Page 221 of Mile High Ruin

His eyes darken.

I should stop.

I don’t.

He stands. The movement sends an immediate, irrational thrill through me, and I hate that my body reacts before my mind has decided whether this is a good idea.

Vadim comes to the edge of the bed and looks down at me.

I tilt my face up.

Neither of us speaks.

Then his fingers slide into my hair, and my breath catches.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

I should.

Instead, I whisper, “You first.”

Something in his expression breaks, and his mouth comes down on mine.

The kiss is nothing like the one outside the hospital. There’s no shock this time, no startled relief, no uncertainty about whether we’re actually touching after months apart.

This one starts hungry.

My hands find his shirt before I have time to think, gripping the fabric and dragging him closer while he kisses me with a restraint that’s already failing. His palm settles against the side of my neck, his thumb beneath my jaw, and the familiar control in the way he holds me makes my whole body tighten.

I remember this. I remember him.

Every part of me does.

He deepens the kiss and I make a helpless sound against his mouth, and that’s apparently enough to destroy what remains of his patience. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me toward him carefully, one arm around my back while his other hand moves over my side with maddening slowness.

My skin feels too sensitive everywhere. Pregnancy has changed things I didn’t expect, made every touch stronger, every reaction more immediate, and Vadim notices within seconds.

Of course he does.

He has always noticed too much.

His mouth leaves mine and moves along my jaw, then lower, and I tilt my head back before pride can stop me.

“Vadim.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”

His breath warms my skin. “I know you’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

His hand tightens lightly at my waist. “You are. Are you in pain?”

“No.”

His hand hovers closer. “The baby?”