I bury my face against his throat, inhaling sharply, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt as I press closer. He feels it, my desperation, and he moves gently. There’s no mistaking theway his breath catches when I tilt my head up, searching for his mouth.
Then he kisses me.
Slow and starving.
Like he’s forgotten the taste of me and is relearning it with every careful sweep of his lips against mine. Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me again, but can’t stop himself now that he has. His mouth slants over mine, warm and sure, deepening the kiss with every breath, every sigh, every stolen second between us.
I kiss him back with everything I have left.
I pour it all into him—my fear, my guilt, my aching relief that we’re both alive. The fragile pieces of my hope, every moment I’ve spent wondering if I’ll ever see him again, the promise I made to our son, every tear I shed in the dark when I thought I wouldn’t make it out.
I give it all to him now.
Maksim groans softly against my lips, the sound low and aching. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing beneath my eye as if he knows the tears are coming. As if he wants to catch them before they fall.
The moment I start to strip him bare, the fire ignites between us, hot and all-consuming, It licks through every nerve ending in my body, turning every breath into a gasp as he touches me.
Maksim doesn’t waste time. His hands are sure and practiced. The simple set he dressed me in after pulling me out of that cold hospital gown is gone within seconds, peeledfrom my body like paper beneath flame. I don’t remember when I started shaking, I just know that I am.
I reach for him, pulling at his shirt, greedy fingers tugging fabric up and over his head. My hands don’t pause. They roam down the hard muscle of his chest, splaying across his ribcage, tracing the curve of every scar etched into his skin like war medals only I’ve ever been allowed to see.
I know them by memory now, but I relearn them with my fingertips anyway. I smooth my touch over his side, where an old bullet wound has left a crescent of raised flesh. He flinches, not from pain but from the way Iseehim.
“Lyubimaya,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp in the charged air between us.
He pushes me back gently, guiding me down into the nest of sheets with hands that tremble ever so slightly, just enough to tell me that he’s just as undone as I am. Then he lowers himself over me, his body a shield, a promise, a prayer answered in warm touches and heavy breathes.
His mouth finds mine again briefly, stealing another kiss, then another, and another until my lips are swollen and parted, breath hitching as he moves lower.
He kisses down my throat, across the hollow of my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts. His tongue flicks over my skin to memorize the taste. Each kiss feels like it’s meant to claim, to soothe, to brand me. I arch beneath him, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling gently when his mouth lingers too long on a particularly sensitive spot near my waist.
Maksim groans, deep and low, vibrating against me. The sound goes straight to my core. He trails more kisses down my stomach, pausing just beneath my navel to nuzzle softly where my stretch marks are, his hand gripping my hip to hold me steady as I twitch beneath him.
By the time he reaches the apex of my thighs, I’m already trembling, legs parting without thought on either side of his head as I lay open before him. My breathing stutters when I feel the ghost of his breath tease the sensitive skin there. His nose brushes the inside of my thigh, a barely-there touch that sends a jolt through me.
Then his mouth follows, kissing the spot like it’s holy. His voice is low when he speaks again, vibrating against my skin.
“You are mine, Ivy.Onlymine.”
When his tongue finally glides over my clit, I believe him.
I believeeverything.
“Maksim,” I groan, my voice raw, broken open around the edges. My hands twist into the sheets on either side of me, anchoring me to something,anything, while the rest of me feels like I’m being swept under.
But he shows me no mercy.
He devours me like I’m his last meal, like he’s been starving for this—forme—since the moment we were ripped apart. His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and curling, dragging pleasure from me with every calculated stroke. The heat of him, the weight of him between my thighs, the way he groans softly every time I tremble is all too much and not nearly enough at the same time.
He licks and sucks and explores, marking me with every motion, branding me with every moan he drags from my lips. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. My entire world narrows to the flick of his tongue and the wet heat of his mouth and the molten burn starting to coil low in my belly.
His hands keep me pinned, one splayed firm against my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as my hips jerk beneath him, trying to chase more,more. I want to drown in him, want to lose myself in the rhythm he creates with that wicked mouth of his but he keeps control, always just on the edge, making me wait.
His tongue circles around my clit again, teasing me with slow, deliberate strokes before pulling away. My back arches, a strangled sound escapes my throat.
“Maksim,please,” I pant again, my voice trembling with need.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even flinch. His grip tightens on my thigh when I try to rise against him again, pinning me down like a man whoownsme.
