His jaw clenched. Hard.
“Because…” he said softly, “I’m still deciding whether to punish you or kiss you.”
“Decisions, decisions.”
“Indeed,” he purred, sending a surge of heat straight down to my core at the same time my stomach twisted with nervous anticipation.
“Why don’t you just make it easy on yourself and do both?”
“If you keep provoking me, you’re going to find out what I do when I stop holding back.”
“Like I said, I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be, princess,” he growled.
Then he closed the last inch of space between us and kissed me.
It wasn’t like Mikhail’s kiss. Controlled. Grounded. Intense. Meant to soothe and claim at the same time.
It wasn’t like Viktor’s. Wild. A celebration. A challenge to see who would break first.
Andrei’s kiss was an act of war.
It was frustration and fury and a desperate, hungry need to claim something he hadn’t yet touched. He didn’t coax. He didn’t tease. He took. His mouth slanted over mine, demanding and punishing and so full of heat I felt it all the way to my toes. One hand wrapped around the back of my neck, angling my head just how he wanted it; the other braced against the wall beside my head, keeping me where he wanted me.
I responded in kind.
I dug my fingers into the expensive fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, matching his aggression with my own. He groaned against my lips, a seductive sound of pleasure and strain and relief all at once. His tongue swept against mine, claiming, tasting, devouring. He kissed me like he’d been starving for this moment, for this fight, for this taste of me his whole life.
He broke the kiss as suddenly as he’d started, both of us breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. The cabin was quiet except for the hum of the engines and the ragged sound of our breathing.
“I should lock you in that compartment for the rest of this flight,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the wet, swollen skin of my lower lip.
“You’d be bored without me,” I shot back, my own breath uneven. “And you’d wonder the whole time what you’re missing.”
“I already know what I’m missing,” he snarled, his gaze dropping to my mouth again. “And it’s driving me insane.”
A soft chime echoed from the front of the plane, followed by the quiet click of a door opening.
We both froze.
A young woman in a crisp navy uniform stepped into the cabin, her expression polite but tinged with a carefully professional blankness. She stopped short, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she took in the scene: me, pinned against the wall by Andrei, my lips undoubtedly swollen, his hand wrapped around my throat.
She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink. “Mr. Dragunov,” she said, her voice a little too high. “Apologies for the interruption. Will you and… your guest be requiring anything before we reach our cruising altitude?”
He grinned, the expression on his face turning dark and dangerous. He didn’t release me. If anything, his grip on my neck tightened possessively. He looked from the flustered stewardess back to me, his eyes dark with intent.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “yes. I’ll need four silk ties.”
The stewardess blinked, clearly taken aback by the request, but smart enough not to question it. “Of… of course, sir. Right away.”
She turned and fled back toward the bedroom with a haste that was almost comical.
My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic, wild rhythm. What was he going to do, tie me up? I smiled, imagining exactly that.
“Andrei,” I warned, but it came out sounding more like a challenge.
“Told you there would be consequences,” he murmured, releasing my throat. Before I could protest, he hooked an arm behind my knees and another around my back, lifting me effortlessly.
