Chapter 43 Clouded Minds
Rage and anger were literally simmering above Nikolai's hair as he walked briskly out of the room.
If he stayed there any longer, he would devour her like a mad man who was just set free.
"Fuck!"
Her body flavours were literally permanent on his tongue. Every time he swallowed he could taste her like she was a drug he could never detox from—sweet, musky, faintly metallic, and layered with the raw salt of her tears and the slick heat of her release.
It was coated at the roof of his mouth, clinging to the back of his throat as it seeped into every breath he took.
Even now, as he walked through the brightened hallways outside the bedroom like a caged animal, he could still feel her on his lips, her essence branded into him deeper than any scar he had.
"Dammit!" He let out a guttural growl as he slammed his fist again the wall once. The skin around his knuckles split and blood began seeping out but he couldn't feel the pain because a loud roar was raging in his head.
He couldn't care about some measly wound when his brain was damaged because of her.
He scoffed as the word 'freedom' echoed in his head.
She had fucking asked for a freedom, so softly, so innocent like he was the bad person.
Her freedom wasn't another currency he could trade. Letting her go would literally rip the air from his lungs, the blood from his veins, the fucking sanity from his skull.
If it hadn't already begun.
He dragged both hands through his hair, tugging until it hurt. His cock was still painfully hard, throbbing against the rough fabric of his pants, untouched and furious.
He had walked away from her—left her sprawled on the sheets, flushed and trembling, nipples swollen from his mouth, thighs slick with her own arousal and his spit.
Because he knew if he stayed one more second after she had asked for freedom, he would have fucked her through the mattress until she couldn’t remember the meaning of the word.
He leaned his forehead against the cool wall, his breathing ragged. Every inhale pulled more of her into him—her scent on his skin, her taste on his tongue, the memory of her mewls vibrating in his ears.
He groaned low, the sound broken and animalistic, as he pressed the heel of his palm against his erection, trying to force the ache down but it only made it worse.
"She must think I do this with everyone," he muttered to the empty corridor, his voice hoarse.
"She must be thinking I beg. That I crack open like this for any woman who spreads for me."
A bitter laugh scraped out of him.
He have had women.
Plenty. Faceless, forgettable. Minutes on him, bodies under him as they screamed in his ear but that meant nothing to him, the second they left the room because he didn't care for them.
None of them had ever made him tremble like this.
None of them had ever made him offer his soul for one goddamn kiss.
Only her.
Only Isabella with her innocent jade green eyes and her stubborn little chin and the way her body melted even when her mind fought.
Only the woman who could ask for freedom while still arching into his touch like he was starving of water.
He straightened his back, wiping the blood from his muscles on his shirt.
The taste of her flared again as he swallowed, even stronger now, almost like he was punished.
Like his own body was reminding him what he had walked away from.
He couldn't stay out here.
He couldn't go back in there yet either.
Not until the rage settled. Not until he could look at her without wanting to pin her wrists above her head and fuck the word, "freedom" out of her vocabulary until the only thing she could whimper was his name.
But holy hell, he craved going back there.
He wanted to crawl between her thighs again, bury his face in her and suck out all wet slick heat she could bring out until she cried apologies.
His tongue burned with an itch to explore her mouth the way he wanted her to do him—deep, filthy, claiming—until she understood that her mouth, her core, her tears, her everything already belonged to him.
He wanted to prove, with every thrust of his tongue, every growl, every deep groan against her skin, that freedom was a fantasy he would never allow.
He exhaled shakily.
He couldn't stay here with her thoughts till brewing hot in his mind.
He walked down the stairs and into the mini bar and corked open a bottle of macallan 18.
He didn't bother helping himself with a glass and drank straight from the bottle.
He needed to replace the burn in his chest with the burn from the wine.
His throat bobbed as he drank more than required.
The bottle was half-empty but her scent , everything about her was making his brain hazy.
The burns she brought to his chest over powered the hot searing burn of the wine.
"Dammit!"He growled and threw the bottle across the bar.
"Fucking useless." He groaned excruciatingly
His eyes were filled so much anger and hot burning desire as the same time.
He wiped his knuckles across his lips as she left the bar.
He couldn't stay in that house when she was all he could think about.
.
.
Isabella, was alone in the dim room. She was curled like a ball, crying like she just had her heart carved out with a dull blade.
Her fingers curled into the sheets until her knuckles were white.
She could still taste him too.
His cedar and intense smoked vanilla scent that clouded her mind from when he had kissed the corners of her lips flushed her skin.
She hated her much she craved more of it. Hated how her mind kept replaying the way he had sucked his own finger after exploring her mouth.
Her tears grew louder as she shook with every sob that tore from her chest like something breaking open inside her chest that she had tried for too long to keep locked away.
"Ahh!" She yelled in unbearable pain.
Her shoulder caving in to bring warmth to her broken heart.
She chewed her lips, her hot tears soaking the pillows.
She didn't understand herself anymore.
She hated him.
She didn’t hate him.
And mostly she hated herself for not knowing the difference.