Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(4)



A life that’s becoming more comfortable and real with each day that passes here, in this foreign place that’s starting to feel like home.

I wait for the painful bite of self-hate and guilt, but all I feel is a kind of weary resignation. I’m tired of fighting myself and these confusing feelings, tired of resisting and pretending that the man watching me with those metallic eyes is nothing more than my captor—that I didn’t cling to him at the clinic like a baby koala to its mother. When I woke up this morning, alone in an empty bed, I wanted to cry—and it had nothing to do with the fact that I still haven’t gotten my period.

I shut the door on that thought before I can start freaking out again. Yes, I’m now several days late, but there are other potential explanations for the delay. Stress, for instance, both of the physical and emotional variety. Without a pregnancy test and in the absence of other symptoms, there’s no way to know at this early stage if I’m dealing with the effects of the accident or the consequences of unprotected sex. So for now, since I’m not ready to bring up this topic with Peter, I need to put it out of my mind and hope for the best.

If I’m pregnant, we’ll both know soon enough.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, his dark eyebrows pulling into a concerned frown, and I realize I must’ve inadvertently grimaced, as if in pain.

“I’m just jet-lagged,” I say, and to further allay his worry, I paste on a bright smile. “You know, long flight and all.”

“Ah.” He lifts his big hand, gently touching the healing scar on my forehead. “You should take it easy for the next few days. You’re not yet fully recovered.” His frown deepens. “Maybe we should’ve stayed at the clinic longer.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, no. We stayed about a week too long as is. I’m fine—just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Right.” He doesn’t look convinced, and impulsively, I rise on tiptoes and kiss the hard line of that sensuous mouth.

It’s just a brief, playful kiss, but we both reel from it as though from a blow. I don’t know why I did this, why it felt like the most natural thing in the world to soothe him like that. It wasn’t because I want sex, though I do—he hasn’t taken me since Cyprus and my body’s aching for his touch. No, it was just something I wanted to do, something that felt right.

He recovers first, a slow, seductive smile curving those sculpted lips as he reaches for me, one arm sliding around my waist to draw me closer while the other hand curves gently around my jaw, his callused thumb stroking my cheek. “Sara…” His voice is low and husky, as warm as the glow in his gaze. “My beautiful ptichka… I love you so, so much.”

My chest squeezes, compressing the air in my lungs. He’s said he loves me before, but never like this… never with this depth of feeling. It shakes me to the bone, because for the first time, I believe him.

I believe him, and I want to say it back.

The realization is like a hammer to my skull. I fought so hard against this, did everything I could to avoid falling for this man, to escape him. Yet even as I ran from him, I knew I was escaping from myself as well, from the dark part of me that wants to embrace my husband’s killer, to give in to the fantasy of a happy life with the assassin who stole me from everyone I love. I fought, I ran, and somewhere along the way, it happened anyway.

I fell for him.

I fell for the man I should hate, a monster whose child I may be carrying.

He holds my gaze, and in his eyes, I see the same fierce longing that I’ve been working so hard to squash. He needs me, this lethal captor of mine, needs me so much he’s willing to do anything to have me. And for some reason, that knowledge no longer terrifies me as much as it once did.

I don’t know if I somehow telegraph my thoughts, or if the abstinence of the past two and a half weeks has been as hard for Peter as it has for me, but the banked fire in his gaze burns brighter and the powerful arm around my waist tightens, drawing me flush against his body.

His hard, fully aroused body.

My own body tightens, clenching on a sudden empty ache as my hands come up to press against his broad chest. I want him, just as I wanted him all those nights at the clinic when I slept cuddled platonically in his embrace. He refused to touch me then, out of concern for my injuries, but I’m no longer hurting—not from injuries, at least.

His head dips, and I welcome his hard, devouring kiss. This is exactly what I want: to be possessed by him, to know the violence of his passion. He’s not gentle any longer, and I don’t want him to be. I want him just like this: rough and nearly out of control, consuming me with his need, making me burn with his overwhelming hunger.

My hands somehow end up in his dark hair, clutching at the thick, silky strands as I kiss him back with matching savagery, our tongues dueling as our bodies strain against each other through the barrier of clothes. I’m breathing hard now, and so is he as he backs me up against the edge of the counter, then lifts me onto it, pulling off my yoga pants and thong in one rough jerk. Then his zipper is down and his thick cock spears into me, making me cry out at the brutal stretch. If I weren’t so wet, he would’ve ripped me, but I’m slick with need, and as he starts thrusting into me, I wrap my legs around his hips, taking him in, embracing everything he has to give.

It’s not long before my body tightens, spiraling toward climax at a dizzying pace, and his thrusts pick up speed, the savage rhythm driving us both to the edge of sanity. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as the orgasm overtakes him, and I scream, shuddering in agonizing pleasure as my inner muscles clench around his pulsing cock. The hot jets of his seed bathe my insides, and my body spasms again and again, the release lasting an eternity.

Anna Zaires & Dima Z's Books