Her whole body jerks.
She tastes so fucking sweet.
I suck her deeper, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make her hand fly to my hair. She tugs hard, and the pain shoots straight to my cock.
I groan against her breast.
My mouth, my hand, my body crowding hers, the hard ridge of me pressed against her hip.
I want to lift her onto the sink. Tear her panties aside. Push inside her until she stops thinking about other men, other families, other betrayals. Until the only name in her head is mine.
Her breast is wet from my mouth, her nipple tight in the cool air. I adjust the lace over her because if I keep looking, I will forget why I stopped.
She blinks at me, dazed. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question hits colder than water.
“No.”
“Then why did you stop?”
Because I’m trying not to be the worst man you meet tonight.
Instead, I turn her gently by the hips until she faces the mirror.
She stares at our reflection.
Her hair is mussed. Her mouth is red, breasts rising and falling beneath disturbed lace and fabric.
I stand behind her, almost too large for the small room, shirt open at the throat, eyes dark, face harder than it should be.
My hands settle on her waist.
“Look at yourself,” I say.
She swallows.
I lower my mouth to her neck and kiss the place beneath her ear.
Her eyes close.
“No,” I say. “Open.”
They do.
In the mirror, her gaze meets mine.
I kiss her neck again, slower this time. Her head tips back against my chest. My hands move over her sides, up to the heavy curve of her breasts, then down to her hips. I do not rush. I let her see every touch.
She should see the cramped bathroom. The older man behind her. The flushed, reckless stranger in the mirror. She should remember that she’s not this woman, that she was not raised for this, that she can still walk out.
Instead, she presses her ass back against me.
My breath leaves through my teeth.
“Katerina.”
She does it again.
