"That's terrifying."
"I know."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I." He smiled, and it transformed his face—made him look younger, softer, like the man I'd glimpsed in our therapy sessions before everything fell apart. "But I'm willing to figure it out. If you are."
I looked at him for a long moment. This man who was somehow both a stranger and the most intimate person in my life. Who had seen me at my most vulnerable and hadn't flinched. Who was offering me something I'd never let myself want.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I'm willing."
He kissed me then. Soft at first, gentle, like he was asking permission. I answered by threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened. His hands slid up my thighs, gripping my hips, pulling me to the edge of the chair. I could feel the heat of him through his clothes, the solid strength of his body, the way he held himself back even as his breath came faster.
"We should move to the bedroom," I murmured against his lips.
"We should."
Neither of us moved. His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below my ear, and I arched into him with a gasp.
"Rodion—"
"I know." But he didn't stop. His hands were under my shirt now, sliding up my ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "Tell me to stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
"Then stop talking."
He stood in one fluid motion, pulling me up with him, and before I could catch my breath, he was lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, and he carried me out of the study and down the hall, his mouth never leaving mine.
The bedroom door was open. He kicked it shut behind us and pressed me against it, the cool wood against my back a sharp contrast to the heat of his body against my front.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he said against my throat. "Watching you work, seeing you handle everything with that calm professionalism, knowing what you look like when you come apart."
"That's very distracting for you."
"Extremely."
He pulled back long enough to strip off my shirt, then my bra, leaving me bare from the waist up. His eyes raked over me with an appreciation that made my skin flush.
"Beautiful," he said. "Every time, you're more beautiful than I remembered."
"Flattery won't get you—"
He silenced me with his mouth, one hand coming up to cup my breast, his thumb circling my nipple until it peaked under his touch. I moaned into the kiss, my hips rocking against him, seeking the friction I desperately needed.
He carried me to the bed and laid me down, following me onto the mattress. His weight pressed me into the sheets as he kissed his way down my neck, my collarbone, the valley between my breasts. His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard, and I cried out, my back arching off the bed.
"More," I gasped. "I need more."
"Patience."
"I don't have any patience."
"I've noticed." But he was smiling as he said it, and his hands were already working at the button of my pants, pulling them down along with my underwear until I was completely naked beneath him.
He sat back on his heels, still fully clothed, and just looked at me. The vulnerability of being exposed while he remained covered should have bothered me. Instead, it sent a wave of heat through my core.
