Accidental, maybe, but it doesn’t feel like nothing.
I freeze, unsure if I should move and spook him.
His hand stays there. Fingertips grazing the back of my hand. Warm. Soothing.And yet electrifying at the same time.
I lift my eyes from the words I’m not really reading anymore.
I reach for his hand, gauging his reaction as I slowly lace our fingers together. He lets it happen. Doesn’t pull back or wince. He doesn’t even flinch, and that alone makes my heart pound much faster.
He turns to me then, eyes dark and unreadable.
His eyes search my face before dropping to my mouth. And just like that, the air shifts.
I want him to kiss me again. I’ve wanted it for days. To test the theory that it’ll be just as good as it was the first time. But it hasn’t happened. Just brief touches. Moments. Nothing more since that night.
He shifts. His other hand cups my cheek as he stares at me. It’s a look of adoration. Worship, almost. Like I’m some enigma he doesn’t know what to do with. His thumb strokes my cheek. And he leans toward me.
I meet him halfway. Our lips touch. It’s lingering and toe-curling. And it’sperfect.
And then he kisses me again. This time, he kisses me harder, deeper. His hand slides through the strands at the base of my neck, where my hair escapes my ponytail. He releases our intertwined fingers, his palm gliding up my waist as I shift closer without thinking, climbing into his lap because being beside him isn’t enough anymore.
A low groan vibrates through his chest when I settle against him, deliberate and careful. His fingers tighten like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
His kiss devours me. Claims me. My heart pounds against my ribs with every brush of his mouth, every tug of my lower lip as if he’s burning the memory into his soul. It’s the same careful attention he showed me before, but hotter now. Less restrained.
Breathless, I pull back, gulping air. “Viktor...”
His eyes flicker to mine—hungry, unwavering. Pupils blown wide. He doesn’t hesitate before diving back in, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, asking permission I willingly grant.
“Don’t stop,” I rasp.
And that’s all the permission he needs.
He shifts beneath me, broad hands sliding to my hip. And I feel him hard and hot beneath me.
Something deep settles in him. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, roughly. I feel it beneath my palms pressed to his chest, the way his heart races to match mine.
The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged and crackling with electricity.
His thumb trails along my side through the thin fabric of my sundress, following the seam to the hem. I shiver at his touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low as his hand strokes the exposed skin of my thigh. Careful and deliberate, making my skin tingle.
I adjust my hips and earn a soft grunt from him as his grip tightens.
“I think about you too much. When I shouldn’t.” There’s something fierce behind his words. “Kissing you makes mefeel too much. I forget how to stop.”
I smile, my lips ghosting against his. “Then don’t.”
A genuine smile tugs at his mouth before he closes the distance. The kiss is explosive—like he’s restrained himself for days and is finally letting go. My fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring myself as his mouth moves with intensity.
His hand slides up my inner thigh, thumb grazing my sensitive skin. I shift against him, my thighs tightening around his waist, feeling the tremor that runs through us both.
His lips trail down my jaw to my throat, finding the raised skin of my collarbone. It’s dizzying—no one has ever affected me like this.
His hand slides higher beneath my dress. “Still okay?”
“Very okay,” I breathe, eyes fluttering closed.
