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He grips my chin, silencing me. "Quiet, Rayne."
I stare at him, and he must see the question in my eyes because he leans forward until his lips are a breath from mine. "Now,I'm trying to seduce you."
Confusion morphs to desire, a slow coil of lust deep in my core. "That isn’t why I came here."
"You came here for comfort, right?" He smooths his hands up my thighs and grips the crease of my hips. "This is that.”
His hands slide higher, trailing my ribs and brushing the undersides of my breasts. I close my eyes against a moan, my body responding even when I can't find the words.
Gently, Kirill presses me back to the mattress. He crawls over me, bracing his weight on either side of my chest.
"If you want me to stop, tell me now."
His breath warms my neck. He presses a kiss to my collarbone and the hollow besides, and my hand instinctively curls into his hair.
I hold him to me and a low growl rumbles through his chest. "Rayne."
If I was stronger, I’d have the willpower to end this. Somewhere inside of me should be some sense of self-preservation. Losing Kirill will hurt all the worse with these memories pulsing through my blood.
But wanting Kirillisself-preservation. How can I survive without this?
"Touch me," I beg. "Please. Make me forget."
His hands slide under the hem of my shirt and cage in my ribs. He can almost wrap his large hands entirely around me, and I long to be held by him. To be a fragile bird in the safe confines of his touch.
Wanting this doesn't mean anything. Of course I want this. Who wouldn't?
I hear the echo of Kirill's words in my thoughts, but I shove it away. He doesn't love me and he doesn't need to. This can be enough. I love when my hairstylist washes my hair, but I don't want to marry her. I can get a massage without falling in love with my masseuse.
Kirill is… providing a service. That's all. It doesn't need to be more than that.
Suddenly, Kirill palms my breasts, and I arch into his hands.
"You fit perfectly against me." He sits up to admire the view, so I grab my shirt and yank it over my head to help. His eyes go dark. "You look perfect, too. Utterly flawless."
I scratch my nails down the bare plane of his abs and lower, tugging gently at the line of hair that disappears beneath his pants. I can feel his erection against my thigh.
Kirill may not love me, but he wants me. For now, can't that be enough?
I don’t know.
But it will have to be.
I slide my hand lower and circle him with my fingers. He stills, his eyes closing with a sigh. When they open, he trails my face. His gaze is a physical touch. It's intimate, the way he takes me in.
I stroke him again simply to shift his full focus off of me. Looking at me like that, I could almost believe this meant something to him.
"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," he grits out, thrusting gently into my palm.
“Nothing feels better than this.”
I mean it, too. Watching a man like Kirill bend to my touch is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’ll never get tired of it.
He kisses my neck and my jawline. His teeth tug at my earlobe before his lips crash against mine. With every stroke, his movements become more feverish. When I break away to gasp for air, his mouth doesn’t stop. He kisses down my chest and takes my nipple between his lips. Then his hand slips between my legs.
In a matter of seconds, we’re both bucking against each other’s hands, chasing the growing heat between us with no sense of shame at all.
Sounds I’ve never heard before are coming out of me. Kirill swallows half of them, kissing me in a way that touches every part of me. I feel it in my toes.
