And now he is standing right here with one fingertip still resting against my pulse like he knows exactly how badly I’m failing.
“I don’t,” I say again, weaker this time.
His hand slides from my wrist to my waist.
My whole body answers before my mind can form a protest. Heat. A low, aching pull low in my belly. I hate how quickly it happens. I hate more that he feels it.
His eyes darken. “Liar.”
He kisses me.
No warning. No argument. Just his mouth on mine, hot and immediate and exactly as devastating as the dreams never quite got right. I make a helpless sound against his lips and grip the front of his shirt because standing suddenly feels like an advanced skill.
He kisses me deeper, one hand braced at my lower back, the other sliding up into my hair. The hallway disappears. The house disappears. There is just this and him and the humiliating fact that all my righteous anger has burned down into pure want in under ten seconds.
“Aleksei—”
“I know.”
His mouth moves to my jaw, then down to my throat, and my head tips back before I can stop it. He kisses the sensitive skin there once, twice, then sucks lightly at the place that always makes my knees weak.
I press a hand to the wall behind me to steady myself.
“This is a hallway,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Someone could see.”
“Yes.” He sounds completely unbothered.
I sound nothing like myself when I say, “That’s not reassuring.”
He lifts his head and looks at me. Then he drops to his knees.
My breath stops. “Aleksei.”
He glances once down the empty corridor, then back at me. “Then we’ll be quick.”
That should not be hot. But it absolutely is.
Before I can decide whether I have enough dignity left to refuse, his hands are on my thighs, pushing the fabric of my dress up just enough, just far enough. He parts my legs and the cool air of the hallway brushes over skin already too warm.
“God,” I breathe.
He looks up at me once, and there is nothing gentle in his face now except the way he handles my body. “Hold onto something.”
Then his mouth is on me.
I bite down on the gasp so hard it hurts. My hand flies to his hair, the other to the wall as his tongue drags through me in one slow, devastating stroke.
He does not tease. Not today. Maybe because he knows I’m already halfway gone. Maybe because he’s as worked up as I am. Maybe because the risk of being caught has sharpened everything until it feels almost violent.
He licks me again, deeper, then closes his mouth over my clit and I have to clamp my lips shut to keep from crying out. My whole body jolts. The hallway swims. The edge of the table digs into my hip where I’m leaning against it.
“This is insane,” I whisper.
He hums against me in obvious agreement and keeps going.
