Twilight Sins: Chapter 20

I’m frozen. Yakov Kulikov is kissing me and I’m frozen.

I can’t understand how we got here. He doesn’t like me. He can’t, right? It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me. Why else would he pull away? Why else would he refuse to tell me anything, refuse to let me in?

Now… this?

Back to the drawing board, I guess.

By the time he sucks my lower lip into his mouth, my body decides it doesn’t matter how we got here. I plant my knees on either side of him and arch against the solid wall of his body.

One roll of my hips against him and I moan. After days of denying what I want, letting myself have this feels decadent. I even pretended I didn’t see my own pajamas sitting perfectly clean in my drawer so I could wear Yakov’s shirt instead. Anything to be close to him in any way I could.

He grips my hip and bunches that same shirt up around my waist.

“Sorry for stealing your clothes,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “The only thing you need to apologize for is still having it on.”

With one tug, Yakov shreds through the shirt so it falls off of me in two wasted pieces. It was a really nice shirt. I planned to steal it and wear it for years and years to come. But I can’t even be sorry to see it go when he latches his mouth around my nipple.

Yakov laps at me with his tongue as he curves my spine with two huge hands, bending me towards him, taking what he wants like it’s that easy. Like I haven’t been sulking around his house for days trying to deny the truth that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore: I’m not afraid of whatever threat is waiting for me outside of Yakov’s mansion.

I’m afraid that I like Yakov Kulikov way more than he will ever like me.

His mouth is hot on my throat. “I don’t know what’s happening,” I croak.

Who cares? Shut up! Not all sex has to be, like, heartfelt and meaningful. For once in my overthinking life, I want to turn my brain off and just let this happen.

But every time he touches me, questions and doubts climb up my throat.

“I’ll show you.”

Goosebumps spread down my chest. “I asked if you were going to hurt me.” I swallow. It’s hard to think when we’re this close. “You didn’t say ‘no.’”

Someone always gets hurt. Not exactly words of comfort.

Yakov draws back and looks at me. His eyes burn their way down my body. There’s an intensity there I don’t understand. The line between hate and love is thin, and I can’t tell which side he falls on.

Slowly, he slides me off his lap and onto the couch. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of it, so I start to leave—until one massive hand pins me down to the furniture by my hips. Yakov sinks between my knees, though he’s so gigantic that he still meets my gaze at eye level.

“It was never that I didn’t like you.” He bites the inside of my thigh, pulling back to smirk at the red outline of his teeth on my skin. “It’s that I hate to break beautiful things.”

He forces my knees apart, not that it’s particularly hard at this point. His exhale tickles across the damp center of my panties.

I inhale sharply, but it doesn’t help much. The room is going fuzzy around the edges. I feel like I’m floating, even with Yakov pinning me down.

“Are you going to break me?” I whisper.

“If I do even half of what’s going through my head right now, I’ll fucking destroy you.” His jaw flexes and he looks up at me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I’m frozen, staring down at him like I’m watching a movie. This can’t be real. He can’t be real.

Yakov pulls my black panties to the side and strokes his thumb down my slit. “You’re so wet, solnyshka. That’s why you were waiting up, isn’t it? It’s because you wanted me to come back and claim you like this.”

Yes.

No.

Okay, fine. Maybe.

After he left dinner, I wanted to see him again. There was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away. I needed to talk to him. Then he showed up bloody and broken and I was terrified. What if he’d never come home? What if I never got the chance to… I’m not even sure what.

One thing’s for sure: I never could have dreamed I’d get to have this.

He slides his fingers deeper into me. His thumb brushes over my clit and I’m on fire. I hook my hand around his neck and my leg around his calf, clinging on for dear life. I grind into his hand like I can’t control myself because, well, I can’t.

I moan his name and a string of nonsense syllables. He thrusts into me faster and faster, matching the pace of my beating heart. My hips rise up off the couch and Yakov curls an arm around my waist. He holds me, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I peel my eyes open and watch him finger me. Then he lowers his mouth to my clit, his eyes on me as he shatters the loose grip I have on my control.

I cry out as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me.

“Don’t look away,” Yakov orders. He tilts his head to the side, dark eyes studying me as I fall apart. “Look at me when I make you come.”

I’ve never been more vulnerable or turned on in my life.

And Yakov knows it.

I’ve barely come down when he throws my legs over his shoulders and positions his cock at my pussy. With one thrust, he plunges into me. I’m ready for him—well, I thought I was—but the way he stretches me still steals my breath.

I gasp and he wraps his hands around my legs, somehow pushing even deeper into me, which makes me gasp again, which pushes him deeper into me, which makes me—you get the picture.

“Fucking hell.” He tilts his head back, his throat bobbing in the blue light from the TV. “Do you feel that? You were made to fit me.”

His stomach flexes and I can’t stop myself from touching him. My fingers are cold against the hard ridges of his abs.

He fucks me faster and faster. My gasps dissolve into something even less coherent. I toss my arms over my head, reaching for the edge of the couch just to have something to hold onto.

Yakov drops his hand between my legs and starts circling his thumb around my clit until I’m delirious. My entire world has narrowed to where his body touches mine.

“Yakov, I—ohfuckinghellnotagain.” I was about to tell him he was going to make me come. But I don’t need to. The clench of my body around his is pretty easy to interpret.

He slows his thrusting as my orgasm finally has mercy and lets me breathe again. His calloused hands stroke up and down my shins where they rest on his shoulders. Then he pushes my legs away. They flop uselessly to the couch and he bends over me.

“Do I fuck you like someone who doesn’t care about you, Luna?” he growls, the words a deep rumble in my ear.

I weakly shake my head. “No. That was⁠—”

“Maybe I should. Maybe I should fuck you like you’re a faceless, nameless, meaningless one-night stand.”

Is that what I am? What we are?

No. Somewhere deep inside, I feel it.

There’s more here.

I wrap my legs around his lower back, pulling him closer. The tip of him splits me and I moan.

“Fuck me like a one-night stand if you want,” I rasp. “You don’t have to like me. Just… want me. Touch me. That’s enough.”

I’m lying. It won’t be enough until I have all of him.

He slips further into me, his teeth clenched. “It isn’t enough, Luna. I don’t want that. Don’t you see that?”

I shake my head. If he doesn’t want me, I don’t want to know. I want the pretty lies. I want the fantasy. Whatever it is that means Yakov keeps touching me and I can stay here in his arms, that’s what I want.

“What I want is to fuck you like you’re the last fuck I’ll ever have.” Yakov slams himself home in me again. “That’s what fucking terrifies me.”

He kisses me while he fills me, claiming me with his tongue and his cock until I’m writhing under him again.

“Yakov…” I moan, my legs tightening behind his back.

He goes rigid. His hand fists in my hair and he spills into me with a savage grunt.

I’m wrecked in every way imaginable. My eyes are fluttering closed before Yakov even slides out of me.

When I feel his arms scoop behind my back and under my knees, I whimper something, though hell if I know what I’m even trying to say. Yakov shushes me, and I drift to sleep with the gentle swaying of his steps.

I wake one more time as he pulls his comforter under my chin.

The last thing I hear is the deep rumble of his voice.

“Get some sleep, solnyshka.”