"I know." My hands are shaking as they frame his scarred face. "But you're kissing me anyway."
"Because I'm weak." His eyes are wild, torn between rage and desire. "Because even knowing what you did, I still—"
I kiss him again before he can finish that sentence. Before he can say something we'll both regret. His resistance lasts approximately two seconds before he's kissing me back with renewed intensity.
His hands slide down my sides. When his fingers find the slit in my dress and slip underneath to touch bare thigh, I gasp against his mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he demands, his hand sliding higher. "Tell me this is wrong."
"It's wrong," I breathe, but I'm pulling him closer, not pushing him away. "So wrong."
"Then why aren't you stopping me?"
"Because you’re not the only one that’s been dead for six years." The truth tears out of me.
Something breaks in his expression. The cold hatred cracks, revealing the raw pain underneath. His thumb strokes the inside of my thigh. I bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
"You ruined me," he whispers against my throat, his mouth finding the pulse point there. "Destroyed everything I was."
"You ruined me first." My head falls back against the stone wall as his teeth graze my skin.
His hand moves higher, fingers finding the edge of my panties. I should stop this. Should push him away before we cross a line we can't uncross.
Instead, I widen my stance, giving him access.
"We can't do this here," I manage, even as my body betrays every word. "If someone finds us—"
"Let them." His fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding me already wet and ready. "Let them see exactly who you belong to."
The possessiveness in his voice should anger me. The Ice Queen doesn't belong to anyone.
But I'm not the Ice Queen right now. Right now, I'm just Kira, and the man I love is touching me like he's trying to reclaim something that was stolen from him.
"Maksim." His name breaks on a moan as his fingers find exactly the right spot. He knows my body like no time has passed at all. Knows exactly how to touch me, where to press, how to drive me out of my mind.
"Say it again." His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back so he can see my face. "Say my name."
"Maksim." I'm trembling, barely able to stand. "Please."
"Please what?" His fingers are moving in slow, deliberate circles that are going to make me come apart. "Please stop? Please continue? Use your words, Kira."
"Don't stop." I grip his shoulders for support, my nails digging in. "God, please don't stop."
He adds a second finger. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound I make. The pain seems to drive him wild. He increases the pressure, the pace, his thumb finding my clit while his fingers work inside me.
"Look at me," he commands. I force my eyes open to meet his. "I want to watch you. Remember who I am. Who I was."
"Maksim, I—" The words dissolve into incoherent sounds as the pressure builds. Six years of grief and longing and repressed desire all coiling tighter and tighter until I can't breathe.
"That's it." His voice is rough with his own need. "Come for me. Show me you're still mine."
The orgasm hits like lightning, white-hot and devastating. I shatter against his hand, my body convulsing. His other arm around my waist keeps me upright. I bury my face in his neck to muffle the sounds, tasting salt and soap and him.
Suddenly, he’s spinning me around, my face connects with the stone wall. His hands jerk up my dress, baring my ass to him. I feel the tug and then hear the tearing sound of my thong being ripped away.
Then the sound of his zipper.
I brace myself against the cold stone, my palms flat, my heart hammering so hard I think it might explode. Behind me, I hear the rasp of his belt, feel the heat of him as he presses against my back.
