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“Demi.”
It sounded breathless. A warning. A plea.
His gaze lifted to mine, his hunger matching mine.
There was something devastating about seeing Demitri Cavalho on his knees before me. This man who had spent years kneeling only for God now looked at me as though worship could take another form entirely.
His hands tightened against my thighs.
“Look at me, Adriana.”
My eyes fluttered as I tried to keep them open, fighting the surge of electricity that passed through me with the feel of his hand against my skin.
His mouth brushed the sensitive skin above my knee, slow and languid, enough to make my stomach tighten, and my head fell back against the pillow.
His low laugh vibrated against me.
“You're terrible at following instructions.”
“You're too distracting.”
“I'm barely doing anything.”
I looked down at him, his head buried between my legs. The man knew exactly what he was doing.
His hair was dishevelled from my hands, and there was something almost indecent about seeing him like this that had nothing to do with what we were doing. Demitri always carried himself with such brutal restraint. Every movement considered. Every emotion controlled. Every dark instinct locked behind a face that revealed almost nothing.
Except with me. I got to see the cracks. I got to put them there.
My fingers slid through his hair again. His eyes closed briefly. That tiny surrender sent heat surging through me.
His eyes opened and a slow smile touched his mouth. Dangerous. Beautiful. Mine.
He lifted his head, unhurried, then crawled up the bed until we lay side by side, facing one another. His hand settled beside my head. The other remained at my waist. For several seconds, he simply stared at me. My breathing changed. His stayed the same. That was another thing I hated about him. I could be trembling beneath his hands while he looked completely composed.
“Still distracting?” he murmured.
“Always.”
His mouth found mine, and before I could take a breath, he pushed onto his back, lifting me with him until I was on top. My body lay flush against his, warm and aching, yet still wanting more.
A rough grunt escaped him as I leaned in and kissed him harder.
“I want you to ride me, Adriana.”
A flush of heat surged through me, and there was that tingle all over again, between my legs. I’d lost count of how many times I’d come. With his mouth locked to my clit, with his tongue lapping at my breasts, with his cock deep inside me. He was a man on a mission, making up for lost time. And he’d chosen me.
There was no priest between us now. No Saint. No man carrying the weight of every terrible thing he had done and every impossible promise he tried to keep afterward. There was only him. Demitri. The man beneath all those layers of guilt and faith and violence.
My man.
His mouth left mine and moved along my jaw. I turned my head, giving him access without being asked.
“Adriana.”
His breath against my skin sounded like a confession.
My eyes closed.
