I can barely breathe, let alone answer.
And somehow, terrifyingly, he looks like he’s only getting started.
My mouth opens, but nothing coherent comes out.
I’m still shaking, still pinned between the bathroom counter and the hard line of his body, trying to remember how breathing works while Aleksei stands in front of me with my ruined underwear at his feet and my taste still on his mouth.
He watches me like he’s waiting for an answer. Like he knows I can’t give him one.
I swallow, my throat dry. “You’re insane.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “That isn’t an answer.”
My legs are barely holding me up. “No,” I whisper, because it’s all I can manage. “No, I don’t think you should go back out there.”
Something in his face shifts. Satisfaction, dark and male and dangerous.
He steps closer again, crowding me against the sink, one hand bracing beside my hip. The other slides up my thigh, slow now, almost gentle, and I shiver from how sensitive I am.
“She’s still waiting,” I say, though it sounds weak even to me.
“She can wait.”
“Aleksei—”
He kisses me before I can finish, cutting the protest off at the source. This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Possessive in a way that steals my balance all over again. I can taste myself on him, and the realization is so filthy and intimate it makes me moan into his mouth.
His hand moves from my thigh to my ass, gripping hard, hauling me closer until I can feel exactly how turned on he still is. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, then higher into his hair.
“Oh,” I breathe.
He drags his mouth from mine and presses his forehead to mine for one brief second, both of us breathing hard.
“You should stop making that sound,” he says roughly.
I blink. “What sound?”
“The one that makes me want to lock this door.”
Heat floods my face and sinks lower just as fast. “That seems like a you problem.”
He gives a low laugh, incredulous and hungry all at once. “Trust me. It is.”
Then his mouth is on my throat, lips and teeth working over the sensitive skin below my jaw. I whimper as his hand slides under my dress again, finding me already wet, already open, and this time there’s no lace in his way.
His fingers stroke through me once, twice, and I tremble so hard I have to clutch his shoulders to stay upright.
“You’re still dripping for me,” he murmurs against my skin.
I don’t say anything to that, I can’t.
“That’s your fault.”
“It is.” He sounds far too pleased about that.
His fingers circle my clit, just enough to make my whole body jump. “Tell me to stop.”
I stare at him. “Why do you keep saying that if neither of us wants you to?”
