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He lowers himself slightly, his warm breath grazing the skin of my hands while his lips press—moist and delicate—against the palms desperately trying to conceal my mouth.
“I haven’t been with anyone,” he hums against my skin. “Not with Isobel. Not with anyone.”
He seeks the contact of my eyes, I hear the tremor in his voice, the desire that hurts.
“The only thing I did while you were away,” his tone drops, “was replicate what you did, imagining your hand on mine. Your hand, moving mine slow, hungry, tormented.”
“You are a pervert,” I slur, my head falling back.
My heart hammers in my temples while his hands sink into my back, pulling me closer.
“And you are not?”
“I-I just want it to stop.”
His lips brush the skin of my neck again, licking the spot he bit.
“Stop what?”
I move, even though every fiber of my body protests; I rub against him, seeking an impossible, desperate contact.
My fingers claw at his jacket, at the skin beneath, wherever I can seize him. His scent invades me.
“Evander, ne sderzhivaysya.”
Control shatters.
He seizes me by the throat, his mouth crashing onto mine. Tongue, lips, teeth, all at once. One hand moves to my jaw and grips hard, the other sinks into my nape, gathering me to him, forcing me to remain.
He kisses me with the haste of one who has waited too long, with the hunger of one who fears there will be no tomorrow.
I pant against his mouth and hear him groan low and deep, the sound vibrates in my bones more than in my ears. I move without thinking, my hips seeking his as his thigh slides between mine. I grind against him.
I don’t know how to stop.
I kiss him, I cling to him, I wedge myself into his body. His hips respond: hard, living, implacable. The hard length of him presses against me.
He is fucking me through our clothes.
The heat devours me. Everything tightens: stomach, thighs, teeth.
“D-Dorian.”
My back arches.
“I have never desired a man, Viscount,” his mouth is a breath away from my ear, the words flowing languidly, “but—God—” he pants as well, “I want you to the limit of the bearable.”
His tongue enters my ear. I seize him by the hips, pressing him against me.
I don’t know if the moans I hear are mine or his.
He stays over me, panting with eyes slightly wide. I realize the heat burning between my legs, the dampness beneath my clothes, the way I acted... shame tightens my throat.
“Putain de merde...”
I pull away from him slightly, not daring to meet his gaze.
He stares at me, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes darker, loaded with anger and frustration.
