Page 12 of To Love a Monster (Oaths & Obsessions #1)

Lila

T he rain starts coming down in buckets by the time I get inside.

Sharp, sudden, and relentless. My breath is shallow as I shut the door behind me, the echo of breaking glass still splintering through my mind.

I press my back to the door, dripping and dazed, and let the weight of it all crash into me.

I saw him. Just for a second, a silhouette in the trees.

But it was enough. That coiled violence in the way he stood.

The storm in his posture. The certainty of it. I pissed him off.

And now ... he’s coming for me.

A shiver climbs up my spine. He didn’t have to shout, didn’t have to say a word.

That look? That was enough to get my heart racing with fear and anticipation.

And still, my thighs clench. My breath stutters.

Because somewhere in the mess of adrenaline and shame and heat, I’m excited.

Terrified and trembling and wrecked. Because I know what I did, I know why I did it, and I know he’s going to make me pay.

Not with words. Not with warnings. But with hands that don’t ask permission, with a mouth that devours.

I think about his last message. You didn’t just ask for punishment tonight, little lamb .

.. you begged to be broken. And I heard you.

Loud. And. Fucking. Clear. My fingers twitch as I push off the door, legs shaky beneath me.

I should run, lock the house, and hide. But instead, I walk toward the kitchen, toward the wine.

I saw the way he looked at me in the dark.

Those eyes, green and gleaming like wildfire through the storm, locked on me with a hunger that wasn’t human.

It was predatory and ferocious. So sharp it felt like he was peeling me open with just a stare.

There was no mercy in them, no hesitation. Only promises.

And I knew, with one look, that he meant every word in those messages. He wasn’t bluffing when he said I was begging for punishment. He was already deciding how he’d deliver it.

I can’t stop thinking about how deep he’d bury himself into me. How he isn’t planning on holding back anymore. And the worst part? My body lights up for it. I felt his stare like cold hands and hot flesh. Like a leash tightening around my throat.

By the time I get to where the bottle of wine waits, I don’t even bother with a glass. I just grip it by the neck and drink straight from the bottle like it might ease my nerves.

I hear it before I even see him and spin on my heel to face the heavy, deliberate fall of his boots against the soaked wood of the deck. Each step louder than the thunder cracking overhead. Louder than the pounding of my own heart. It’s like a predator’s rhythm, a war drum pace.

And then I see him through the glass. Nikolai.

No hood covering his face, no shadows to hide behind.

Just him, standing in the storm like he fucking summoned it.

Lightning flashes behind him, throwing his silhouette into sharp focus, his shoulders squared, chest rising with the kind of tension that feels combustible.

The hoodie’s been discarded and his black shirt clings to his body, drenched and painted to muscle.

Rain slides down the thick columns of his arms, dripping from clenched fists.

Veins bulge beneath soaked skin like ropes pulled too tight.

He’s soaked, he’s massive. He’s beautiful in the most violent, terrifying way I’ve ever seen. His jaw is locked and a muscle ticks along the sharp cut of it like he’s seconds from exploding. His hair is plastered to his forehead, wild from the wind and rain.

And his eyes. God, those eyes. They burn through the storm, glowing like a monster in the dark. Unblinking and unforgiving. So wild and sharp I swear I can feel them dragging across my skin, slicing through my clothes.

He’s not just angry. He’s pissed . Uncaged and strung tight with a fury that hums beneath his skin, too big to hold, too dangerous to breathe near.

I should be afraid. And I am, but just not in the way I should be. My body reacts like it’s been jolted by electricity and I live for the pain of it. My back hits the counter behind me and I stay there frozen, breath caught, heart thudding against my ribs like it wants to bolt. But I don’t run.

Because I don’t want calm, I don’t want soft hands and gentle words. I want this. Him . Unhinged, unholy, and completely unleashed. The fear pulses low. Warm, sharp, and welcome.

He waits patiently as I step toward the glass door like I’m in a trance. I don’t speak, don’t blink, I just lift my hand and slide the door open, inviting him in. Giving him the permission he’s been waiting for. The wind barrels in, bringing the storm with it, all rain and cold.

He doesn’t say a word, just enters with his eyes locked on mine. He walks in slowly, each heavy step deliberate and measured, like he’s reining in the urge to tear something apart. Rain drips from his clothes, soaking into the floorboards, trailing behind him like blood.

And I can’t move. I stay where I am, breath shallow, and body locked tight in place as he stops just feet from me. Still, he says nothing, just stares. Soaking wet and breathing hard. Rage and lust coils tightly across every inch of him like a fuse waiting to snap.

My skin prickles and my knees threaten to give. Because I know he’s not here to talk this time. No, he’s here to take . To show me that I don’t get to play with wolves and expect not to get bitten.

And still, my chest heaves. My whole body pulses with the sick, twisted relief of finally being caught.

I can smell him now, rain, pine, and heat. That same dark scent that clings to skin and memory like a bruise you don’t want to fade. He’s massive up close, broader than I remembered. Or maybe it’s just that the room suddenly feels too small for a man like him, for the storm he drags in behind him.

He moves closer and reaches out. His hand slides up my spine until he clasps the nape of my neck. He squeezes, not gently, not lovingly. Like he’s staking a claim, like his hand is the only thing keeping me upright while the rest of me threatens to collapse beneath him.

He tilts my head back with the pressure, forcing my chin up and the air leaves my lungs. His eyes sweep over me—my mouth, my eyes, the pulse fluttering in my throat. He stares like he’s memorizing me. Or daring me to flinch.

And I don’t, I can’t. Being this close to him leaves me breathless, his body heat curling around me like a fever, the scent of him clinging to every ragged inhale.

And then, without warning, he snaps. His mouth slams into mine, a brutal crash of lips and teeth and tongue that tears a broken sound from my throat. There’s no slow build, no gentle tease. Just a violent collision of want and possession.

His tongue forces my lips apart, greedy and commanding. Like he’s not kissing me at all, but conquering me. Like this isn’t just about lust, it’s about dominance. Complete control. And I let him. Because I need him to. Because right now, I don’t want just a kiss. I want to be devoured.

I melt into him, pressing every inch of my trembling body against him. My hips find his instinctively, grinding up against the hard ridge straining beneath his jeans. Thick, hot, impossibly hard, like his body’s been waiting years to do what his hands are just now daring to do.

The kiss grows deeper, messier. Our mouths crash again and again, wet and open and panting between bites of breath. I moan into his mouth and my fingers curl into his shirt, clutching the wet fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the floor.

He tastes like rain and ruin. Like fury wearing the skin of restraint.

And just when I think I can take it, just when I need more, he rips his mouth from mine.

Breath ragged. Chest heaving. His forehead presses to mine for half a second, just long enough for me to feel how close he is to breaking, then he leans back, just enough to speak.

“I’m going to make you forget how to fucking walk, Lila.” His thumb brushes the curve of my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Not just because you let him touch you,” he growls, voice low and guttural, breath ghosting over my cheek like a threat, “but because you wanted me to see it.”

His eyes burn into mine, wild and blistering with something more dangerous than jealousy.

More dangerous than lust. “You let him put his fingers inside you like you weren’t already owned.

” His hand tightens at the nape of my neck, tipping my head back further until I’m forced to bare my throat, exposed and waiting.

“And I watched ,” he snarls, lips brushing just under my jaw, “while he touched what’s mine . ” My breath shatters.

“I watched you almost come apart for him. Heard you moan and press into him.” He presses his forehead to mine again and he closes his eyes like he’s trying not to detonate. “You think I can just let that fucking slide?”

I shake my head, unable to speak as I watch him breathe heavily.

“No man touches you like that again. Ever. I don’t care if it’s a dare or defiance,” his voice drops to a whisper, “because the only person you come for, Lila, is me and me alone.

I’m going to show you what it means to feel real pleasure.

I want to feel your thighs shake when my fingers slide inside you.

I want to hear you moan with my mouth between your thighs.

Hear you cry out when I bury my cock so deep it hurts.

” He presses his mouth against my neck, his grip tightening as he continues.

“I’m going to punish you for what you did tonight. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

With that, he lifts me like I weigh nothing and walks me out of the living room. One second I’m on my feet and the next I’m flat on my back across the kitchen counter, cold marble biting into my spine.

His hands are on my sweater before I can speak. He tears it open, not bothering with the buttons, not caring about the fabric. The sound of splitting seams is swallowed by the storm outside, but the violence of it crackles in the air between us.

My bra follows. One hand to the clasp, a twist, snap, and it’s gone. His gaze drops to my chest, hungry and dark. And for one terrifying, electric moment, he just stares. Like he’s trying to decide whether to worship me or destroy me.

And then his mouth is on my skin, he kisses between my breasts first, slowly. The contrast between tenderness and fury makes my head spin. Then his lips wrap around one nipple, tongue swirling, licking, teasing until it stiffens under his heat.

I gasp and my back arches. But just when I start to melt, he bites. Hard. Pain lashes across my chest, sharp and hot. I cry out, startled as I try to sit up, but he’s faster. He presses one large hand between my breasts and shoves me down again, pinning me in place.

“Stay. Down. You don’t move until I tell you to,” he growls, eyes gleaming as he licks over the stinging nipple, soothing it with his tongue while his fingers roll the other one with maddening, careful precision.

“You’re going to beg to come by the end of the night.”

His hand slides between my breasts, fingers trailing over damp, trembling skin.

“You don’t even know what you look like right now, do you?” His voice drops lower, almost reverent. “All flushed and wrecked. Breathing like you’ve already finished. I see you dripping through your leggings like your pussy knows what’s about to happen.”

His thumb brushes the curve of my jaw, tilting my face to meet his eyes.

“This?” He leans in, his nose brushing mine, lips a breath away. “This is how you offer yourself to me. I’m the only one you spread your legs for.”

He chuckles, low and sinful.

“You think you were in control of our little game, little lamb?” His hand moves down again, palm grazing my stomach. “I planned it all. I made you mine in ways you can’t even understand yet.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, barely there. Just enough to make me chase it.

“I should make you come once for every second I had to watch you pretend someone else could have you,” he growls.

“Make you scream my name until it’s the only fucking word your body remembers.

” His hand dips lower again, but this time he doesn’t touch, he just hovers.

Inches from where I ache, where I’m soaked and throbbing for him.

“But not yet,” he murmurs. “No, baby. You’re going to have to earn that.” He noses down my neck, biting lightly at the curve between my shoulder and throat.

“You’re going to plead like a good fucking girl.” His fingers ghost along the inside of my thigh again, just enough pressure to make my breath catch.

“Because right now?” he growls, “you haven’t earned me.” Then his hand pulls away entirely, leaving nothing but heat and absence, and I nearly sob.

“You feel that?” he whispers, mouth brushing the corner of mine. “That ache? That’s mine now. That’s your punishment.” He nips my lower lip between his teeth, just hard enough to sting. His eyes darken as he cups the side of my face, tender and terrifying all at once.

“Go on, little lamb,” he breathes. “Tell me how much you need me.”