I should have known better than to agree to this.
Really, I should have.
Because when your fiance was a possessive, jealous, slightly unhinged Romanovski, the last thing you should do was let equally unhinged Anya throw you a bachelorette party in a club full of men who didn’t understand the concept of looking respectfully.
Yet, here I was.
In a red dress shorter than my patience, wearing a sash that read Bride-to-Be, with a shot glass in my hand and a sinking feeling in my gut.
Because I knew.
I knew he was watching.
Somewhere in the shadows, in the VIP section, in the goddamn walls for all I knew-Judas Romanovski was here.
And he was pissed.
I could feel it.
That thick, suffocating energy that wrapped around my throat like a warning. That quiet rage that burned hotter than any fire, slow and lethal, curling through the air like smoke before the inferno.
A man at the bar caught my eye, flashing a grin. He lifted his drink in a silent toast.
I didn’t even have time to look away before it happened.
Before the air changed.
Before the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Before I felt it-him.
The heat of his body. The intensity of his eyes. He must be sipping on his Vodka and stalking me. Damn. I told Anya this was a bad idea. But she insisted I’d been lounging at home more for my age. Well, it was true to some extent but bringing me here… when I should be sleeping, or probably helping Rara.
I should be with my mother. She just landed and I was here. My body suddenly stiffened when a hand curled around my waist.
A silent mine. And just like that, my breath stalled. “Having fun, ptichka?”
His voice was low. Rough. Laced with something dark and dripping in warning.
A shiver skated down my spine, even as I forced my lips into a smile. “Loads.”
His fingers dug in. Just a little. Just enough to remind me who I belonged to. As he swayed me with the music. His muscles were bulkier now, and he looked rugged. It was a bad omen seeing bride before the wedding, but my said fiance didn’t understand the concept. He wanted me close to him. He even brought he to his office nowadays.
“Funny,” his lips brushed my ear and I unconsciously leaned into his chest. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were begging to be punished.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. My stomach twisted. My knees wobbled.
God. He and his punishments. I thought he’d change. But only his words had changed, not him. When it came to… intimacy… he was still as violent, maybe more rough.
I hated how easily he unravelled me. How effortlessly he slipped beneath my skin, into my veins, setting my entire body on fire.
Judas was an addiction. A sickness. A madness. And I was completely, utterly gone.
“Judas-”
“Shh.” His nose skimmed along my throat, inhaling deeply. His other hand found my thigh, sliding up, up, up-beneath the hem of my dress.
My breath hitched. “We’re in public.”
His tongue clicked. “Not an answer, Ptichka.”
I swallowed hard, pulse hammering against my ribs. “I-I was just drinking.”
He hummed dangerously. “That’s funny. Because I could’ve sworn I told you not to.”
I shivered. “I-I just had a sip-”
His grip tightened.
“Just a sip?” he repeated sliding his hand up my thigh and cupping my core. “And did that sip make you forget who I am?”
I sucked in a sharp breath as his hand moved in slow tantalising circles.
“Judas,” I moaned into the space between us.
His other hand shot out, grabbing my jaw.
“Open,” he demanded. I did. I always did. His thumb slipped past my lips, pressing down on my tongue. “When we get home, I want you on your knees.”
*********
I barely remembered how we got here.
One second, we were in that club. The next, I was here-pressed into our bed, silk sheets cool beneath my burning skin, with him towering over me like a storm about to break.
I barely registered the torn fabric clinging uselessly to my skin.
All I could process was him. The way his lips hovered above mine. Too close, too teasing, not nearly enough. The way his fingers trailed over my ribs, down my stomach, between my thighs. Slow. Lethal. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel me.
I squirmed. “Judas-”
He shushed me with a single press of his thumb against my parted lips.
His voice was silk-draped steel. “Impatient, ptichka?”
My breath hitched. I clenched my thighs together, my body thrumming, aching, begging.
He saw. He felt it.
And he laughed before he kissed me.
Deep. Unrelenting and desperate.
His tongue licked into my mouth like he was devouring every last breath, every last word, until all that was left was him.
I moaned into him.
He swallowed it.
Then he pulled back, his lips brushing mine, his breath warm, teasing. Taunting.
“Judas, please-”
“I love when you say my name like that.”
I groaned. “Please.”
“Please?” he repeated, tilting his head like he was genuinely considering it. “Please what, little bird?”
I clenched my fists, swallowing back my pride. “Please-touch me.”
Judas chuckled. “Oh, I am touching you, aren’t I?”
I nearly screamed.
His nose dragged along my thigh. “So impatient. You act all shy, but look at you. You’re fucking dripping.”
His fingers traced the slick mess between my legs. “Soaking for me. You must really like being teased, huh?”
“Judas-”
He pressed a single feather light kiss against my aching center. Barely a touch.
Then he pulled back.
I made a wrecked, broken sound.
His smirk was criminal. “Does it hurt?”
I glared. “You’re evil.”
He grinned. “You knew that before you agreed to marry me.”
I let out a choked laugh-cut short when he finally, finally-
His tongue made a single, deep stroke.
My entire body locked up.
My tormentor groaned. “Holy fuck.”
I shuddered as a whimper broke free.
His grip on my thighs tightened. “God, you taste sweet.” His voice was wrecked, ravenous. “My favorite fucking flavor.”
I was already trembling, but he wasn’t done.
“Do you think they’ll notice if I keep you locked up in our bedroom all week?” His tongue flicked over my most sensitive spot. “I don’t think I’d ever get tired of eating you.”
I whimpered.
“Mm?” He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Dark. Hungry. Wicked.
“You were saying something, ptichka?”
I barely remembered how to breathe, let alone speak.
He tsked. “Lost your words? ” His fingers dragged through my slick heat. “I like you better like this. All dumb and pretty, just for me.”
I choked on a gasp.
His smirk turned feral.
Then he wrecked me.
I was falling.
Tethered only to him.
To his hands-pinning me down.
To his mouth-ruining me with slow, unbearable precision.
To his voice-soft, taunting, dripping with wicked satisfaction.
I broke apart, screaming his name. And he never stopped. Not until I was shaking. Overwhelmed. Not until I was crying from how much he had given me. Not until I was his. And then-only then-
Did he pull me into his lap. Skin against skin. Heat against heat. I was wrecked. Ruined.
But Judas-he was looking at me like he hadn’t even begun. His hand curled around my throat, gentle but firm. His thumb pressed against my pulse. “You’re mine, little bird,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.
I shivered. “Yours.”
His jaw clenched. Something dark and unholy flashed in his eyes.
Then-he kissed me. Hard. Deep. Like he wanted to brand himself into my very bones.”You want to know the truth?” he murmured against my lips. My breath hitched.
“Yes.”
His teeth nipped my bottom lip. “I lied earlier.”
I blinked, dazed. “About what?”
His lips brushed my ear. “I said I have self-control.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “And?”
His fingers dragged down my body.
“And, ptichka,” he murmured, his voice nothing but velvet and sin, “when it comes to you-”
His grip tightened.
“I have none.”