My hand slides from her wrist to her waist, then higher, fitting around the back of her neck so I can tip her where I want her. She makes a small sound into my mouth, and it nearly undoes me on the spot.
“Zatanna,” I murmur against her lips.
She answers by grabbing fistfuls of my hair and kissing me deeper. That’s all the permission I need.
I walk her backward until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the sofa. She gasps when I crowd in, one knee between hers, my mouth already leaving hers to drag down her jaw, to her throat, where her pulse is beating wild and fast.
I kiss it once, twice, then suck lightly until she arches into me.
“Oh—”
“Quiet,” I say, though there’s no real heat in it. More want than warning.
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “You are in no position to tell me to be quiet.”
I laugh against her skin, low and rough. “No?”
“No.”
I bite gently just below her ear. She shudders.
My hands move to her dress, skimming over her ribs, her waist, learning the shape of her through silk and heat. I find the zipper at her back and drag it down slowly, watching her face theentire time. Watching the second she realizes what I’m doing. Watching her chest rise faster.
The dress loosens. My mouth finds hers again while I push the fabric off her shoulders. She lets me.
God.She lets me.
The dress slides lower, baring the tops of her breasts, then lower still until I can see the curve of them above black lace. My hands tighten reflexively at her waist.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, before I can decide whether I should.
Her eyes flash to mine, surprised. Then I lower my head and kiss the upper swell of one breast, just above the lace.
She makes a broken little sound.
I do it again, slower this time, then let my mouth trail lower until I’m kissing the line of the bra itself, my hand spanning her back, holding her steady while she trembles under me.
“Aleksei…”
“Mm?”
“You are,” she breathes, then seems to lose the rest of the sentence.
“Intense?” I suggest.
She laughs once, breathless. “That is one word.”
I hook a finger under the strap and drag it off her shoulder with deliberate slowness. Then the other. Then I kiss the newly bared skin like I have all the time in the world, even though every second feels like it’s burning through me.
She’s squirming now, impatient, beautiful, flushed all over.
“Take it off,” she whispers.
I look up. “Bossy.”
“You started this.”
“Did I?”
