Page 130 of Mile High Ruin

His tongue moves against mine while his hand travels higher, finding the edge of my underwear and tracing it without slipping beneath. I squirm against him.

Vadim pulls his mouth away. “What happened to being difficult?”

“I can still be difficult.”

“You are rubbing yourself against my cock.”

I stop moving immediately.

His mouth curves.

I hate him. And I hate the way the hard length of him is trapped between us even more, pressing firmly against the thin fabric separating us and making it impossible to pretend I don’t want exactly what he wants.

“You’re very smug for a man who was complaining a minute ago.”

“I was not complaining.”

“You said I was making your life difficult.”

“You are.”

His hand slips beneath my sweater. I forget my argument when his palm closes around my breast. The bra underneath is thin, and he cups me through it before his thumb drags slowly over my nipple. My breath stutters.

Vadim watches my face. There’s something infuriating about how much he enjoys seeing every reaction he pulls from me, because he doesn’t simply touch me and move on; he pays attention, adjusting his hand until he finds exactly what makes my body respond.

“You were saying?” he asks.

“Fuck you.”

“That appears to be where this is heading.”

I almost laugh, but he kisses me before I can.

His hand moves behind my back and unfastens my bra with irritating efficiency, then pushes the sweater and straps down far enough to expose my breasts. The air is cool against my skin.

His eyes drop, and whatever humor was there disappears. The way he looks at me makes my nipples tighten before he even touches them.

“Vadim.”

He lowers his head. His mouth closes around one nipple, warm and wet, while his hand kneads the other breast slowly enough that my head falls back against the wall.

“Oh, fuck.”

He sucks harder. My fingers slide into his silver hair.

I noticed the color of his hair before I noticed anything else about him, but this close I can see darker strands mixed underneath, especially near the back, and feel how thick it is between my fingers. There should be something about his age that makes this strange, because he’s clearly old enough to have lived an entire adult life before I finished school, yet nothing about him feels diminished.

If anything, the years have made him more imposing.

His body is broad and hard beneath my hands, scarred in places I have only begun to notice, his face severe enough that even when he’s relaxed there is something intimidating about him, and the silver hair only sharpens the effect rather than softening it.

His mouth leaves my breast and moves upward, kissing along my collarbone before returning to my lips.

I tug his hair, and he growls softly into my mouth. That sound goes directly between my thighs.

“Put me down.”

He stops kissing me. “Why?”