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“Are you okay?”
“No.” He took a deep breath. “Are you just going to torture me as your gift or—”
“No.” I released him. “But I am going to kiss you, and I know you‘re not supposed to touch me, but you do owe me a kiss, so you better make it good, husband.”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
“I have my doubts.”
He scoffed. “Really?”
I lay across him, then hooked my heels around his waist and flipped over onto my back, taking him over with me until he was straddling me naked. “Kiss me.”
“That’s touching you.”
“Not really touching; you’re keeping your hands to yourself. I only want your mouth.”
“Gonna get me killed,” he muttered, and then lowered his head, placing both hands on either side of my head.
When his lips grazed mine, I could have sworn a sensory overload went over my body. His lips were soft and greedy at the same time. He moaned into my mouth when I gripped him by the neck and pulled him down harder.
I reminded myself he was a killer at the very same time my brain reminded me he had begged for my trust.
And then I stopped thinking and just… felt.
His head turned to the side as he lifted a hand and dropped it, I draped my arms around his neck and pulled him in tighter. His cock pulsed against my stomach, demanding attention. As his lips ravished my mouth, electrical sensations radiated through my body, settling low in my abdomen, then drifting between my legs, sparking fluttering flames of yearning and want I didn’t understand. I moved beneath him, needing more contact. Desperate for it.
“Shit.” He panted against my lips. “Forget Nixon, I’m going to die right here.”
I didn’t have that much more time left.
And I didn’t want to be desperate or frantic. Was it too much to just want to be wanted? To want to be loved? And how pitiful that tears were filling my eyes just thinking about it.
Ivan broke away from me and stared down at the phone.
“How much time?” I asked.
“Enough.” He leaned down until our foreheads pressed against one another. “Do I have your permission? Not your dad’s, not anyone else’s, do I have your permission?”
“Yes.” I didn’t think about it.
Because nobody had asked me the entire time what I wanted. Nobody cared, or maybe they just saw the bigger picture. It was strange watching the villain ask a hero’s question.
It was warm.
It was powerful.
It made me feel like for one brief moment someone saw past the title, the name, past the money—they saw my tears, my grief, joy, pain. For the first time since meeting Ivan, he didn’t attack when I was weak.
He embraced me and made me feel strong.
He pulled me up and flipped me around until I was pressed against his lap and moved his fingers down my stomach, sliding my thong away. I jerked when his hand cupped me, his heat mingling with mine until the muscles at my core contracted and bunched, more and more, whatever he could give. Small kisses rained down my jaw and neck as he started to move his fingers.
My breath stalled in my throat.
Then I gasped as my body came alive under his touch.
“Stay with me, Bella.” He bit down on the lobe of my ear, his mouth wet, my body following suit. “Just stay with me, enjoy your moment.”
