“Oh, please. I got shot, not turned into a Fabergé egg. I know my limits, and right now, my limit is how much longer I can watch you play nursemaid when what I really want is my husband.” I lean forward, just a smidge, letting the shirt gape enough to give him a peek at what he’s been avoiding for ten whole days. “You know, the one who sets my skin on fire with a single look?”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and I grin, knowing I’ve got him on the ropes. He sets his papers down, but he’s still glued to that damn chair like it’s his last line of defense. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Me? Never.” I bat my lashes, all mock innocence, then let my voice drop to a whisper. “But Iamtrying to get you naked. Or, you know, close enough.” I pat the bed beside me, careful not to jostle my shoulder, though the dull ache’s nothing compared to the heat pooling low in my belly. “Come on, Alaric. I need to feelalive. I needyou.”
He stands, finally, moving like he’s stalking prey, and my heart does a little victory dance. But he’s still holding back, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting himself. “I could hurt you,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, and God, it’s sexy when he gets all protective and tortured.
“You could,” I admit, tilting my head to meet his gaze, letting him see the hunger in my eyes. “Or you could trust me to know what I can handle. Spoiler alert—I can handle you, Moretti. All of you.” I reach out with my good hand, trailing my fingers down his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my touch. “Unless you’re scared you can’t keep up with me.”
His laugh is dark, dangerous, and it sends a shiver straight to my core. “Scared?” He steps closer, looming over the bed now, his shadow falling over me like a promise. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”
“Good,” I shoot back, my voice all breathy challenge as I tug at his shirt, pulling him closer. “I like dangerous. Especially when it’s you.” I lean in, brushing my lips against his jaw, just a tease, and I feel him shudder, his control fraying like cheap thread. “Ten days, Alaric. Ten days of your hands on me, all gentle and careful, when what I really want is you pinning me down, making me forget my own name.”
“Kasimira,” he growls, and it’s a warning, but his hand is already on my thigh, sliding up under the shirt, his fingers hot against my skin. “You keep talking like that, and I won’t be able to stop.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper, nipping at his earlobe, and the sound he makes—half groan, half curse—makes my toes curl. “I don’t want slow and sweet, Alaric. I want you. All of you. Right now.”
He’s on me in a heartbeat, his lips crashing into mine, not gentle, not careful, but deep and claiming, like he’s been starving for this as much as I have. I moan into his mouth, my good hand fisting in his hair, and he pulls back just enough to pin me with that look—the one that says I’m his, and he’s about to prove it.
“We’ll go slow,” he says, but his voice is rough with want, his hand tightening on my thigh like he’s barely holding back.
“Very slow,” I agree, but my smirk says otherwise, and the way his eyes darken tells me he’s not buying my innocent act for a second. “But I like it hot.”
Okay, maybe that was a bit much, but the way his jaw clenches makes it worth it. I’m Kasimira Vale-Moretti, international relations grad, fluent in six languages, and I’m not above a little cheesy seduction to get what I want. And what I want is him, all of him, right now.
“Fuck, Kasi,” he growls, and that voice—low, rough, like he’s barely holding it together—sends a shiver straight to my core. He kisses me again, not soft this time, but deep and claiming, his tongue sliding against mine like he’s staking territory. I moan into his mouth, a little too loud, and he pulls back just enough to smirk. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll wake Maria.”
“Let her hear,” I say, breathless, my good hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. “Maybe she’ll learn something.” His chuckle is dark, delicious, and I swear it vibrates through me like a bass line.
I tug at his shirt again, but he catches my wrist, gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over my pulse.
“No straining that arm,” he orders, and there’s that domineering edge that makes my thighs clench. “You want this, we do it my way.”
“Oh, bossy,” I tease, but my voice is all breathy want, betraying me. “Fine. Your way. But make it good, Moretti, or I’m writing a Yelp review for this marriage.”
His laugh is low, almost a growl, and he shifts, easing me back against the pillows with a care that’s at odds with the heat in his eyes.
“Trust me, baby, you’ll be giving me five stars.” He slides his hand under my—his—shirt, fingers skimming up my thigh, until they find the edge of my panties. My breath catches, and I bite my lip to keep from whimpering as he teases me through the fabric, his touch light but maddening.
“Alaric,” I whine, shifting my hips to chase his fingers, but he pins me with a look that saysbehave.
God, that look could make me do anything—jump off a cliff, rob a bank, or, you know, stay very still while he drives me insane.
“Patience,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I gasp, my good hand flying to his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “You’re so fucking responsive,” he says, his voice rough as his fingers slip beneath my panties, finding me already wet. “This for me?”
“Who else?” I manage, my voice cracking as he circles my clit with that perfect, infuriating pressure. “You’re the only one who—oh, God.” My words dissolve into a moan as he slides a finger inside me, slow and deep, his thumb still working me until I’m trembling.
“That’s it,” he says, his lips against my ear, his voice a dark promise. “Let me hear you, Kasi. Let me know how much you need this.” He adds another finger, curling them just right, and I can’t help it—I cry out, my head tipping back against the pillows. The ache in my shoulder is nothing compared to the fire building inside me, the way he’s unraveling me with every touch.
“Alaric, please,” I beg, and I don’t even care how desperate I sound. I need more, need him, need to feel that connection we’ve been dancing around for ten damn days. “I need you inside me.”
He groans, the sound raw, and I feel him shift, his free hand undoing his belt with a clink that makes my pulse race. He doesn’t bother with his shirt, just shoves his pants and boxers down enough, and when he presses against me, hot and hard, I whimper, my legs parting as much as my position allows. He’s careful, so careful, easing into me slowly, watching my face for any sign of pain. But all I feel is him, filling me, stretching me, making me whole.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged. He moves, slow and deep, each thrust measured to keep from jarring my shoulder, but it’s still intense, still perfect. I wrap my good arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and he kisses me, swallowing my moans as we find a rhythm that’s all heat and heart.
His thrusts deepen, just enough to push me closer to the edge, and when his fingers find my clit again, I’m done. My orgasm hits like a sparkler, bright and consuming, and I cry out his name, my body trembling beneath him.
He follows me over, his groan muffled against my neck as he comes, his body shuddering with the force of it. For a moment,we’re just us, tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
