Page 82 of Wicked Villain

“I don’t think it. I know. Plus…” He reaches out and lifts a lock of my hair. “I still have the taste of you in my mouth. It’s too late to pretend you don’t enjoy my touch.”

My temper flares, and I pull my hair away from him. “You are such a jerk. That was your fault. It doesn’t mean I want to have sex with you.”

His smile widens. “Who are you saving it for, printsessa? Danillo? Or maybe it’s that little matchstick at the charity.”

Jeremy. He’s talking about him.

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

He raises a brow and returns his hand to the space by my head. “If either of them touch you, they’re dead. If any man as much as looks at you, they’re dead. I am your only choice.”

I just stare at him. “Then maybe we’ll never⁠—”

“We will.” His assertive tone silences me. “We’ll just get there a lot sooner if you accept what you want.”

“You’re talking about me. What about you?” I want to mention the woman who was in the house last week but think better of it. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of thinking I’m jealous—even though I was. “What do you want?”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a slow, arrogant smile, rich with sinful amusement. “I want you.”

I fully expected him to give me some snarky comment. Something like how he didn’t have to answer me because we have an arranged marriage and I’m his enemy’s daughter. Or something vile like how he could be with anyone he wanted because he’s Lev Karsavin.

But his answer…

It hits somewhere deep in my core, sending a treacherous ache spreading through my body.

Me.

He wants me.

Not the sassy woman he brought home the other day or anyone else. Not even Gabrielle. He doesn’t know that, but he’s never met her. He knows me.

For one incredibly dangerous moment, the walls I’ve built to protect myself develop a crack. A crack that allows something softer to slide through.

It makes me want to believe him, and I allow those three words to mean more than they probably should.

There’s a shift in his gaze. It suggests he’s seeing more than he should again, quietly deciphering my thoughts. And my body.

He pushes away from the wall, and his gaze darkens as he looks me up and down. “Take your clothes off. Time to get cleaned up.”

Slowly, I take my eyes off him and pull down the zipper on my jeans. Lev straightens and drinks in my every movement, but what hooks me is the hunger in his eyes.

I roll the jeans down my legs and step out of them along with my pumps. My top follows, leaving just my bra and panties.

Unlike the other night, I’m not thinking about my mother or the contract, or even the consequences. All of those things fade into the background, leaving this moment between us that feels like it’s outside of reality.

I take off my bra, allowing my breasts to spill out, then slide off my panties. Lev stares at my breasts for a few moments, before allowing his eyes to drift down to my pussy. The hunger in his gaze intensifies, turning ravenous as he studies my naked body.

When his eyes meet mine again, he looks at me like a man who knows he’s already won. He unzips his pants, and my eyes go straight to the massive bulge pressing against the front.

Nothing on earth could make me pretend that I don’t want to see him naked, too. So, I shamelessly stare, keeping my gaze glued to him as he pushes his pants and boxers down his legs, freeing his cock.

His very long, thick, massive cock.

He’s a big guy, so I never thought it would be average. Nothing about Lev Karsavin is average.

But he’s what I think people mean by hung, and the sight of his cock is enough to make me have an orgasm.

That’s going to be inside me? How?