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“I was high!”

“In vino veritas,” I say. “Drugs, wine. Same principle.”

She opens her mouth and closes it again. A flush is climbing her throat, and I watch it with considerable satisfaction.

“I don’t want you,” she insists.

“Let’s find out.”

I keep her right wrist pinned with one hand and hook my fingers into the waistband of her sweats with the other. They’re so loose on her that they slide down her legs with almost no effort, and her squirming only helps. In seconds, they’re gone.

She makes a furious, mortified sound. “Don’t you dare—”

But I’ve already dared.

I slide my hand between her thighs, and she clamps them together, which achieves nothing except to trap my hand exactly where I want it.

I look down at her, and she looks up at me. Jaw set, eyes bright with humiliation, and holding herself so rigidly still, as though stillness will protect her from what I’m about to find out.

It won’t.

I press my fingers against her, and she’s completely bare because I didn’t give her underwear.

She makes a sound she immediately tries to swallow.

She’s wet.

Soaking, in fact. Soft and slick and swollen and so perfectly responsive that another groan builds in my chest.

I bring my slick fingers up and hold them between our faces.

“Still want to pretend you don’t want me?” I murmur.

She has no answer for that. Her face is scarlet, her chest is heaving, and she’s looking at my hand like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

I could be merciful.

I’m not a merciful man.

I bring my fingers to my lips and taste her, watching her face the whole time, and the sound she makes is the most satisfying thing I’ve heard in years.

“Sweet,” I say. “Just like the rest of you.”

The shock on her face is delicious. She’s staring up at me, her lips parted. My T-shirt is bunched up around her waist. Her warm belly, curving hips, and the arrow of her sweet thighs pointing down toward her wet slit is the most inviting thing I’ve ever seen.

I couldn’t possibly ignore the welcome she’s rolling out for me.

I grasp her thigh and push it open.

Husband or not, I’ll ruin her for every other man alive.

8

Viktoriya

Zevran’s moves lower, and I forget how to breathe.

His mouth trails over the curve of my stomach, and I’m so unprepared for the deliberate, searing path of his kisses that I freeze completely.