Page 131 of Mile High Ruin

“Because I want your clothes off.”

For once, I manage to surprise him.

He lowers me carefully, and my feet barely touch the floor before I reach for his shirt. He lets me pull it open, though I’m careful around the dressing on his side, and the sight of the bandage reminds me that he was shot less than twenty-four hours ago.

“You really should not be doing this.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“And I was right.”

“You’re still here.”

“That doesn’t make me right less often.”

I push the shirt off his shoulders. His chest is exposed. I run my palms over him, fascinated despite myself by the difference between looking and touching. His skin is warm, the muscle underneath dense and solid, and there are scars scattered over his torso that I want to ask about eventually.

Not now.

Now his hands are already pulling my sweater over my head. My bra follows. Then my pants. By the time he lifts me again, I’m wearing only my underwear.

He carries me to the desk, and I laugh breathlessly as he sets me on the edge.

“You have a bedroom upstairs.”

“I know.”

“You own this entire house.”

“I’m also aware of that.”

“And we’re doing this here.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear. “You are still talking.”

I narrow my eyes.

He pulls the panties slowly down my legs.

The moment I’m naked from the waist down, the confidence drains out of me just enough that I instinctively bring my thighs closer together.

Vadim notices. His hands settle on my knees. “Look at me.”

I do.

“If you want me to stop, tell me.”

Something about the seriousness in his voice after all the taunting makes my chest tighten.

“I don’t.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

He holds my gaze for another second before spreading my thighs. There’s something unbearably intimate about being opened beneath his hands while he watches me, particularly because I can already feel how wet I am.

He sees it, and his eyes darken. “Fuck.”