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And that’s not the only stone-like hardness I’m feeling.
The entire world seems to fade away, replaced by the stark awareness of our intimate position and the dark, magnetic force that’s pulled us toward one another from the start. My heart thuds violently in my ribcage, each beat reverberating in my ears as my breath stutters through my parted lips. His face is mere inches from mine, his powerful arms encircling me, holding me in an embrace that’s equal parts protective and restraining.
“Chloe, zaychik…” A strained note enters his deep voice. “Are you okay?”
Okay? I’m burning up, dying from the firestorm of need inside me. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath, smell a hint of minty toothpaste mixing with the sensual notes of his cologne and the salty undertones of clean, healthy male sweat. His eyes gleam with moonlight speckled with shadows, his black hair blending with the night, and I have the surreal thought that he is made of darkness… that like a creature of the underworld, he exists out of the reach of light.
Trepidation curls through me, mixing with the heat burning in my veins, intensifying it in some peculiar, unsettling way. My nipples harden, my inner muscles clenching on a growing empty ache, and my body acts on a long-simmering impulse, my fingers tightening on the hard muscles of his shoulders as my lips press against his.
For a brief moment, nothing happens, and I have the horrifying thought that I’ve misjudged the situation, that the attraction is one-sided after all. But then a low, rough sound rumbles in his throat, and he kisses me back with savage hunger, his arms tightening to form an iron cage around me. His lips devour mine, his tongue stabbing deep, tasting me, invading me in a blatant imitation of the sexual act, and my mind goes completely blank, all thoughts and fears evaporating under the brutal lash of desire.
I’ve never known a kiss so raw and carnal, have never felt arousal so intense it hurts. My skin burns, my heart beats like a fist against my ribcage, and my core pulses with a desperate, coiling need. He bears me down to the bed, pinning me under his heavy weight, and all I can do is moan helplessly into his mouth as my nails dig into his shoulders and my legs wrap around his hips, grinding my throbbing clit against the hard bulge of his erection.
A ragged groan escapes his throat, and he sweeps a hand down my body, his touch trailing fire in its wake. Roughly, he pulls up my tank top, and his callused palm closes over my left breast, kneading it with hungry pressure as his lips crush mine, his kiss consuming me, stealing every exhalation from my lungs. Breathless, dizzy, I strain against him, my hands sliding up to grip fistfuls of his silky hair. The feel of his hot palm on my nipple is equal parts relief and aggravation; it soothes the feverish craving for his touch while intensifying the rapid build of tension. Like a loaded spring, the pressure coils ever tighter in my core, each grinding movement of my hips bringing me closer to the edge, to the relief I’m so desperately seeking.
I’m going to come. The realization sweeps through me a heartbeat before the climax does. My back bows, my legs tighten around his muscled ass, and a choked cry bursts from my throat as heated pleasure rockets through my body. The release is so powerful it wipes away all thought, all reason, and it’s only as I come down from the high and open my eyes that I realize he’s stilled on top of me, his head turned toward the door and his powerful body all but vibrating from tension.
A split second later, I realize why.
“Chloe, is that you? Are you—” Alina freezes in the doorway, her negligée-clad figure outlined by the light streaming in from the hallway.
A light she must’ve turned on when she heard us.
Or more specifically, heard me.
A hot flush sears my face and neck as I realize exactly what she heard—and what she’s seeing.
Me, in bed with her half-naked brother in the middle of the night, my pajama top hiked up to my armpits.
There’s no spinning this as an accident, no mistaking it for anything other than what it is.
“Excuse me.” Alina’s tone turns chilly. “The door was open. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She disappears into the hallway, and Nikolai mutters something that sounds like a Russian curse. Rolling off me with an explosive motion, he strides to the wide-open door and slams it shut, plunging us back into darkness.
I scramble to a sitting position, yanking down my tank top as I hear his returning footsteps. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? My hand pats frantically along the nightstand in search of the bedside lamp switch, and the light flips on just as the mattress dips under his weight.
