His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and the touch sends electricity cascading through every nerve ending. I watch his pupils dilate, watch the careful control he's maintained begin to crumble, and feel my own resolve shatter like glass.
"This time," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire, "nothing's going to stop us."
His eyes blaze with heat that has nothing to do with the flames beside us, and when he lowers his mouth to mine, I know with crystalline clarity that everything is about to change.
12
NIKOLAI
The firelight casts dancing shadows across Aria's face as she looks up at me, her dark eyes reflecting the flames and something deeper, something that makes my chest constrict with an emotion I've spent twenty years learning to suppress. Her hands rest on my chest, fingers splayed across my bare skin, and I can feel my heart hammering beneath her touch like it's trying to reach her.
"This time," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the distant crash of waves, "nothing's going to stop us."
The words ignite something primal in me, something that has nothing to do with the calculated control that defines my existence and everything to do with the raw need that's been building since the moment I first saw her on my yacht. I frame her face with my hands, my thumbs brushing across her cheekbones, and search her eyes for any trace of hesitation or doubt.
I find only heat. Only want that mirrors the hunger clawing through my veins.
"Are you certain?" The question comes out rougher than intended, my accent thickening with desire and something that feels dangerously close to desperation. "Once we cross this line, Aria, there's no going back. You'll be mine."
Her lips curve into a smile that makes my blood heat. "Maybe I want to be yours."
The admission shatters what little restraint I've been clinging to. I capture her mouth with mine, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting salt and smoke and something uniquely her that I somehow know I'll crave for the rest of my life. Her hands slide up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I feel her body arch against mine with an urgency that matches my own.
I lower her onto the sand beside the fire, the warmth from the flames heating one side of my body while the cool night air kisses the other. But all I can focus on is Aria beneath me, her dark hair fanning across the sand like a halo, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths that make the sports bra she's been living in strain against her curves.
"You're beautiful," I murmur against her throat, my lips tracing the line of her pulse. "So fucking beautiful it terrifies me."
My eyes travel down her body with hungry appreciation. Her skin glows golden in the flames, and I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. The makeshift shorts she's fashioned from salvaged fabric sit low on her hips, revealing the taut plane of her stomach, the gentle curve of her waist. Time on this island has left her sun-kissed and lean, every line of her body a study in feminine strength.
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my mouth. "The great Pakhan, terrified of a caterer?"
"Terrified of what you make me feel." The confession slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I haven't allowed myself to be since I was twelve years old. "Terrified of how much I want you. How much I need you."
Her hands cup my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Then take what you need, Nikolai. I'm here. I'm choosing this. Choosing you."
The words break something open inside me, something I've kept locked away. I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the soft sounds she makes when my tongue traces the seam of her lips. My hands map her body with reverent attention, memorizing every curve, every place that makes her breath catch.
My fingers find the hem of her sports bra, and I pause, letting the anticipation build between us. Then slowly, so slowly, I begin to peel the fabric up. It clings to her damp skin, and she lifts her arms to help me, the movement arching her back in a way that makes my cock throb almost painfully against my shorts.
When I finally pull it over her head and toss it aside, I have to pause just to look at her. The flames cast golden light across her bare breasts, and Christ, they're perfect—full and round, larger than they appeared beneath the compression of the sports bra. They're heavy enough that they settle slightly to the sides as she lies back, the kind of weight I know will fill my hands perfectly. Her skin is paler here where the sun hasn't touched, creating a tantalizing contrast with her bronzed shoulders and stomach.
Her nipples are already hard, tight peaks the color of dusty rose, and I watch, mesmerized, as they tighten further in the cool night air. Or maybe from my gaze. The areolas are slightly darker, puckered with arousal, and I can see her chest rising and falling faster now, her breasts moving with each breath.
"Stop staring," she says, but there's no real complaint in her voice, just a breathless quality that makes my body tighten with need.
"I can't." I reach out, finally allowing myself to touch, and the first contact of my palm against her breast makes us both inhale sharply. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm from the fire, and the weight of her fills my hand exactly as I imagined. I cup her gently, feeling the give of her flesh, the way she fits against my palm like she was made for me. "I've wanted this, wanted you, since the moment you looked at me on the yacht like I was just another obstacle in your way."
I brush my thumb across her nipple, feeling it harden even more beneath my touch, and she gasps, her back arching to press more firmly into my hand. The texture of her nipple is different from the silk of her breast—tighter, more responsive. I circle it slowly, watching her face as pleasure transforms her features, then gently roll it between my thumb and forefinger.
"Nikolai," she breathes, and the sound of my name in that tone makes heat pool low in my belly.
She arches into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. "I thought you were arrogant."
"I am arrogant." I lower my mouth to her other breast, my tongue circling her nipple until she gasps. The taste of her skin is salt and smoke and something sweet, and when I close my lipsaround the tight peak and suck gently, she moans, her fingers threading through my hair to hold me against her.
I worship her breasts with my mouth and hands, alternating between gentle and demanding, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her hips lift off the sand in search of friction. Her nipples are so sensitive that when I graze my teeth across one, her whole body shudders.
But then her hands are on me, sliding down from my hair to my shoulders, and she's pushing at my shirt—the tattered remains of what I was wearing when the yacht went down. I sit back just long enough to pull it over my head, and the way her eyes darken as she takes in my bare chest makes my cock pulse with need.
