Page 187 of Marrying the Savage

I land on my back, breathless, while he stands over me and strips off his shirt. His chest is hard, marked with old scars and fresh tension, and the sight of him like that makes my anger shift into something more dangerous. Need, maybe. Hunger. Something that has been waiting under every argument we have had since the church.

He removes his belt. I watch his hands.

He knows I’m watching. His mouth curves slightly, but his eyes stay serious. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“Tell me anyway.”

My throat tightens. Not from fear this time.

“If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

He nods once. “Good.”

Then he comes down over me. His body covers mine, heavy and hot, but he keeps his weight on one forearm. His free hand moves down my stomach, into my underwear, and when his fingers touch me, both of us react.

I’m already wet. Too wet to pretend this is only adrenaline.

Damir’s eyes darken. “You came to my room like this?”

I turn my face away, embarrassed for half a second.

He grips my jaw carefully and brings me back to him. “No hiding.”

I hate that I missed those words. I hate that my body responds to them like it remembers being safe under his hands, even when my mind keeps arguing that safety and Damir Volodin should not belong in the same sentence.

His fingers slide through me, then press against my clit. I gasp. He watches my face while he circles it, slow at first, then firmer when my hips lift. He learns too quickly. Every breath I take gives me away. Every twitch, every small sound, every time my thighs try to close around his hand, he adjusts until I’m gripping the sheets and trying not to beg.

“Damir.”

“I know.”

He lowers his mouth to my breast again while his fingers work between my legs, and the combination is too much. His teeth graze my nipple, not hard, just enough, and my body tightens sharply.

I come on his hand. The orgasm hits hard, forcing a cry out of me before I can stop it. My back arches. My thighs shake. He doesn’t stop until I push at his wrist, overwhelmed, and then he lifts his hand and kisses me with my own taste still on his fingers.

I reach for his trousers. “Take them off.”

His control slips. Finally.

The look on his face changes, and the next few seconds are all movement. His trousers come off. My underwear is gone. He spreads my thighs and settles between them, his cock hard against me, thick and hot, making my breath catch before he’s even inside.

He looks at my face. “Are you sore?”

“A little.”

“Then I should go slow.”

“No.”

“Sofia.”

“I said I don’t want careful.”

His jaw works. I touch his face, and that stops him more effectively than anything else I could have done.

“I want you,” I say again, quieter now. “Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m grateful. Not because I don’t know what else to do. I want you because I want you.”