears. The two of us are close. So close that I can practically hear her heart thumping against her chest.

I wonder if she can hear mine doing the same.

I point to my bottom lip where her teeth broke skin, and my tongue dart out to taste the drying blood that she drew.

"You’ve done something extraordinary,” I whisper. “Something that even my worst enemies haven’t been able to do."

"I thought you didn’t make enemies?” she whispers. “Only examples.”

"That’s right."

“Am I about to be an example?”

Another shot of heat collects in my groin at her loaded question. My balls ache and grow heavy, demanding relief. My only way of responding is to put my palms firmly against the cool glass of the window. It calms me a little.

But it’s not enough.

She tenses up like she thinks I’m about to wrap my hand around her throat. The floral scent of her hair rises from her like a gentle wind off the sea, and her soft breath tickles my face as she does her best to keep them even.

I lean in close enough to count every strand of her hair.

She doesn’t look away, but continues to meet my gaze even as the moment stretches between us like a rubber-band.

My knee moves and encounters something soft and warm.

And only when her lip starts trembling do I realize that I’m nudging at her thigh.

“I asked you a question,” she says.

I run my tongue across my teeth, and something slowly unfurls in my belly.

It would be so easy to lose control with her.

But I don’t want to.

Not until she begs me to.

“And if I say yes?” My knee continues to nudge at her thigh. Her skin is warm against mine.

“Then I’ll make you fucking regret it,” she snarls through gritted teeth.

My hands start to lower. Without breaking eye contact, my fingers find hers. To Indigo’s credit, she doesn’t try to jerk out of my grip. She just stares back with that defiant gaze that I want to extinguish and commit forever to my memory.

I step closer, and through the fabric of my pants, I can practically feel the bumps of pale scars crisscrossing her skin against my knee. Her lips part with a gasp, and I lift her hands slowly until they’re over her head and pin them against the glass.

Then, I press both wrists under a single palm to free my other hand so that I can caress her face again.

This time, it draws a small shiver from her.

"And how will you make me regret it, printsessa?” My voice is deadly calm despite the storm pounding in my heart. “Will you bite me again?”

Her eyes widen slightly before narrowing again. "I’ll bite your fucking dick off."

Fuck, this woman.

"I expected nothing less." The corner of my mouth twitches. "But I'm not here to force you."

Her disbelieving laugh echoes between us. "You expect me to believe that when you've got me pinned against the glass?"

"I do,” I continue as if she hadn't spoken. "I won’t fuck you. Not until you beg me to do it."

"And if I never beg?" She jerks against my grip to emphasize her point, but I lace my fingers through hers above her head to keep her still.

“Then I’ll never fuck you.”

“That simple?”

“That simple.”

The heat continues to rise between us and our eyes remain locked in silent battle, daring the other to back down first. I lean in closer.

She doesn’t shy away anymore. My knee shifts her thigh further apart.

A soft breath tumbles from her throat. Then, almost as if it’s unexpected to both of us, she starts parting her legs slowly to let me step into her inviting warmth.

Slowly, she unpeels herself from the window against her back and moves forward until every point of her body is pressed against mine—tits, hips, and thighs. Her soft pink lips are inches away from mine. And every moment they’re not against mine is burning me the fuck up.

“In that case,” she whispers, every soft syllable from those perfect lips stoking the fire between us hotter and hotter. “Do your fucking worst.”

I sink to my knees like a man in worship, keeping my eyes locked with hers as I lower, and inhale as I pull her panties down with a gentle but firm tug.

The dress and her heels stay.

There’s power in making her fall apart without stripping her completely bare. My mouth waters as I part her pussy with my thumbs and dip my head.

My hands glide up her calves, and my fingertips trace the backs of her knees. Inch by inch, her dress rides up and bares her thighs. And I see those scars crisscrossing her bronzed caramel skin, and I feel a possessive rage burning up inside of me again.

"Who did this to you, printsessa?" I brush my lips over the first scar, a thin white line just above her knee.

Indigo's fingers curl against the wall behind her. "Why do you care?"

"Answer me." I trace my tongue along a deeper mark, feeling its ridged texture.

Her voice catches. "No."

I pause, lifting my head to meet her gaze. "You think your silence protects you?" Another kiss, this time to a crosshatch pattern near her inner thigh.

She trembles but remains silent, her jaw clenched tight.

This stubbornness both frustrates and intrigues me. Most people—men and women—break under my attention. They confess, they plead, they crumble.

But not Indigo. Never Indigo.

She stands firm, defiant even as I worship the evidence of her pain.

I lift my eyes to hers again and what I see sends heat coursing through my veins. There’s a fire blazing in those soft hazel depths.

My cock engorges and strains against my pants. But I made her a promise. I won’t fuck her until she begs.

"You think you can keep your secrets?" I murmur as I part her legs and pin her against the window. "I will know everything about you, Indigo."

My tongue gives her pussy a gentle lick, and I taste the hint of her sweet wet surrender. It’s the flavor of everything she’s been resisting. Everything I’ve been holding back from taking.

She rewards me with a small gasp. But she doesn’t beg.

“What you want.”

I map her with my tongue, slow and relentless, learning what makes her breath grow uneven and her thighs tremble. Every breath, every whisper, every tiny movement belongs to me, and I collect them like a treasure to hide in my lonely thoughts.

But she still won’t beg.

“What you hate.”

I lick a line along her thigh, and feel the bumpy path of the scars that I want to fucking erase before I return to feast between her legs.

I pull back and watch her chest rise and fall above me. Her breathing grows shallow, but that fire in her eyes refuses to dim. Her mouth is still drawn in a stubborn line, and I can practically hear her teeth clenching even from where I kneel.

"And when I learn his name." I start kissing along her thigh. "I will give you his hands."

She looks down at me with the same intensity that looked at me at the barbershop when she had that razor around my throat.

She pants.

But doesn’t beg.

“Have it your way, printsessa.” I smirk, my eyes never leaving hers. “You don’t need to talk. I’m fine with hearing you scream.”

And that’s the final warning I give her before I close my mouth against her soaked pussy.