“You stayed,” I say, my voice still croaky with sleep.
Nikolai rubs a hand over his face. “It’s a comfortable chair.” He shoots me a look. It’s not an admission of anything, but it feels like there’s more.
I watch him, half hoping he’ll move towards the bed, but he doesn’t.
Ever since I moved in here, all my body has been able to think about is how much it craves his touch. I want to feel him, skin-to-skin. Glide my hands up his chest and back, and feel his lips tenderly meet mine. I could blame it on the pregnancy hormones like I normally do, but a small piece of me has always craved his closeness, right from the moment I met him.
The way he tugged back my hand, stopping me from entering the bridal suite…
And then, handcuffing me…
Alright, Lauren, that’s enough.
Curious to see how he reacts, I give my body permission to climb down from the bed and stand face-to-face with him. We stand like this for a while, him looking guarded; me trying to figure out my next move.
Without allowing myself to think too much, I rise onto my tiptoes and chance a kiss. It’s innocent at first and it takes him a moment to react, but he kisses me back. Then his hand slides up under my shirt and wraps around my neck.
His lips part around mine.
And I sink into him.
A hunger grows inside of me, like a fire only he can put out. He must feel it too, the way he grips my body like it belongs to him, pulling me down onto his lap as he takes a seat back in the chair.
I mount his lap, my legs straddled around him. We’re close, but it’s still not close enough. I feel his breath hot on my neck, then his lips as he starts peppering gentle kisses there.
My heart beats out of my chest, the desire already burning between my legs. It’s not a want anymore with him—it’s a hot, raw, irresistible need.
I break away from him, breathless, and take in his expression. He looks flustered, his hair swept all over the place.
We drink one another in.
“This is still a terrible idea,” I tease, running a hand up his temple and past his ear.
He groans. “That has never stopped you before.”
There’s something about his thick Russian accent that ignites a spark within me. We stare at each other for another moment, both anticipating the inevitable.
And then I kiss him again, this time more fervent than before.
I moan.
Tug at his shirt, needing it off.
I multitask, kissing him as I undo the buttons. This time it feels like I’m wrestling with his clothes instead of him. Last time we had sex, it felt like we were on opposing teams, fighting to chase our own release. This time, I can’t help but notice a shift in energy. We both lost our mothers, both grew up around fathers who valued control more than they did anything else; not to mention that we’re parents to the same child now.
He’s the father of my child.
My baby.
The thought shifts something in me and I feel drawn to him like never before. Like I want him on my side. So, when I unbutton his shirt and rush to get the garment off him, I’m not doing it out of sheer sexual desire.
I’m doing it because I crave closeness.
Hiscloseness.
Nikolai shifts his hips and stands up, bringing me with him. Then he’s throwing me onto the bed.
I open my eyes as he crawls over me. This time, there’s no smugness on his face. He stares at me with curiosity, his eyes so deep, holding so much emotion that I feel like I could drown in them.
