BRANDON
I’ve always prided myself on being in control.
Everything has gone according to a plan, a schedule and an end goal. Spontaneity and I fell out of each other’s favor years ago and I never reconciled that relationship.
And I was okay with it.
I am okay with it.
Losing control once threw my life in a loop of chaos and fucking destruction and I can’t do chaos.
Chaos is the source of all evil.
Chaos would push me over the edge I’ve been walking for as long as I can remember.
And yet, right now, I can hear the cracks in my wall. While small, their deafening sound resounds in my foggy head, and I watch with complete bewilderment as the control I’ve nursed for years collapses all around me.
Crashing, splintering, and leaving a Nikolai-shaped hole in the outer walls of my carefully curated self-preservation.
I’m trapped, ensnared, and being held captive. I can’t feel even a smidge of my autonomy or the logical thoughts that I usually wear like a badge.
There’s something else I do feel, though.
Or someone.
His bruising grip on my jaw keeps me in place as he strokes my lips with his, harsh and unforgiving.
Demanding.
He bites down on my lower lip, stretching the skin until pain explodes in the nerve endings, and my heart thumps, pushing and shoving itself against my rib cage.
I must be so hammered, because when he stabs his tongue against my lips, I don’t try to resist or force my mouth shut.
The scary thought is that I want to open.
My blood buzzes for it, my unorganized thoughts tune in for the mere possibility of it.
A feeling I’ve never experienced in my life.
The moment I part my lips hesitantly, Nikolai goes feral. His tongue swirls around mine, warring, plunging, and stripping me of the last smidge of control I have left.
A groan echoes in the air and I realize with depleted horror that it’s mine.
His fingers dig into my jaw and he growls deep in my mouth, causing me to shudder.
He tastes of lawless violence and forbidden temptation.
He tastes like my custom-made damnation.
My fingers glide up and I swear I mean to shove him away. Put him back in his place. Shout ‘How dare you touch me?’
But my hand wraps around his nape and I free fall headfirst into dangerous chaos, completely in the dark about what waits for me at the bottom.
My tongue curls around his and I fight him for control. For the sanity that he’s been stripping from me one layer at a time.
His hand drops from my collar and he slides it to my side, feeling and exploring my chest and back, and I can’t help the hiss that escapes when he bites down on my tongue.
It’s like being kissed by a savage—a vicious barbarian whose sole purpose is to drag out the worst in me.
My eyes flutter open and that’s when I realize I’ve had them closed since his lips claimed mine.
I blink up at him, watching his own closed eyes and feeling that pit grow at the bottom of my stomach.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
I’m not sober enough to resist, and, hell, I don’t think I’m only drunk on the alcohol. My nostrils flare and I inhale sharply, filling my lungs with his mint scent. It mixes and swirls with the taste of alcohol, cigarettes, and something else that’s entirely him.
Masculine and strange…
I want to think it’s bad strange, but I’m far from being revolted. If anything, I’ve never felt trapped in a pleasure haze like I am right now.
He slides his tongue out of my mouth and bites the corner of my lip, then whispers in hot, growly words, “Who’s a better kisser, baby? Clara or me?”
“Shut up…” I don’t recognize how my voice comes out all choked up and hoarse.
This is so fucking wrong.
“I’m going to go with me.” His intense eyes meet mine as he glides his tongue against my bottom lip and then nibbles down savagely. “You didn’t look so hot and bothered when you were kissing her. Actually, it seemed like a fucking chore.”
A guttural sound slips from me and he sucks, then bites down on my lower lip again, brutalizing the skin between his teeth before he releases it.
“You like that, baby?” He speaks so close to my mouth, he kisses me with every word.
“Don’t call me that,” I breathe out, shuffling and searching through the mess in my head, but for the life of me, I can’t grasp at the strings of my MIA sanity.
“Don’t call you what? Baby?”
“Nikolai!”
“Fuck me. I love the way you growl my name, baby.”
“Don’t.”
“Why? Does it hit a nerve?” He rolls his hips and shoves his groin against mine, and my wide eyes meet his lust-filled ones. “Correction, it definitely hit more than one nerve, because you’re fucking hard. This time, it’s definitely for me.”
“Stop…” The word comes out hushed, nearly inaudible, and I’m not sure if Nikolai heard it.
A small part of me is thankful he didn’t, because he wedges his knees between mine and slides the length of his bulging erection against my cock.
A delicious tingle spreads up my spine and I puff out a long exhale.
“Mmm. You got so hard by just kissing.” He swipes his tongue on my mouth over and over as if he’s trying to erase something. “Your dick must be huge. I can feel it through your pants, all erect and begging for attention.”
He rubs himself against me some more, until I feel like I’ll burst, my head and body at complete odds with each other.
I tighten my hold on his nape and tug on his hair, my voice hoarse. “Don’t…stop…”
“Is that don’t stop or don’t and stop?” He falls into a rhythm, dry humping my cock with his until my painful erection strains against my trousers.
I must release a noise, because Nikolai chuckles against my lips. “I’ll take that as the former. Mmm. You feel so good, baby. So fucking perfect.”
His words swim in the pleasure haze surrounding my head and stab me in the very marrow of my bones.
“Do you feel how hard I am for you?” Kiss. “How ravenous I turn when it comes to you?” Kiss. “I’ll devour you fucking whole, my beautiful lotus flower.” Kiss. “I’ll make you forget about anyone who came before me, namely fucking Clara.”
His hand falls from my back, slides down my abs, over my stomach, and to the waist of my trousers. I drop my hand that was squashed between our chests and slap it on his, then frantically shake my head.
Silently.
My eyes imploring his glazed-over ones. This is the first time anyone has looked at me like this. As if they’re possessed with the idea of me.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
“Don’t make me do this,” I whisper when he doesn’t make a move to remove his hand.
“Too late.”
“I’m…drunk.” My chest rises and falls so hard, it grazes his with every movement, every breath, and I’m intoxicated, completely out of my damn mind.
“Then blame it on me, baby.” He pushes my hand away, and this time, I let it fall to my side and don’t attempt to stop him again as he undoes my belt and pulls down my zipper.
My insides are cracking and smashing, and I don’t recognize my lustful thoughts. I don’t recognize this version of me.
Because I find myself watching his movement, anticipation coiling in me like a snake as he wraps a tattooed hand around my rock-hard cock. I don’t stop him when flicks his thumb on the side. I don’t stop him when he gives me a firm, delicious jerk.