Properly this time—mouth to mouth, her hand on his face, her tongue against his—and something low and rough tore out of Pav before he could stop it.
She broke the kiss, breathless, her eyes dark in the low light, and pushed at his good shoulder.
Enough.
He understood.
He rolled onto his back—but his hands stayed on her, guiding her with him.
She straddled his hips, her thighs warm against his, her hair falling forward, her hands flat on his chest.
Solnyshko.
The word settled somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t have language for.
She palmed his cheekbone, then bent and kissed him again, her hair falling around them, closing the space.
He was painfully hard against her. There was no hiding or controlling it. Her hips shifted—small, deliberate—and his breath left him in a sharp pull.
“Harper.” Christ, he sounded wrecked.
She kissed him again, slower, her palm still on his chest, over the thud of his heart.
“Harper—”
“Shh.” Her hand slid down his chest, his stomach, closed around his cock.
His hips drove up into her before he thought better of it. Her mouth moved to his jaw, his throat, the line of his neck. Her hand stroked down the aching length of him.
She knew exactly what she was doing. He let her lead.
She rose up over him. “Pav. Look at me.”
He lifted his eyes.
Mistake.
Every time he looked at her, he forgot what he’d been holding together. Forgot why he even tried.
She guided him to her, her hand steady, trust in her eyes. She sank down onto him, slow enough to make his teeth grit, his head pressing back into the pillow as something tore out of him he couldn’t contain. “Bozhe moy.”My God.
She stilled, fully seated, her hands braced on him. He felt all of her—every inch, every shift, every breath. Neither of them moved.
“Hi,” she said softly, a small, almost shy smile.
A laugh broke out of him, unexpected. The surprise on her face nearly did him in.
“Hi.” His hands came up, cupping her face, pulling her down into a harder kiss.
When she moved again, it was slow, her body rocking against his, finding him by degrees.
He slid his hands to her hips. He had a plan. His mouth on her. His hands on her. Give her something that belonged to neither fear nor survival. Make sure she came apart before helet himself even think about release. Then she moved over him, taking what she needed, and the plan disappeared. He let it go.
Her breath caught, the sound escaping her, small and ruined. He wanted that sound again. Wanted all of them.
His good hand tightened on her hip. His injured hand stayed lower, spread against her thigh.
“Pav.” Her voice brushed his mouth. “I want?—”
