Page 92 of Mile High Ruin

“No.”

“You are.”

“I absolutely am not.”

I unfasten the bra, and her breasts fall free into my hands.

The argument leaves her face.

Fuck. She is beautiful. Full, soft, her nipples already hard from nothing more than my touch and the cool air of the room.

I cup both breasts and rub my thumbs over her nipples. Sloane gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders.

“Vadim.”

I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth. Her entire body arches. The sound she makes is helpless and sweet, and it makes my cock harden painfully beneath my trousers.

I suck slowly, tongue circling the tight peak while my hand kneads the other breast. She presses closer, and her breathing turns uneven. I switch sides, kissing across the center of her chest before closing my mouth over the other nipple.

Her fingers curl into my hair. “Fuck.”

I smile against her skin. “You swear more when I touch you.”

“Maybe you’re just annoying,” she pants. “Have you considered that?”

“That is not what your body says,” I say.

She tugs my hair hard enough to make me lift my head.

“That hurt.”

“Good.”

I kiss her again. This time there is nothing slow about it. We stumble toward the bedroom together, my hands everywhere I can reach and hers tugging impatiently at my shirt.

The wound in my side complains when I twist.

I ignore it.

Sloane does not.

She feels me tense and immediately breaks the kiss. “Your stitches.”

“They are intact.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I would know.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You have said that several times.”

“And you keep proving it.”

She reaches for the hem of my shirt carefully. I let her pull it over my head.

Her eyes drop.