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ELARA
He kisses me in the hallway.
One moment he is standing there with that impossible restraint on his face, and the next his hands are on me, one at my jaw and the other at my waist, pulling me into him as his mouth takes mine.
I grab his shirt because I need something to hold on to.
He steps forward. I step back.
Neither of us breaks the kiss.
My shoulder brushes the doorframe. His body follows mine into the room, large and hot and unyielding, and I feel the solid press of him through his trousers when he pins me there for one breathless second. My robe is already slipping open. His hand moves from my waist to my hip, fingers digging into the fabric as if he is deciding whether to pull it off me or tear it.
Then he kicks the door shut behind him.
The sound moves through me.
Nikolai lifts his head just enough to look at me.
His eyes are dark. His mouth is damp from mine. He looks too controlled for a man who has me backed against a bedroom door with my robe half open and my hands still twisted in his shirt.
“Still yes?” he asks.
“Yes.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I want you in my bed,” I say, quieter, because saying it makes my whole body tighten.
His thumb presses once into my hip. “That’s better.” Then his mouth is on mine again.
This kiss is slower at first, deeper, as if he is trying to taste the decision on my tongue. I let him. I open for him, and he takes full advantage, kissing me until I am breathing through my nose and pushing up onto my toes. His hand slides under the edge of my robe, finding bare skin at my thigh.
He stops. His fingers go still. I feel the moment he realizes I am naked underneath. His forehead lowers until it almost touches mine. “Elara.”
It’s not a warning. It is not a question. It’s his last attempt at restraint.
I take his wrist and guide his hand higher. His fingers brush the inside of my thigh, and I hear his breath catch. He touches me between my legs, only the lightest stroke, but it is enough to make my knees weaken. I am already wet. There is no hiding it. His fingers slide through me, and his jaw tightens like the feel of me has done something violent to him.
“You came to the door like this?”
“I was in my room,” I pant.
His fingers move again, slow, deliberate, parting me. I grip his shoulder. He watches my face while he touches me, not looking away even for a moment. His thumb finds my clit. My hips jerk forward.
“There,” he says.
I close my eyes.
His other hand catches my chin. “No.”
I open them.
“Look at me when I touch you.” The words go straight through me.
He rubs my clit again, firmer this time, and I bite my lip to hold back the sound. His eyes narrow, noticing.
