I purse my lips. Tension drifts off Kirill in waves, accentuated by his tightening grip on my wrists. For a moment, I think he’ll break them or something, but then he lifts me up by them. I’m stunned into silence when he releases my hands, removes my jacket, and rips open my shirt. The buttons scatter on the bed and roll onto the floor. My breasts tingle beneath my chest bandages, and my nipples harden to painful buds. There must be something wrong with me, because even though I know he’s mad, I still like his rough side. A part of me yearns for it while another part is scared of it. The fact
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