My mind spins. “You barely ate,” I try, a weak protest.
He gives a crooked smile, dark eyes burning. “Not that kind of hungry.” Before I can say another word, he lifts me easily, settling me onto the edge of the dinner table. Plates and silverware clatter, forgotten.
Then his mouth is on my neck, tongue tracing a slow, hungry line to my collarbone. He kneels, hitching my dress up, his hands bold and impatient. The heat of his breath skates over my bare skin, making me shiver.
“You’re just trying to distract me,” I whisper, fingers curling into his hair as his tongue flicks against my nipple, sending sparks shooting through me.
“Maybe,” he growls, looking up at me with a hunger that borders on worship. “But you want it just as badly.”
His mouth trails lower, unhurried but intent, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and doesn’t plan to stop. My breath stutters as he slips fully between my thighs, his hands spreading me open with a familiarity that makes my knees weak.
Then his tongue finds me.
I open my mouth to argue, but it turns into a gasp, a moan, as his tongue licks around my pussy, relentless. He’s ravenous, insistent, every touch staking his claim.
He groans softly against me, the sound vibrating straight through my core, and then he licks me again, slow and deliberate, flattening his tongue against my clit like he’s tasting something he’s been starving for.
“Fuck,” I whisper, fingers digging into the edge of the table.
He doesn’t answer. He just sucks gently, then harder, lips closing around my clit as if he means to pull the sound right out of my throat. My body reacts instantly, heat coiling tight and fast, my legs trembling as I try to stay upright.
I know what he’s doing. I know he’s distracting me, pulling me out of my head and into my body. I know it’s deliberate.
And still I can’t stop the moan that slips free when his tongue flicks just right, when his mouth seals around me again and he hums low, possessive, like he’s reminding me exactly how easily he can undo me.
My hands fist in his hair, my head falling back as the world narrows to sensation. The fear, the questions, the future I don’t understand—all of it dissolves into the wet heat of his mouth, the relentless way he licks and sucks until my thighs shake and my breath comes apart.
“Aleksander,” I breathe, half warning, half plea.
He looks up at me then, eyes dark and focused, his mouth still wet from me. “There you are,” he murmurs, before dragging his tongue over my clit again, slow and cruel and perfect.
He keeps his mouth on me, steady and relentless, like he’s decided this is the only thing that exists right now. His tongue moves with purpose, slow at first, circling, pressing, retreating just enough to make me ache before coming back again. He sucks gently, then harder, lips closing around my clit until my breath fractures.
“Oh god—” I gasp, the words falling apart as my hips lift without permission.
He grips my thighs, anchoring me, keeping me open for him. The sound he makes against me is low and hungry, possessive, and it sends a sharp wave of heat straight through my body. My nipples ache, hard and oversensitive, my skin humming everywhere he’s touched me.
“You feel that,” he murmurs, voice rough, mouth never leaving me. “Don’t fight it.”
I’m already shaking. My fingers claw at the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the tension coils tighter and tighter, sharp and fast and unbearable. He knows exactly where I am, exactly how close, and instead of easing up, he licks me deeper, faster, his tongue flicking just right, again and again.
“Aleksander,” I breathe, desperate now, my body rocking toward his mouth.
He groans softly, the vibration tipping me over the edge.
I come with a broken sound, my whole body seizing, thighs trembling as the pleasure tears through me in waves. I can’t hold myself up, can’t think, can’t do anything but gasp and shudder as he keeps his mouth on me, riding it out with me, not stopping until the last aftershock fades.
I sag back against the table, breathless, completely undone.
Only then does he lift his head, eyes dark, focused, intent. He presses a slow kiss to my thigh, then straightens, crowding into my space again, one hand sliding up my body like he’s reminding me he’s still here.
“Now,” he says quietly, voice thick, “you’re listening.”
10
ALEKSANDER
I helpher down from the table, my hands circling her bare waist, the heat of her skin lingering against my palms. She’s still breathless, her hair tangled, lips parted and cheeks flushed. The marks I left on her thighs stand out against her pale skin—a bruise from my grip, a faint red line where my stubble scraped her inner thigh. She smells like sweat, soap, expensive perfume and something raw and dark that’s just her.
