Page 48 of Betrayal and Vows

I follow her out of the dining room and up to her bedroom.

“Let me check the room,” I say for the benefit of the cameras.

She crosses her arms and heaves a big, dramatic sigh. “This is silly. I’m in the Orlov home. No one is going to try and kill me when I’m here.”

“Except me,” I mutter as I walk by her and into her room.

She fights her smile, but I see it.

“I don’t have time for you to sweep the room,” she calls out.

She walks into the room and shuts the door.

The second she does, I’m on her. My body pushing hers against the wall.

Her breath hitches as I pin her against the door, my hands braced on either side of her head. The scent of her strawberry shampoo fills my nostrils, making my head spin.

"You're going to get us both killed," I growl against her ear, but even as I say it, I'm pressing closer. My body betrays every rational thought in my head.

"I don't care," she whispers back, her hands fisting in my shirt. "I can't stop thinking about you."

My jaw clenches. "You have to."

"Do I?" Her blue eyes challenge me, defiant even in the face of death. "Tell me you don't think about me every second of every day."

I can't. Because it would be a lie.

My mouth crashes down on hers, swallowing her gasp. She tastes like the mint tea she had with breakfast. Her tongue meets mine, desperate and hungry.

My hands slide down and around to grab her ass, pulling her flush against me. She moans into my mouth, and the sound nearly undoes me completely. I want to devour her. Mark her. Make her mine in every way possible.

She’s wearing a pair of leggings and a sports bra. The damn woman tried to kill me with her little ass bouncing along on the treadmill. And I had been forced to pretend I wasn’t watching her tits bounce along with her perfect ass.

My hand slips under the waist and goes straight to her core. “You’re wet, Lena.”

She groans when one finger slips inside.

"Always for you," she gasps, her hips grinding against my hand. "Only for you."

The admission nearly breaks what's left of my control. I add another finger, watching her face as she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Her walls clench around me, so tight and perfect.

"Anton," she breathes, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt. "Please."

I know what she's asking for. What we both need. But the rational part of my brain—the part that's kept me alive for thirty years—screams warnings.

"We can't," I rasp, even as my thumb finds her clit and circles it. "Not here. Not now."

"I don't care about the consequences," she whispers fiercely. "I need you."

Her words shatter something inside me. I spin her around, pressing her chest against the wall. My hands make quick work of her leggings, pulling them down just enough. She braces herself against the wood, looking back at me with those blue eyes dark with want.

"You're going to be quiet," I command, my voice rough. "Not a sound."

She nods, biting her bottom lip.

I free myself from my jeans, positioning myself at her entrance. For a moment, we both freeze. This is madness. Suicide.

But I'm already lost to her.