I try to prod, soft and casual. “So there’s no one waiting for you in New York? No husband pacing at arrivals?”
Her smile tightens. “No one. Not that it’s any of your business, Aleksander.”
She pulls her hands away, reaching for the first aid kit as if the conversation is over.
But I’m not done—not even close. I step closer, lowering my voice, letting the heat bleed into every word. “You know, I remember you being a much worse liar.”
She scoffs, turning her back, but I can see the shiver that runs through her. She’s always been so stubborn, so quick to shut me out when she’s scared.
So I find another way.
I move in, my hand sliding to her waist. Her breath catches, and I can see the war in her eyes—wanting to fight, wanting to stay. “Why do you always run, Bella?” I murmur, my mouth inches from her ear. “Were you worried what I might think of Lily?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and it looks like she’s about to say something.
She turns, ready to argue, but I catch her jaw gently, tipping her face up to mine. The words die on her lips.
“You don’t have to run from me,” I say, and then I pull her to me, hard, mouth crashing against hers.
It’s all heat and memory—her body soft and tense in my arms, her hands pressed against my chest, her lips meeting mine with an answering hunger that makes my head spin. For a moment, nothing else exists. There’s just her, just us, all the lost time burning away in a kiss that’s desperate and angry and impossibly sweet.
She tries to break away, but I hold her tight, unwilling to let go just yet. I kiss her like it’s the only thing that matters—like she’s mine, and always has been.
She melts against me for a second, her mouth answering mine, fingers curling into my shirt like she wants to climb inside my skin. I feel the ache I’ve been carrying for years crack open, raw and electric.
But then she tenses, breath shuddering, and pulls back just enough to break the seal of our mouths. Her hands flatten against my chest, holding me at bay. She won’t meet my eyes.
I search her face, jaw tight, fighting the urge to drag her closer and never let her go. “You still feel it, don’t you?” I whisper, voice rough. “Tell me I’m not the only one.”
She shakes her head, but her lips are red and swollen, her eyes glassy with heat and confusion. “This is crazy,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Aleksander, we can’t— It’s not that simple.”
I brush my thumb along her cheek, aching to convince her. “Why not? Tell me what’s stopping you. Who’s stopping you?”
She shakes her head at my question, but instead of pulling away, she closes the space between us and claims my mouth with hers. Her kiss is urgent, hungry, filled with everything we never said. My hands slide up her back, finding the warm, bare skin beneath her shirt as she presses herself against me, desperate and bold.
The world shrinks down to the taste of her, the thrum of her heartbeat against my chest, her fingers twisting in my hair as she deepens the kiss. I can’t get enough—I need to touch her, all of her, to remind myself this is real.
She gasps into my mouth as my hands find her waist, her ribs, sliding higher until I feel the soft swell of her breast through the thin fabric. I tug her shirt up, breaking the kiss just long enough for her to let me pull it over her head, her skin glowing under the soft lights. For a moment, I just look at her—breathtaking, flushed, wanting me as much as I want her.
I lower my head, my lips finding the sensitive skin along her collarbone, then lower still, tracing heat and memory over the curve of her breast. Her hands clutch my shoulders as I press hot, open-mouthed kisses across her skin, losing myself in the sounds she makes, the way she arches into my touch.
My hands explore her, greedy for every new touch—her ribs, her back, the smooth slope of her waist, her skin flushed and warm under my hands. I pause just to look at her, chest rising and falling, eyes bright with want. My breath catches; it’s been years, but nothing has dulled the pull between us.
Her hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, anywhere she can reach, and when I take her nipple in my mouth through her bra, she gasps, arching into me. I want to devour her, to hear every sound she’s been holding back all these years.
Her lips taste like wine and something wilder, something I can’t get enough of. Bella’s breath hitches as my hands slip under her top, sliding up her bare skin, hungry for every inch. I reach behind, unclasp her bra—my fingers quick, practiced—and pull it off, letting it drop to the floor. Her tits are soft and full in my hands, nipples hard against my palms. I take one into my mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
Her hips grind into me, needy and restless, and my cock throbs—hard, straining against my jeans. I want her so badly it hurts.
I slide my hand down, undoing the button of her jeans. She’s already wet; I can feel the heat through her panties. I slip my fingers under the lace, brushing over her clit—she shudders, breathless, her legs parting wider. I circle her clit, slow and teasing at first, then faster, wanting to feel her come apart in my hands.
She moans, low and desperate, nails digging into my shoulders. My cock is aching, desperate to be inside her, but I want this—I want to watch her lose control. I push two fingers inside, curling them, fucking her slow as my thumb rubs her clit. Her walls clench around me and she cries out, the sound wrecking me.
I press my mouth to her ear, voice rough. “You feel so fucking good, Bella. I need you.”
She pulls me down, mouth hungry on mine, and I know I won’t last much longer if she keeps making those sounds—my cock is so hard it’s almost painful.
Her breath stutters, hips rolling against my hand as I work her clit in tight, slick circles. I want to own every sound that spills from her lips. My fingers slide deeper, curling inside her, and I lean in close, lips brushing her ear.
