Because now I know she wants it too.
I see it in her face. Her parted lips. Her flushed cheeks. The way her gaze drops to my mouth and then lower, to the bulge straining against my trousers. She sees what she has done to me, and the knowledge does not frighten her.
It feeds her.
“Katerina,” I say.
Her name comes out rough.
She tips her head back to look at me. “Yes?”
“Are you still drunk?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
I study her.
Her feet are not perfectly steady, but neither are mine, and I have not had vodka. The plane shifts faintly beneath us. Her hand braces against my chest for balance, but her eyes are clear.
Dark, hungry, furious with a lifetime of being careful.
“I know what I’m doing,” she says.
“No, you don’t.”
Her chin lifts. “Maybe not. But I know what I want.”
I could ask what that is, but I don’t need to.
It’s written all over her face.
She wants me badly enough to forget where we are. Badly enough to follow me here. Badly enough to stand in this tight, dangerous space and dare me to be the kind of man I have spent years becoming.
I want to see how far she will go.
It’s the wrong instinct.
It’s also the only honest one I have left.
“Say it,” I tell her.
Her lashes lower. For a second, she looks almost shy.
Then her hand slides down my chest, over my stomach, stopping just above my belt.
“I want you to kiss me again.”
That’s all. And that’s enough.
I catch her face in one hand and take her mouth.
She gasps, and I swallow it.
No hesitation this time. No testing. No polite lie of restraint. Her mouth opens under mine, hot and eager, and she rises onto her toes to meet me. I grip her waist with my other hand and pull her closer until every soft inch of her is pressed against me.
