Page 5
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my ear.
I take a shuddering breath as the gun trembles in my grip.
His fingers slip beneath my underwear, finding me soaked, and I make a sound of pure mortification.
“I knew it,” he says, his voice thickening as his fingers slide through my slick heat. “Bozhe, so wet for me, printsessa.”
“Shut up,” I plead, a ragged sob catching in my throat, hating that my husband can hear every word he says and every sound I’m making.
Zevran’s heavy frame shifts, and I feel the rigid, unyielding length of his erection pressing hard against my lower back. I brace myself for the familiar, sickening wave of revulsion that always comes when Troy claims my body.
But it doesn’t come. My skin doesn’t crawl. Instead, a desperate, shameful instinct makes me lean backward, sinking my body against the solid wall of Zevran’s chest. My cheek brushes the rough stubble of his jaw, seeking his heat.
Zevran lets out a low, predatory hiss through his teeth at my surrender. He catches my chin with his thumb, turning my face to press hot, demanding kisses along my jawline, his breath ragged against my ear.
“Moya…” he growls, the Russian word thick with sudden dark frustration that tells me I am driving him just as crazy.
Mine.
He touches me with an unhurried, devastating certainty. Slow, exploratory strokes that take me apart one layer at a time. Learning me. Savoring me. His thumb finds the place that makes my thighs clench and stays there, caressing and merciless, while his fingers slide inside me. I have to bite my lip so hard I taste blood.
His thick fingers slide against swollen flesh, pumping in and out of me. I wind my feet around his calves, desperate for anything to keep me steady.
I stop trying to find that quiet place in my head. There is no quiet place anymore. There is only Zevran’s fingers inside me, his breath against my throat, and the unbearable, building pressure.
My finger grows sweaty around the trigger. My arms ache from holding up the gun.
I can feel Zevran watching me with total focus. “Let go.”
“I can’t,” I whimper.
My clit is throbbing as he strokes it. I can feel my sex tightening and releasing in irregular flutters around his fingers.
“You can.” His fingers curl, and I gasp. “Let go, printsessa. I have you.”
Those three words strike a chord in the very heart of me.
I have you.
“You do?” I ask breathlessly, my voice curling in a hopeful question.
“I have you,” he murmurs again. “Forget about everything else.”
My eyes close. The gun trembles in my shaking grip, and the room melts away. There’s only Zevran, his body hot and hard against mine, and his fingers working with devastating intimacy on my sensitive flesh.
The pleasure crests with a violent, shattering force. A sharp, desperate cry tears from my throat—a sound I have never made in my life. My back arches into his muscular torso, my hips rolling instinctively against his hard thighs.
A low, guttural groan rips from Zevran’s chest as my climax clamps tightly around his fingers. In the tremors of that shattering release, my hand spasms. My finger pulls back hard against the trigger.
The explosive crack of the gun fills the kitchen.
The ringing silence afterward is total.
No.
No.
What have I done?
