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I dragged my palm down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. I hated that he wore them to bed. If I didn’t go nude, I wore only underwear.

I moved away from him and clicked on the bedside lamp, then returned to my position half on top of him with my knee pressed up against his groin. “Stas…”

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, jaw tight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” I trailed my lips up to his ear. “You’re twitchy. You’re breathing like you’re trying not to beg for it.”

He pushed at my hip. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Sure you are.”

Before he could slip away again, I caught both his wrists, pinned them lightly above his head, and swung my leg over his hips, straddling him.

His breath punched out of him.

“What are you⁠—”

“Giving you what you really came for.” I leaned over him. “We’re going to have to work on your begging skills, Stanislav. If you want me inside of your pussy, just say so. ”

Our mouths collided, not gentle this time. Not sweet and certainly not cautious.

Stas kissed like he’d been starving for days. Which I had. It’d been torture spending time with him, sleeping in the same bed, and being unable to spread his legs and wind my way between them. And the damndest thing is that I knew if I asked, he would have given himself to me, but I didn’t. I wanted him to enjoy our sex as much as I did. Only then would he keep coming back for more.

Stas wiggled his hands free and grabbed me, wrapping them into my hair, gripping my shoulders, kneading my back, pulling me down harder, deeper. He surged his hips up, and a low, rough moan tore out of him, vibrating straight into my mouth.

I swallowed it greedily.

“Yuriy,” he said, voice wrecked with need. “I’ve waited so long to feel you like this again. I want…”

I bit his lower lip, and he gasped. I devoured that sound too. His legs shifted under me, parting instinctively, electricity rolling off him in waves so strong it traveled all the way to my bones.

I dragged my mouth down his throat, lingering over his pulse. “Still want to go back to your bed?”

His answer was a guttural, helpless noise—half growl, half plea. I smiled against his skin.

“Didn’t think so,” I murmured into his throat.

Stas hooked his fingers into my hair, dragging my mouth back to his. The kiss deepened fast, messy, breathless, like neither of us had been touched in years. His chest rose against mine, warm and solid, and when I rolled my hips down, he groaned into my mouth, low and torn from somewhere deep, so I did it again.

“Fuck, Yuriy…”

God, I could drown in the way he said my name.

I kissed him again, slow this time, deliberate, brushing our lips together until he softened beneath me, until the tension left his shoulders, until everything in him leaned toward me like gravity had chosen me specifically.

“Want you,” he whispered, gripping my waist.

“You have me,” I whispered back.

When I finally pulled back, he chased my mouth.

“Stas.” I brushed my thumb over his cheekbone. “How is your ass feeling?”

“Not as good as it’ll feel in a minute when you’re inside me.”

I chuckled, kissing the spot between his brows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Fuck it, Yuriy, it’s been days! Are you gonna tell me no?”