Thick. Heavy. Long.
Curving slightly toward his stomach as it stands fully, completely erect.
My mouth actually parts.
Heat rushes between my legs so violently that I almost groan.
And the worst part?
He sees it.
He sees exactly where I’m looking. Exactly how long I’m looking. Exactly how my face heats and how my breath stutters.
His lips twitch in a slow, arrogant smirk that makes my entire body clench.
“Is something wrong, solnyshko?” he asks, voice deep and lazy. “You look struck.”
“I’m— I’m not— I wasn’t—”
“You’re staring.”
He takes a step closer to the bed.
The movement makes everything between my thighs pulse with humiliating awareness.
“Don’t worry. I knew you’d stare the first time.”
I make a strangled noise. “Oh my God—fuck—you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“I’m overheating. It’s the fire.”
“It’s me.”
He slides under the sheets, massive and golden in the firelight, and the bed shifts under his weight.
He folds one arm behind his head. Casual. Relaxed. Completely aware he’s naked and I’m dying.
The sheet rests dangerously low over his hips. The outline of him is still visible beneath the silk.
My thighs squeeze together involuntarily.
“You coming to bed?” he asks.
“I hate you,” I manage.
“You’ve mentioned that.” His eyes drop to my chest. “Get in. There’s a nightdress in the drawer”.
Correction, there’s a little piece of silk that does nothing to cover me. I climb the bed, because I’m exhausted and half-broken and terrified and horny in a way that makes me want to smash my own head into the wall.
I get in on the opposite side, as far from him as physically possible.
The mattress dips every time he breathes. The heat from his body seeps across the sheets.
My skin buzzes like I’ve been rewired.
He glances at me once more.
