His mouth lowers close to mine, and for one second, I think he will kiss me again. Instead, he stops just short.
“And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
16
YAROMIR
I leavebefore I do something unforgivable.
Barely.
Anya is still on my bed when I step away from her, breathing hard, nightdress shoved high, breasts bare, thighs open from where my shoulders forced them apart. Her face is flushed, her mouth swollen, her eyes dark and furious and ruined.
I’ve seen women after pleasure before.
I’ve never seen one look at me like that. And it scares me very much.
My cock is so hard it hurts. I stand there for half a second too long, looking at the wet shine between her thighs, at the way her body still twitches from what I just did to her, and all I can think is that I want to push inside her.
Slowly at first. I want to feel that tight little body stretch around my cock, pleasure her until she forgets anybody else ever had her. I want her nails in my shoulders and her mouth open against my throat. I want to hear the exact sound she makeswhen she stops being a virgin and starts being my wife in every possible way.
The thought nearly ends me.
So I turn away. “Sleep,” I say. My voice sounds rough even to me.
She pulls the nightdress down with shaking hands. “You’re leaving?”
The question hits harder than it should.
Not soft. Not pleading.
Accusing.
“Yes.”
“After that?”
I don’t turn back. If I look at her again, I will not leave.
“Especially after that.”
She says nothing.
I walk into the hallway and close the door behind me. For several seconds, I stand there with my hand on the handle, breathing through my nose like a man trying not to become an animal.
My wife is on the other side of the door.
I press my forehead briefly against the wood. Then I push away and walk down the corridor. Not to my study. Not yet.
I go to the smaller bathroom near the west wing, the one no one uses at night. I lock the door behind me, brace one hand against the sink, and look at myself in the mirror.
My hair is a mess from her fingers. My mouth is still wet from her. There’s a faint red mark at my throat where she bit me without meaning to.
I grip the edge of the sink hard enough for the old porcelain to creak.
“Fuck.”
The word comes out low. Useless.
