Page 59 of Sexting the Pakhan

I cross the space between us, and the second I’m close enough, his hand comes to the back of my neck. He doesn’t kiss me right away. He holds me there, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath touches my mouth.

“One word,” he says.

My heart stumbles. “What?”

“You want me to stop, you say stop. I stop. No questions.”

My throat tightens. Because he means it.

Because the man is dangerous, terrifying, probably the worst decision I have ever made, and somehow he’s giving me this.

“I understand,” I whisper.

His thumb moves once against the side of my neck.

Then he kisses me.

It’s not like the kiss on the balcony. That one was grief and fear and the reckless need to feel something other than panic. This one only has certainty. He wants me, and he’s going to take me.

His mouth takes mine slowly at first, like he’s still giving me time. I grip his shirt and rise onto my toes, pressing closer, telling him without words that I don’t want time. I have had four days of waiting. Four days of fear. Four days of him walking into rooms and leaving again before I could decide whether I wanted to slap him or beg him to stay.

I want.

His restraint lasts until I make a sound against his mouth.

Then his hand tightens in my hair, and the kiss changes.

Suddenly I’m backed into the wall beside the window, his body hard against mine, his thigh between my legs, one hand at my waist and the other tangled at the back of my head. I gasp, and he uses it to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against mine, controlled and filthy and certain.

My whole body lights up.

I’m wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear.

His hand moves down my side, over my hip, then grips the back of my thigh and lifts my leg around him. The movement presseshis thigh harder between my legs, and my clit catches against the pressure through my panties.

I break the kiss with a gasp.

Ruslan freezes.

“Again,” I say before he can ask.

His eyes darken.

He moves his thigh. Slow. Deliberate. The pressure drags right over my clit, and my head falls back against the wall.

“Oh.”

His mouth goes to my throat. “That?”

“Yes.”

My fingers dig into his shoulders.

He does it again, and this time I can’t stop the small moan that escapes me. It’s humiliating how fast my body reacts. How quickly all my fear and anger turn molten under his hands. How the ache between my legs turns sharp and demanding, as if it has been waiting for him longer than I want to admit.

His hand slides under the shirt. I inhale sharply when his palm meets my bare waist.

“Still with me?” he asks against my skin.