“What is it?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away because I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. How do you tell someone you’re about to make a reckless decision just to feel something other than fear? My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“You looked jealous,” I say quietly.
The words hang in the air between us. He looks back at me with confusion.
“When?” he asks, but I know he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“You know when,” I challenge him.
“I don’t get jealous,” he pivots, turning his gaze from me.
“That wasn’t what it looked like to me,” I argue. “It looked like you were ready to rip Kostya’s head off just for the thought of him touching me.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged. He doesn’t deny it again. Heat rushes through me, sudden and overwhelming. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like every nerve ending woke up at once.
“I never wanted him,” I hear myself say. My voice is barely above a whisper. “Not the way I want you.”
The second the words leave my mouth, everything changes.
Something dark and intense flashes across his face. It’s that same possessive expression he had earlier. It’s shadowed and dangerous, like an oncoming storm. I want to get caught in it. I want to get swept away by it.
I know I shouldn’t. I know I should stop this before it goes too far, but I can’t. Because for the first time in days, maybe weeks, the fear inside me goes quiet. It’s replaced by something hot and reckless and alive.
I take another step closer to him, placing my hand on the side of his face. All it takes it one touch to break this fragile thing blooming between us.
His hand closes around my wrist, firm and immediate, like he’s been holding himself back and finally ran out of restraint. The contact sends a sharp spark straight through me, stealing my breath.
“Alina,” he says, low and rough.
It’s both a warning and a plea. He seems conflicted, like he wants me to stay away from him but can’t make himself say the words. I’m glad for that. I don’t want him to. I don’t think I’d listen to him even if he could say them. I don’t want to stay away from him. I want to be consumed by him.
I step into his space until we’re a breath away from each other.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the solid strength of him beneath my hands. All the noise in my head disappears, replaced by one simple, dangerous certainty.
I want this. I wanthim.Even if it’s a mistake. Even if it makes everything worse.
His restraint breaks in a single motion. He pulls me into his lap, sudden and powerful, like he can’t stop himself anymore. His hands grip my hips hard enough to make me gasp, grounding me there, holding me in place like I belong exactly where I landed.
The intensity in his eyes steals the last of my breath. For a second, neither of us moves. The moment stretches, fragile and electric, balanced on the edge of something we both know we shouldn’t do.
Then he kisses me, hard and desperate, like he’s been starving and I’m the last food left on the planet.
Every thought disappears. Every fear I’ve been ruminating on, every consequence that this encounter could have. All that’s leftis heat and the dizzying rush of being wanted so completely it feels like falling.
My hands slide into his hair, holding on like he’s the only steady thing in a world that won’t stop shifting beneath my feet. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.
For a few stolen moments, nothing outside this room exists. No danger, no past, no impossible future waiting for us when this ends. Just this. Just him. Just the fragile illusion that maybe, somehow, we can forget everything else.
I kiss him back with every ounce of passion and desire that I’ve been denying myself. I grind my hips into him, unbidden, until I can feel his thick manhood pressing into me.
My body craves him in a way I didn’t expect. Even now, when we’re just moments away from crossing the line, it’s like every cell is screaming to be touched, to be brought pleasure that only he can provide.
I’m addicted to him, I think wildly. I don’t know how to survive without touching him. That’s a problem, I know, but one I don’t want to think about right now.
He stands up, lifting me with him, and slowly carries us back to my bedroom. I feel the soft mattress against my back as he gently lays me down and moves on top of me, never once breaking our kiss. His tongue is warm and urgent inside my mouth.
