With blood on my hands, I held her.
With death in my soul, I took from her.
With the devil in my heart, I coveted her.
There are many definitions of Hell.
My list was exhaustive, my definitions tragic.
Tonight I was adding something new to the very top.
Girl number six thirty-two.
She arrived on my birthday, the same day, every year, I play Russian Roulette and pull the trigger.
She was my omen.
My end game.
She made it personal.
And for the first time in my life, I gave in.
A virgin mob boss with no soul.
My name is Andrei Petrov.
They call me the devil.
All I want is for the pain to end.
All she wants is for me to share it.
I am the last remaining heir to a dynasty that should burn in Hell.
And my last wish remains for it to die with me.
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I slid my tongue into her mouth. I tasted, I took, I was greedy with each kiss. With blood on my hands, I held her.
With death in my soul, I drank from her.
With the devil in my heart, I coveted her.
I wanted closer.
My gloves felt too hot for my hands.
My hands too big to contain the weeping leather as I pulled away from Alice and stared into her big blue eyes.
“You don’t want this,” I whispered.
She bit down on her swollen lip and reached for me, I stood still as her warm hands touched both of my cheeks. “Lie.”
I let out a hiss of air at her touch. “Walk. Away.”
“Kiss me again.”
“I can’t do that.” I needed to stop doing that.
“Can’t or won’t?”
I told myself one more kiss, one more touch. I told myself it would be okay, that I was still in control.
That I was above this.
That no woman had ever owned me.
No woman had ever taken everything.
My chest heaved as I stared at her mouth, unable to move, completely rooted to the floor.
Alice moved her hands to my jeans and slowly unbuttoned them. I didn’t stop her, I needed to fucking stop her, but it was like I’d drank this paralyzing poison from her lips and couldn’t function, could only watch her as my soul floated above my body, mocking my inaction, telling me that this would be the end of me.
The very end.
Letting her in.
Keeping her there.
I would give her everything.
And then I would lose control.
Lose my mind.
Lose my heart.
I would lose.
So would she.
“Alice…” My voice cracked. “I wish…” Her hands stilled on my jeans like she was ready to pull them down. “I can’t. I wish I could. I can’t.”
How could she possibly understand?
How could I explain the gut-wrenching fear of looking in the mirror and knowing that one choice kept me sane. One choice.
And that was sex.
He’d made that choice.
I couldn’t trust myself, couldn’t trust it wouldn’t happen to me too, and hurt someone like her.
Someone so very… perfect.
Without blinking, Alice gripped my jeans, indecision etched on every pretty part of her face.
She was beautiful.
So damn beautiful.
I gripped her wrists with my hands and pulled them away from the very real temptation of getting completely naked and sinking into her, feeling her clench around me, her tight heat.
I pulled her into my arms, and she rested her head on my shoulder. Just because I couldn’t let her touch me, couldn’t cross that line, didn’t mean I couldn’t make her happy, I would kill to watch her face in the throes of multiple orgasms.
I quickly gripped her by the hips and put her up on the cold granite countertop.
“Andrei what are you doing?” She looked down at me uncertainty in her blue eyes.
I moved my hands to her ass and pulled down the black leggings she’d been wearing, all the way down to her ankles, right along with a pair of lacy underwear that were bright pink, and perfect.
“Seriously, what are you doing?”
I gripped her knees with my hands and then spread them wide. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” I smirked. “I’m feasting.”
Her eyes widened.
Never underestimate a virgin with an extremely vivid imagination and heightened sexual appetite.
I wasn’t a fucking monk.
I would like to think I knew more than most men, because I’d seen it all, watched it, inadvertently studied it.
If someone gave me a diagram of a woman, I could point out over twenty-two ways to get her off — with my tongue, a feather, my fingers, take your pick.
“You don’t have to—” She let out a gasp, gripping the edge of the granite, turning her hands white.
I chuckled darkly against her right thigh and bit. “I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t have to?”
“I’ve never, nobody has ever… done. This.”
“Tell me,” I asked gently before I dipped my tongue inside her and flicked.
Her entire body jerked.
“Tell me he never touched you like this, tell me nobody has ever touched you like this.”
“Never,” she rasped. “You.” That word was like a gunshot going off in my soul. “Only you, Andrei.”
“Me.” I flicked my tongue again, and gripped her by the ass, pulling her almost completely off the counter while I sat beneath her and sucked her off in the most primitive aggressive way I knew how.
With every ounce of energy I had in my physical body.
With my soul.
I used every weapon in my arsenal.
Meet The Author: Rachel Van Dyken
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
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