Page 16 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

GISELLE

What the fuck?

What the actual fuck?

I swear the bathroom door was closed when I stepped in. I know that because I always check to make sure it’s closed. But now, it’s open just enough for me to feel a light cold breeze.

That’s not right. The only way I’d be able to feel a breeze would be if my window is open.

But I always keep it closed. Especially now that I know he is out there. And if the window is open, then that means?—

My heart-rate spikes.

No.

No, no, no!

This can't be happening. That’s impossible! He can’t possibly have been in here while I was showering?

But why not?

He's already proven that he can come and go as he pleases in my home. Why wouldn't he be able to stand here in my home?

Was he watching me fucking shower?

I want to scream. It’s one thing to see all of my things be rearranged. To find roses on my bed. To know that he took Serena’s earrings.

It’s another fucking thing to know that he might’ve been here not two minutes ago watching me shower like he has any right to do it.

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!

The towel clings to me for dear life, slipping lower each time I breathe. Steam ghosts across the mirror, but the oval smear where I wipe it looks like a mouth trying to shout at me to run .

G un first, answers second.

I press the towel to my chest and walk over to my desk to grab my pistol. I click the safety off and freeze when I see the single red rose and a note written on my notepad.

KNOCK, KNOCK, LITTLE VIPER.

- R

A rush of terror, and—God help me—thrill rips through my body.

He was definitely here. He was definitely watching me shower.

But… Is he still here?

Then, as if to answer my own question, a loud urgent knock pounds against my door. It’s the same exact knock I heard before I found that box with Ivan Tupolev’s hands inside.

Instinct takes over and I level the gun. The knock comes again, this time driving anger into my marrow.

I’m not fucking scared of you! I don’t care what pathetic little pet you think you’re turning me into. It ends tonight. I’ll make sure you never touch me again.

I imagine the look on his face when my bullet hits him between the eyes. Then this nightmare will finally be over. His grip on my psyche and the swirl of his fingerprints still leeching into my skin will finally fade.

That’s when I hear his voice, low and calm, sawing straight through the door:

“I know you’re in there, little viper. Open the door.”

I tremble and tell myself it’s anger, or maybe fear.

Anything but the third feeling I don’t want to breathe life into.

Gun still up, I walk over and rip the door open.

This time, I finally get a good look at him and he is beautiful.

He fills the frame, taller and broader than my memory can hold. His strong jaw is cut to the perfect proportion, and there are shadows of scars that dot his face. Dirty blond hair frames his face, and a single errant curl drapes over his eyes.

Those eyes.

Glacier blue. Unblinking.

But most importantly, instead of darting down to sneak a look at my body, they stare directly into my soul.

And when he smiles, my heart stops. It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. It’s like he knows a secret that’s meant for only the two of us. I blink stupidly as I look at the way his lips tug up and the crinkles around his eyes.

Suddenly, I don’t want to kill him anymore. I want to jump into his arms and kiss him. I want to feel his hands roaming my wet body while his teeth graze the skin of my neck.

Shoot him, Giselle.

If I hesitate, it’s only because of the corpses he’s left behind so far—men who deserved to die. Men that I wanted to kill.

This can’t keep going anymore.

I won’t let him possess me. I need to put him in the goddamn ground after what he’s done to me.

Because if I don’t, I’ll beg him to trail his lips and tongue all over my neck, and bury himself deep in my head.

No one owns me .

I squeeze the trigger.

Click .

He steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him.

I back up, eject the magazine, and find that it’s loaded. Slamming it back in, I rack, aim, and fire.

Click .

What the fuck is going on? I rack the slide, and see a single unfired cartridge eject into the air in a slow arc.

He continues to walk towards me and I back away. One step. Two steps. In. Out.

I pull the trigger again.

Click.

Click.

CLICK.

The smile on his face widens when my back hits the wall. Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny metal rod, and my heart drops away to my stomach when I realize what it is.

The firing pin to my pistol.

“Tell me, little viper.” His voice is like silk on steel. “What were you planning to do after you killed me?”

My voice dies in my throat. Only the thin towel stands between my naked body and his, and I know he can tear it away in a heartbeat.

He’s already exposed me in every other way.

What’s one more?

“Stay back.” I say helplessly, my voice coming out smaller than I want it.

I search his face for evidence that my voice is doing anything to him like what his does to me.

He gives me absolutely nothing, and I can no longer tell just what the fuck I’m feeling anymore. Is it anger? Fear? Desire?

He reaches out and rips the pistol out of my hand. With a practiced motion, he disassembles my weapon, slides the firing pin back in, and racks another round.

Then, the pistol pushes into my mouth. The taste of metal and oil overwhelms me, and his hand reaches out until it clamps around my throat.

Now I know I’m truly at his mercy.

A slow, dark smile blooms as he starts to work the gun against my mouth.

In. Out.

I hate how helpless he’s making me feel right now.

I hate how wet he’s making me.

And I hate that he’s silent this entire time instead of taunting me.

Because if he taunts me, then at least I can have something to work with. I can find a way to hate him. But this? This exquisite torture where he unmasks just how badly I want him to strip away all sense of control from me as he takes whatever he wants, however he wants?

It’s maddening.

He continues to fuck my mouth with my own gun as his fingers begin to tighten around my throat. The pressure is precise and practiced.

In. Out.

I can feel my arousal starting to run down my legs now. I wonder how he’ll kill me.

Will he choke me to death first? Or will he just shoot me?

In. Out.

That’s when my body betrays me one final time as a tiny moan escapes my lips.

The towel falls away until it pools around my feet, and that’s when his eyes dart down for a moment. Darkness hazes over in his eyes and I know he can see the slickness coating my thighs.

In. Out.

For a single, reckless moment, I imagine him pulling the gun out of my mouth and shoving it into my soaked pussy.

I imagine myself coming against the cold unfeeling metal and that’s when I realize just how badly I want it.

In. Out.

My vision tunnels, and my legs buckle. He presses closer until all space disappears between us. My tight nipples kiss the rough material of his shirt and sends pleasure ebbing through my body. But it’s not enough.

His powerful knees force my legs apart and pin them by my thighs. Cold air caresses my pussy.

The gun presses deeper into my throat, and I can’t stop another moan punching out of my throat against it.

Then my hips start to move, seeking contact with something, anything, to relieve the painful ache of emptiness inside of me.

He shifts, and I feel the powerful muscles of his thigh pressing against my throbbing clit.

My eyes roll back into my head. I hate how good this feels, but I can’t stop my hips now.

Even with the gun deep in my throat, his hand around my neck, the rough material of his shirt rasping against my nipples, and the low grind of his hips giving me just enough to bring myself towards an inevitable orgasm.

His grip continues to tighten, and I start sucking the barrel in earnest now. The world is tilting around me, but all I can focus on is the contact between our bodies. Blackness throbs at the edge of my vision in time with my heart.

I’m going to die, I think. I’m going to die wet for my killer. I’m going to die as I come on his thigh.

Even so, my body continues to betray me. My hips move faster and faster. One moan after another escapes my throat and dies on my lips. I’m soaking the fabric of his pants and his fingers tighten like a steady vise around my neck.

The last thing I see before the orgasm rips through me are his eyes.

Blue.

Blue.

Blue.

I scream against the barrel as I come, and my world fades to black as he chokes the final bit of consciousness out of me.

The last thing I register is his arm catching me as I slip down the wall. He lifts me like a toy someone forgot to put away.

And as he hoists me over his shoulders like a Viking does his conquered prize, I remember what he told me on the phone when I first heard his voice.

It’s not so bad being mine. I take good care of my things

I can only hope he was telling me the truth.