Page 62 of Mile High Ex's Dad
“Because I can’t,” he says.
Then he kisses me.
Hard.
Not rushed. Not careless. Just with the full weight of a man who has decided not to hold himself back any longer.
I make a sound into his mouth, half protest, half surrender. He takes it all the same, one hand at my jaw, the other coming around my waist to pull me closer. I push once at his chest because I need the motion, need to feel I tried, but there’s no conviction in it, and he knows it.
He knows me too well for a man who should barely know me at all.
My resistance breaks almost at once. I hate that too.
I hate the way my body melts into his like it was waiting for him. The way my mouth opens for him. The way my hands clutch at his shirt instead of shoving him away. I hate how familiar he feels. How right. How the whole world narrows down to his mouth and his hands and the rough sound he makes when I kiss him back like I mean it.
Because I do mean it.
God help me, I do.
He backs me toward the wall in two slow steps, his body close, his mouth leaving mine only to drag along my jaw, my throat, the sensitive skin below my ear. Every touch feels like a match to something already burning.
“Sienna,” he says against my neck.
The way he says my name almost makes my knees give out.
I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull him back to my mouth. He kisses me deeper for it, one hand spreading over my side, then lower, over the soft curve of my waist, like he can’t stop touching me now that he has started.
“I should hate you,” I murmur.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. “Do you?”
“No.”
The answer is barely sound.
Something dark and hungry moves across his face. “Good.”
Then he drops to his knees.
I gasp. “Viktor?—”
He looks up at me once, his expression already set in that terrible, focused way that means I’m about to lose any remaining grip on myself.
“Lift your skirt.”
I stare at him. The command should offend me. It should shock me. Instead, it goes through me like heat.
He waits.
Hands shaking, I gather the fabric up.
His eyes darken, and he slides one hand up my calf, then my knee, then farther, slow enough to make me ache before he has even touched where I need him. I’m already wet. Desperate, really. My whole body has been on edge since I opened the door to Ethan, since Viktor stepped in, since the breakfast shattered, since I heard the wordmafiain Talia’s voice and turned to find him standing there.
When his palm finally settles high between my thighs, I bite back a cry.
“So wet,” he says, like it pleases him. “For a man you should stay away from.”
I let my head fall back against the wall.
