Page 19 of Ruined By Sin

His fingers slide from my cheek down to my neck, tracing the line of my jaw before he leans in again. This kiss has more weight. Our mouths move together in exploration, and I taste the faint salt of my own tears mixed with him. When his tongue brushes mine, a small shiver runs through me and he growls as his hand pulls me closer, almost leaning me backward.

The chaise creaks softly as he moves fully onto it, careful not to crush me. One arm braces beside my head while the other hand slips under the hem of my sweater, palm flat against the bare skin of my lower back. His touch is warm, slightly callused at the edges. I arch into it without meaning to.

“Your skin's so soft,” he breathes against my lips.

"Can I feel your skin too?" My core aches, screaming at me that I'm soaking my panties as I slide my hands up his shirt. He sitsback just enough to let me. My fingers work the top button open, then the next. Each one reveals a little more of his chest, the faint shadow of dark hair, the way his muscles shift as he breathes. He watches my face the whole time, and his fingers stroke my side, just above my hip.

When the shirt is halfway undone, he reaches down and moves the drawing pad and pencils, setting them on the floor next to my glass and his. Then he’s back, kissing me while his hands slide higher under my sweater. The knit rides up my ribs. Cool air touches my skin and I shiver again.

“Lift,” he says quietly.

I raise my arms as he peels the sweater off, dropping it to the side of the chaise. My bra is simple, plain cotton, nothing special, but the way his gaze moves over me makes heat bloom across my chest and neck. He doesn’t speak. Instead he leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, then lower, following the edge of the bra. His stubble scrapes lightly and it sends sparks straight through me.

My hands fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. When the last one gives way I push the fabric off his shoulders. He shrugs it the rest of the way off and lets it fall. His skin is warm under my palms, smooth over firm muscle. I trace the line of his shoulder, then down his arm, feeling the tension there.

He kisses me again, slower, like he’s savoring every second. One hand cups my breast through the bra, thumb brushing over the fabric until my nipple tightens and I gasp.

“I can stop if you want me to..." Timur's eyes meet mine, but his hand doesn't stop squeezing. I feel the hard press of his dick onmy outer thigh, and there aren't enough red flags in the world to make me tell him to stop.

"Don't..." I whisper. "Keep going."

His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and the straps slip down my arms as he pulls it away, tossing it with the sweater. For a moment he just stares, eyes moving over my bare skin with reverence. Then he lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling gently. The heat makes my back arch off the chaise and my fingers thread into his hair, holding him there as a quiet moan slips out.

"Mmm, more..."

He switches sides, giving the same slow attention while his free hand strokes my side, my ribs, the curve of my waist. Everything feels heightened, every touch leaving a trail of warmth.

When he lifts his head again, his lips are flushed and damp. He kisses my lips again, then moves to my neck, sucking lightly at the spot below my ear. It does something to my body, making me feel warm and fuzzy.

“I want you, Kira." Timur hovers over me, inches from my face. The scent of whiskey on his breath is intoxicating. I don’t know what’s happening but I’m losing myself in him.

"I want you too... I think..." There's no hesitation as I reach for his belt, fingers clumsy with nerves and lust. He helps me work the buckle open then takes over, unzipping. He lifts his hips enough for me to push the trousers down his thighs and his boxers go with them. When he kicks them off the rest of the way his cock springs free, curving upward. A bead of moisture already shines at the tip.

He doesn’t let me stare long. Instead he leans down and kisses me again, one hand sliding between my legs to rub me through my jeans. The pressure makes me whimper into his mouth.

“I think we need these off,” he says against my lips, giving the waistband a gentle tug. The fabric pulls at my skin and scratches and I fully agree. I need those off.

I nod and he shifts back. His hands are steady as he unbuttons my jeans and drags the zipper down. Together we work the denim down my hips and legs. He pulls them off completely, dropping them to the floor with everything else. My panties are the last to go, and he takes his time savoring the sight as he hooks his fingers in the sides and slides them down slowly, eyes following the path of fabric until I’m completely bare.

His hand returns, this time skin to skin. Two fingers stroke through my folds, spreading the wetness he finds there. When he circles my clit with light pressure my hips jerk and I whimper.

“Jesus,” he whispers, almost to himself. “All this moisture for me.”

He kisses me again, swallowing the next sound I make as his fingers keep moving in slow, gentle strokes, learning me, drawing out the pleasure until my thighs tremble.

When I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, he groans low into my mouth, hips twitching forward.

“Careful,” he breathes, “or this ends too fast.”

I smile against his lips, a small, shaky thing, and ease my grip. He rewards me with another deep kiss, his fingers still working between my legs in that same unhurried pace.

The chaise feels narrow beneath us but he makes it work, bracing one arm beside my head while the other hand continues its slow exploration. Every touch is intentional, every kiss tender. The earlier tears feel far away now, replaced by this swelling heat between us and the touch of his hands on my body.

"Can I make you come?" he asks so politely, I almost snicker, but my answer is to rock my pelvis up into his touch and grind on him as I bite my lip.

His fingers press a little firmer against my clit and I moan softly as he watches me for a beat, eyes dark with intent. Then he slides down my body and settles between my thighs, broad shoulders spreading me open. His palms glide up the backs of my legs, pushing them wider, holding me there like a meal he's ready to devour.

“God, I think I dreamed about this last night," he growls. His breath ghosts over my slick folds, making my hips twitch. “Tasting how wet you get for me.”