Page 138 of Wicked Villain

Lev makes me feel like it’s okay to need him. Okay to want him.

That part of me that always wanted to run out of my skin has found respite and doesn’t want to run anymore.

How did we get here, to this version of us? And just at the moment when I’m supposed to make my final escape?

Silently, we stare at each other. Speaking, or even breathing, feels like an unwelcome action that may break this moment. So, I say nothing; neither does he.

He decides to end the stillness by pressing his finger to my nose, touching me as though he’s trying to figure out if I’m real.

From there, he glides his finger across to my cheek and down to my jaw. He lingers there, stroking the underside. It feels nice. Nice to have his hands on me, touching me in such a tender way.

Everything is so rough and rugged about him, you’d never expect tenderness.

I press my hand to his chest, wanting to touch him, too. First, I take in the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, then I trace the outline of the star tattooed there.

I work my way around the intricate design and down to the next tattoo: the black swallow over his heart. It’s just as beautiful, but up close I notice something I didn’t before.

The swallow’s wing bends across a scar. There, the black ink warps over a small, sunken circle, puckered at the center.

A gunshot wound.

Is that from the accident that happened when he was twelve?

Something tells me it is. Every single tattoo he has on his body means something. The swallow looks like it’s marking a man who fought death and found his way home. Except he was a boy then.

Lev lifts my chin, guiding my gaze away from the swallow, stopping me from seeing more than what he wants me to see. Then he lowers his lips to mine and kisses me.

The kiss starts soft and exploratory as his mouth caresses mine, but soon, that turns to raw hunger. I can’t help myself; I kiss him back the same way.

I don’t care how desperate I look or that every kiss gives me another reason not to leave.

“I need you,” he whispers against my lips.

“I need you, too.”

“That sounds like we have a plan.” The desire in his voice is lethal.

His hand slides up to my hair, his thick fingers lacing through the strands. With a rough growl, he crushes his mouth to mine, consuming me.

I kiss him harder, pressing my hands against his chest like I need to feel more of him, need to feel his skin on mine.

All I want is him and nothing on earth can change my mind.

Tongues and teeth clashing, Lev pulls me closer, pressing me against the hard planes of his body. Then his hands roam across my back and over my stomach, but it feels like he’s touching me everywhere.

I explore him, too, desperate to get lost in him. Dare I think that such a man may want the same thing from me, too? But his touch suggests he might. I choose to believe it.

He tears at my clothes, or rather his shirt. He pulls it off me along with my nightie, leaving me topless.

He takes a moment to nibble on my breasts as they bounce free, then he rips my panties off as if they’re an inconvenience he won’t entertain.

He sets me on my back while he shoves his boxers down his hips, freeing his straining cock.

Noticing me watching, he moves closer with a wicked smirk and takes my hand, guiding me to wrap my fingers around his thick shaft.

“This is for you, malyshka,” he groans, the vein on the side of his neck throbbing.

He guides my hand up and down his length, slowly at first, then harder and faster, until precum beads on the tip. He swipes the pearly bead onto the tip of his thumb, then holds it over my mouth.