“Kolya.” I pant, not even sure what I’m asking for. More? Less?
Everything?
He walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the couch. His body cages mine, his lethal grace aimed solely at me. The glitter clinging to him glistens in the light as he moves, tiny stars against the darkness of his clothes, his skin, his eyes.
This man hurts people. Destroys them. I should be terrified.
But Kolya is the alarm clock I never knew I needed. In his presence, sleepwalking through life is impossible.
When I’m with him, I’m awake and alive and yearn for more.
His mouth devours mine again, swallowing whatever words might have formed on my tongue. Consuming me.
Robbing me of everything I have and demanding more.
I give myself willingly.
My body arches into his, seeking more contact, more of whatever this dangerous game is.
He growls against my lips. “Mine.”
I nearly come undone from that alone.
And even in this madness, even though every rational part of me should protest, my deepest, darkest part responds with a resoundingyes.
My world tilts.
I fall back onto the cushions.
The couch catches me with a softwhooshof air, and Kolya follows, one knee sinking into the fabric beside my hip to trap me. He is the shadow that devours my house whole, eradicating every bright corner and safe space I’ve meticulously created. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that strips away all pretense, all the walls I’ve built around myself since that night on the island.
That lethal stillness returns, but he’s not searching for threats. He’s concentrating on my face, studying every nuance of my expression. Memorizing me. I’m a puzzle he’s determined to solve. His gaze is so direct, so unwavering, that I couldn’t glance away even if I wanted to.
Otherwise, I prefer to take my time. See how far I can go.
The memory shoots a pulse of liquid heat between my legs.
How far will he go? How far do Iwanthim to go?
His hands reach for the hem of my blouse, and I brace myself, waiting for him to rip it off in one violent act. Instead, he gathers the fabric slowly, his eyes locked on mine as he slides the shirt up and over my head.
The deliberate restraint devastates me more than any forceful action. He drops the shirt to the floor, and I ache to know how controlled those hands will be once they start truly touching me.
His attention dips below my neck, and my cheeks flush. I skipped a bra—my blouse’s built-in cami was enough support for a quick shopping trip—and now I’m stripped from the waist up for his viewing pleasure.
His hand hovers over my navel before his eyes snap back to my face.
A silent directive passes between us as he taps the button of my jeans.
“Off.” The command doesn’t allow for argument.
My fingers fumble for a second before I obey, pushing the jeans and my underwear—plain pink cotton, nothing special—down my hips.
I kick them away, hoping he doesn’t notice the damp spot.
Now I’m completely exposed to his predatory appraisal. Naked while he remains fully clothed.
A thrill spirals through me at the power imbalance, curling heat below my navel.
