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“Mmm? What's more beautiful than this?” I ask, aiming for a seductive tone, but instead, my voice sounds small and a bit subdued.
"You. Naked.” He punctuates each word by removing an article of clothing. “On all fours in the middle of that fucking bed."
He tugs the end of his shirt straight over his head and whips it toward our luggage. Next, he unbuckles his belt. My mouth goes dry. I watch him tug it through the loops. When he snaps it in his large, capable hands, pressure and need build between my legs.
I need him. I want him.
“All fours? Like an animal?” I tease.
“Like my wife.”
“You like calling me that.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.”
His eyes are on fire, and when he pushes down his jeans, I can see the long length of his erection in his boxers. Holy hell, he's just as turned on as I am.
Lev’s eyes blaze as he stares at me, and the intensity of his gaze makes the pressure between my legs throb. I stifle a moan. He steps closer, the muscles in his torso tight as he pulls me into him. His body is hot to the touch, chiseled; the man’s a fucking paragon of masculine perfection. His lips find my ear, the warmth of his breath fanning my neck.
"Strip," he orders, his voice low and commanding. I freeze. When I don’t obey immediately, he claps his hand on my ass. I squeal.
My hands shake as I reach for my top and pull it over my head. I let it drop to the floor as his eyes roam over my body. The heat of his gaze warms me like a physical touch.
I tug off my shorts and stare at him. “Do I get to touch, too?”
He narrows his eyes at me. His voice cracks like a whip. “What did I say?”
Oooh, Jesu. My pussy clenches, and I stifle a whimper. I’m so exposed in front of him like this.
I project myself as a confident woman, but the years of forced modesty were so beaten into me I can’t help but feel incredibly exposed.
I’m not used to being vulnerable in front of anyone, much less a man.
He’s my husband.
Shit.
“All of it, Isabella,” he rumbles.
I swallow and hold his gaze as I unclip my bra. “Good riddance,” I mutter as I toss that to the floor. Fucking hate those things. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my thong, sliding it down over my ass and my thighs. His eyes darken with lust as he takes in every inch of my naked, vulnerable body.
"Good girl," he says, his voice a rough purr.
Oooh. Oh, I like that.
“Say that again,” I beg. “Please.”
He leans in closer and gathers my hair in his fist before he gives it a tug. His mouth to my ear, he whispers, “You like it when I call you a good girl? Do you like it when I tell you that you please me?” He trails hot fingers down my spine.
“I do.”
I do. What is that about?
“I love how feisty you are. I love how you fight. I’ve been hard since the helicopter.” He bends and kisses my jaw, his voice a low rumble. “Now get on that bed like I told you.”
I walk to the bed, holding his gaze, and climb on. Positioning myself on all fours as he commanded, a surge of arousal floods through me. The way he looks at me—like he’s starving and I’m his next meal—ignites me.
Yet he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, moving behind me. Circling me. Taking everything in.
