My hands move over her waist slowly, learning the curves beneath the oversized shirt. Maggie’s body melts against mine, and the trust inside that response reaches places in me I’ve spent years trying to lock down.
She doesn’t offer herself easily. I know that from every careful glance she gives me, every moment of hesitation, and every instinct she has to remain independent even when exhaustion pulls at her shoulders. She protects herself quietly, the same way she protects everything else she cares about.
Yet right now she’s kissing me with both hands curled into my shirt like she can’t decide whether to hold onto me or pull me closer.
I choose for her. My arm wraps around her waist while I draw her fully against my chest.
A breath leaves her mouth. “Alexei.”
The way she says my name makes my cock twitch. I kiss along her jaw before pressing my mouth beneath her ear. Maggie tilts her head back with her eyes closed.
She opens her eyes again. Those hazel-green eyes lock onto mine while warmth rises into her cheeks. “I need you.”
Relief and hunger hit simultaneously. I kiss her again harder this time, and Maggie melts against me with a small gasp. Her fingers move across the buttons of my shirt while my mouth moves against hers with growing hunger, and the apartment around us fades until all I can focus on is the woman in my arms.
I kiss down her throat while she arches against me, and every inch of my body tightens from the effort required not to lose control completely. The oversized shirt she’s wearing is wornthin, but it’s a barrier I need to bypass. My hands slide along the warm, smooth flesh of her stomach. Her muscles twitch at the contact, a reflexive flinch that melts instantly into a pliant surrender.
I trace the contours of her waist, my thumbs brushing the ridges of her ribs. She’s so soft here, fragile compared to the steel and concrete of my world. My fingers wander higher, skimming the underside of her breasts, feeling the rapid, shallow rhythm of her breathing.
I break the kiss, both of us gasping for air. Her lips are swollen and wet, glistening in the low light. Her eyes, wide and dark, lock onto mine. She looks wrecked already, and we’ve barely started.
“Alexei,” she breathes.
“Shh,” I murmur against the corner of her mouth. I nip at the sensitive skin there, tasting her sweetness. “I've got you.”
I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap instinctively around my waist. I hold her easily, one arm hooked under her ass, the other pressed against her back, keeping her crushed against me. I walk us to her bedroom, the floorboards creaking under our weight.
The bedroom is darker, illuminated only by the streetlights filtering through the rain-streaked window. I lower her onto the bed, but I don’t join her yet. I stand back, looking down at her. She lies there, an oversized shirt drowning her frame, cotton shorts peeking out from the hem, and those fuzzy socks still on her feet. She looks like an offering.
“Take this off,” I command, my voice low and rough, gesturing to the shirt.
She sits up, crossing her arms and grabbing the hem. In one smooth motion, she pulls the shirt over her head and drops it onto the floor. Her hair tumbles back down, a dark curtain around her shoulders. Her breasts are exposed to the cool air, her nipples tightening into hard peaks. I drink in the sight, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the way her skin glows in the shadows.
“Now the shorts,” I say.
She lifts her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of the cotton shorts and sliding them down her legs, kicking them off to join the shirt on the floor. She’s left in nothing but cotton panties and those fuzzy socks.
“Those too,” I instruct.
“You don’t want me to keep on my fuzzy socks?” she giggles.
“Off, now.”
She removes her panties and socks and lies back on the mattress.
“You’re perfect,” I growl. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper, desperate to be free, to sink into the warm wetness I know is waiting between her thighs. But not yet. This is about more than just fucking. It’s the way she looks at me without fear, the way her body relaxes beneath my hands like she trusts me with parts of herself she rarely gives anyone, and the pull in my chest every time she reaches for me like I’m capable of being wanted despite everything attached to my name.
I pick up the discarded shirt from the floor, the cotton still warm from her body heat.
“Sit up,” I order.
She obeys, sitting on the edge of the bed, her breathing deepening. I move behind her, gathering the thin cotton in my hands.
“Do you trust me, Maggie?” I whisper, my lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear.
“Yes,” she answers instantly. “Yes, Alexei.”
I bring the shirt up to her eyes, wrapping it around her head. I tie it securely behind her, knotting it tight enough to stay put but loose enough to be comfortable. Her world goes dark. She can’t see the ink on my skin, the cold calculation in my eyes, or the predatory way I’m looking at her. She can only feel.
