Page 21 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

GISELLE

“Why these earrings?” Fingers from his other hand trace the lobe of my ear where the earring should sit, before they slide to the back of my neck and hold me firmly in place.

Not to hurt, but to control.

“I've figured out everything else about you, little viper. You're not someone who collects pretty things. Everything about you is rough, bitter, and angry." He takes a slow, shuddering breath, as if he's savoring the taste of my anger and arousal. “Everything but these. Why?”

Somehow, watching him hold my sister’s earrings in front of me is a deeper violation than him stripping me bare. My clothes he can take. My body he can touch. My dignity he can erase.

But Serena's memory belongs to me.

And me alone.

"Give them back to me." The words lunge from my throat.

"Tell me why first." His grip tightens.

My heart pounds against my ribs. Anger floods in, scalding everything else away: my fear and my need.

"Some secrets," I bite out. "You will never have."

To my surprise, he accepts that answer and releases me.

“Secrets,” he echoes.

Then, the hand holding the earrings reaches forward and tucks them into my back pocket. His palm burns me like a brand as he does.

Why doesn’t he press harder? Why do I want him to?

For a second, I wonder what this feels like to him. If he wants me, really wants me, or if I’m just something to crack apart and crawl inside for a while, then discard for something shiny and new.

Or does being around me feel like being in a vacuum, a place where logic and self-control go to die?

“Don’t part from them again if they mean so much to you,” he murmurs, almost gentle.

Almost.

The darkness doesn't fully recede.

But for a heartbeat, I feel not just seen, but understood.

It doesn’t last.

He leans in again, and his breath is hot against my face. I feel small under his gaze, pinned in place by the weight of his focus. My stomach twists, and I force myself to meet his eyes.

The air between us tightens like a noose.

My breasts are heavy and aching to be touched. Every atom in my body gravitates towards him, little bullets of ecstasy at all the places our skin touches. His fingers skim over my bare stomach, stopping at the waistband of my pants.

Then, just like he did with my blouse, he starts undoing the button.

I’m defiant but trembling.

Each second feels like a wide, blank expanse even though I know what he’s about to do.

“It doesn't matter if you keep your secrets now," he says, cold and calm, as he slowly starts to unwind the button from its hole. “You’ll tell me soon enough. There’s nothing you can hide from me, little viper. Nothing”

The promise sends a traitorous thrill through me. I hate how much I want him to know me.

"Except this."

"Whatever you say, little viper." The button pops free under his skilled fingers.

A whimpering breath escapes from my traitorous throat.

He’s doing far more than just undressing me physically. He’s peeling away every part of the lie that I’ve built up around myself. Until he shows me what I really am underneath it all.

A filthy little thing.

Soaking wet.

Only for him.

My skin buzzes under the closeness. My pulse races.

I hate how my body answers his. Hate how ready I am.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m so obsessed with you?” He tugs at the zipper slowly, opening it one tooth at a time to savor the moment.

Even though I know it hardly makes a sound, it’s as loud as a buzzsaw at my ear. My chest rises and falls, and my panties are hopelessly soaked.

“I do,” I confess, my voice hardly a whisper as another shiver rushes through me.

“Because we’re hunting the same monsters, little viper.” He leans closer, the raw intensity in his eyes sparking something deep within me. “We’re after the same thing: justice.”

“Justice for what?” I shudder as his breath stirs the hair at my neck.

He doesn’t answer as he finishes unzipping my pants, and slowly pulls them open to expose my soaked panties.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I press closer, challenging him, daring him to answer. “For who?”

Still, he doesn’t answer, and I remember that he’s supposed to be asking the questions and not me.

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of my panties and the touch stokes a fire already crackling beneath my skin.

I gasp as he brushes along my slit and splays me open.

"Wet already," he says, voice rough with approval. "For a man who kills."

I bite back my retort.

My clit is swollen, throbbing as he circles it with the pad of his finger. The pleasure is sharp, almost painful in the need it leaves in its wake.

"You want to know who I do this for, but I’ve already told you.” His finger slides over my folds, gathering wetness before slipping inside me. “You don’t deserve that answer yet. You need to earn the right to ask."

And I do want to earn them. I want him to give me everything.

What won’t I do for that? For him?

I meet his gaze. He knows what this is.

I'm losing control of the situation. If this is a game, he's winning. His cock, thick and hard, presses into my hip through his pants from the proximity, and I decide I need to change the rules.

When I angle my hips up, I do it because I want to.

His breath catches in his throat for a split-second. He recovers quickly enough, but it’s too late.

I lick my lips and roll my hips harder, tighter against his hand. Let him feel what’s slipping away from him.

His eyes widen. It’s the first real crack in his control that I’ve seen.

“You think I can’t handle the answer?”

“Not if you keep hiding from me.” Breathless anticipation builds between us. “From yourself.”

"I'm not hiding now." I reach down, covering his hand with mine, showing him exactly where I want him.

Inside. Filling me up. Pushing me deeper.

His eyes darken. "No. You're not."

For one taut moment, we're locked in a stalemate. His fingers inside me, my hand over his, breath tangled, waiting for the other to break.

He’s going to ruin me forever.

As if he hasn’t ruined me already.

The shame should make me stop.

Instead, it makes me wetter.

His fingers continue to move inside me. He curls them just right and I gasp, spine pressing against the cold steel shelving. But I don’t lose focus.

“If you won’t tell me about the justice you’re after, then give me something ,” I demand, riding the rhythm of his hand.

“Like what?” he asks, voice hoarse and thick with desire, and the world spins. I lean against him, shaking.

“A hint.” A dare, a threat, something to bring us to the edge of chaos. “Something to let me know just how I can earn that answer.”

He shoves a second finger inside me. The movement carries me higher. Pleasure spikes my nerve endings and tension builds in my core. I’m strung out on the line between exposure and ecstasy, riding faster and faster.

But I need more than another stolen climax.

I need to know how I can start figuring out the puzzle that is my blue-eyed shadow.

"How do I earn it?" I ask again, grinding down on him, angling myself so his fingers can stroke the darkest, tenderest parts of me.

"By letting go, little viper," His breath scorches my cheek. "By admitting what you are."

I laugh, sharp and brittle. "And what is that?"

"Mine."

The word hangs between us, sharp as a blade.

The possessiveness should repulse me. It should make me claw away. Instead, heat floods my core and I grind harder on his hand. The pressure inside me grows, ragged and bold.

I cry out, intentional, knowing he won’t want this to end too soon.

"Are you trying to get caught?" he warns, eyes narrowing.

Yes. Let someone find us like this. Russo would yank my papers. Internal affairs would feast. But I’m so far from caring now. He wants to ruin me? He wants to break me? Fine. Let him. See what happens when I’m no longer Detective Cantiano but only Giselle.

Only his little viper.

"I thought you wanted me to let go," I hiss, voice climbing with each thrust. “To be yours.”

His control is slipping. I can see it in the slight tremor of his arm, the dilation of his pupils.

I let out a moan, thighs shaking. He curves his fingers inside me in response.

I'm close. So close. But I’m seeing him now, too. I won’t give in until he does. I moan again, thrashing blindly towards the pleasure waiting at the edge of my control.

Then all sounds die when he crushes his lips against mine.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and copper blooms on my lips. The kiss is violent, desperate, and consuming. He claims my mouth and I open further to give him better access. I feed him my tongue, and he drowns me in him. In us.

In this impossible, insane moment.

My orgasm builds rapidly now. I claw at his shoulders, trying to anchor myself. The shelves behind me rattle dangerously as my body slams against them.

I have to do it now, before it’s too late.

I lunge for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. The metal buckle slides free. The leather hisses through the loops. His breathing quickens and he tries to catch my wrist.

But I’m faster than that.

"What are you doing?" He breaks the kiss and asks, voice rough.

"Evening the score." Smirking, I pull against his grip, and free his cock from his pants. "If I’m yours, then you’re mine. And I want to see what I’m getting."

"You’re playing a dangerous game right now," he says, but makes no move to stop me.

I know. But that’s exactly why I have to play it, right? Because if I don’t, then I let him set all the rules. I let him dictate the terms of whatever the fuck this is.

My hand wraps around his cock, huge and hot. Its veins pulse under my fingers as I give it a squeeze and feel a drop of precum leaking out.

I want this inside me, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

But not now.

Not yet.

Not before I take back a shred of the control he stole from me.

“You keep calling me your little viper.” I whisper as I start stroking him. “So why are you surprised when I bite?”