Page 60 of Sexting the Pakhan

“Yes.”

His hand moves higher. Not to my breast yet. Just my ribs, my side, the soft skin under the curve of it. He’s taking his time, and somehow that’s worse than if he grabbed.

I pull at his shirt, impatient.

He lifts his head. “Careful.”

“No.”

His mouth twitches. “No?”

“I don’t want careful.”

That does something to him. I feel it in the way his body presses harder into mine, the way his fingers tighten on my thigh, the way his control thins for one rough second before he catches it again.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says.

“Then show me.”

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then he kisses me hard enough that every thought leaves my head.

This time when his hand moves under the shirt, it goes straight to my breast. He cups me fully, thumb dragging over my nipple, and I make a sound into his mouth that doesn’t feel like mine. He swallows it. His palm is warm, rougher than I expect, and when he squeezes, not gently, I arch into him.

“That’s it,” he says. His voice is lower now. Rougher.

I tug at his belt.

His hand closes over mine, stopping me.

I look up, breathless and frustrated. “What?”

He stares down at me, chest rising harder than before. “If we start that, I’m not stopping at a kiss.”

My pulse kicks.

I should think. I should remember where I am, who he is, what happened today, what happened all week. I should remember that this man lives inside a world of guns and secrets and men who die in libraries.

But his hand is still on my breast, his thigh still between my legs, his mouth close enough that I can taste him when I breathe.

And for the first time in days, the choice in front of me feels like mine.

“Then don’t,” I say.

His hand leaves mine.

That’s all the warning I get.

He lifts me. I gasp and grab his shoulders as both my legs go around his waist. He carries me away from the wall and toward the bed, kissing me the whole time, not softly now, not carefully. I feel the hard press of his cock through his trousers against the wet heat between my legs, and the shock of it makes me grind against him before I can stop myself.

Ruslan makes a rough sound deep in his throat.

“Fuck,” he says against my mouth.

The word sends heat straight through me.

Then my back hits the mattress, and he comes down over me.