Her leg swings up, wrapping around my thigh and pulling me closer. She swivels her hips, writhing against me.
I break the kiss to trail my voracious mouth down her neck, marking her pulse with my teeth.
“Kirill.”
Her breathy gasp breaks through the haze. “Don’t say my name like you know me.”
My teeth scrape along the delicate stretch of her throat, then my mouth opens and I latch on, sucking hard enough to plant a mark. A bruise that will deepen to purple by morning.
Evidence. Proof.
A reminder, for both of us, when the cold clarity of daytime eats away at what we are in the night.
Her sharp nails rake my scalp, and she arches into me with another gasp. The sting grounds me, pinning me in place when I’d otherwise spin out into the dark with nothing to hold on to.
This is more than a kiss. I’m devouring her. Consuming her heat, her breath, her pulse, trying to replace every memory of the freezing, broken boy I used to be.
With her body against mine, I feel as though she could thaw the ice locked in my chest.
I’m torn. I can’t tell if I want to melt or burn up with her.
My hand slides down, trailing over her hip, between her legs. Even through the fabric, I can feel her wetness. I press with light fingers, and she releases another gasp.
That dissolves into a whimper as I shove the cloth aside and slip my fingers inside her.
She’s hot, slick, and trembling.
I stroke, learning her with every pass, greedy for the little catches of breath, for the way her hips jerk into my hand.
I could kiss her again, cut off those desperate noises, but I don’t. I need to hear her fall apart. Need proof that she’s losing control.
That this hunger isn’t only mine.
She meets every movement, every pressure, as if our bodies remember each other from somewhere far back. Like her shape was always meant for my hands. I work Jordan harder, faster, driven by a raw desire I can’t hide behind my apathy.
I want to ruin her. I need to be the cause of her pleasure, as much as I’ve been the source of her pain.
She’s right on the edge now.
I feel her tighten. Her breath hitches and frantic, helpless sounds escape her as she climbs higher. My name spills from her lips. A prayer, a plea, a curse.
This time, I don’t stop her.
She shatters around my fingers, her body spasming in sharp, desperate waves that clutch to my hand. Then she slackens, trembling against my chest. She buries her face in my shoulder, muffling her cries. Her muscles ripple and release, each convulsion weaker than the last, until finally she’s limp.
A rag doll softened by pleasure, slumping into my grip and the wall holding her up.
Her heavy head rests against my shoulder. Eyes green, glassy, and half-lidded. Her messy hair hangs loose around her shoulders.
All the defenses have crumbled.
Leaving her open. Exposed. Trusting.
That trust nearly undoes me.
The truth of what just happened blazes through the haze, hitting me like a slap.
This wasn’t punishment.
