Page 14 of Twisted Pact

He kisses me before I can respond, and this time, there’s no wall behind me for support. No anger fueling the contact. Just his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, and the overwhelming sense that I’m making a mistake I’ll regret for months.

I kiss him back anyway.

His tongue sweeps against mine, and I taste whiskey and something darker. Something that makes me inch closer despite every instinct screaming at me to run. My hands find his shoulders, then his chest, then the buttons of his shirt.

“Eager,” he teases when I fumble with the first button.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I answer by yanking his shirt open. Buttons fly, but I don’t care. I need to see him. To prove to myself that he’s just flesh and bone and muscle like any other man.

Except he’s not.

His torso is carved by years of violence. Scars mark his skin. A wolf tattoo stretches over his shoulder. It’s fitting, because that’s what he is. A beautiful predator.

“Like what you see?” He sounds amused.

I try for an indifferent shrug. “You’re tolerable.”

He chuckles as he pulls my sweater over my head, and then we’re both half-naked in the candlelight. His eyes roam over me, taking in the black lace bra I chose like some part of me knew I’d end up here, undressing in front of him.

Maybe some part of me did.

“Beautiful,” he says, and for once, there’s no taunt in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Zaika, I don’t waste words.” He traces one finger along the edge of my bra, barely touching skin. “You walked away six months ago, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”

“Good.”

He laughs and hauls me against him, against the hard length that’s bulging into my hip. Skin on skin. Heat and want and the terrifying realization that I’m in way over my head.

His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. Each kiss burns through me until I’m relying on his shoulders just to stay upright.

“Bed,” he says against my skin. “Now.”

I should tell him the truth—that he’s the first—but he’s cocky enough already. I won’t give him that power.

He leads me down a hallway to a bedroom that looks like it hasn’t been used in months. The sheets are clean, though, and when he lays me down, the mattress gives under my weight like it’s been waiting for this.

Alexei strips off the rest of his clothes without ceremony. No performance. No attempt to seduce. That should be a turnoff, but somehow, it makes me want him more.

Then he’s naked, and I forget how to breathe.

His cock is thick and hard, and my stomach flips with nerves as I realize what’s about to happen. What I’m about to let him do.

There’s no going back after this. No pretending I’m the same person I was before I walked through that door.

“Your turn,” he says.

My jeans and underwear come off in one motion. The bra follows. And then I’m naked in front of a man who’s seen more women than I can probably count.