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“It should have been in a proper bed,” he says, a slight laugh behind his words as he kisses the top of my head, turning me slowly towards the rumpled sheets still left from my afternoon nap. “I’ve tried to make up for that, since.”
“You’ve done a good job.” I turn in his arms, looking up at him. “I think I like how it was, the first time.”
“You’re a Bratva princess.” His hands smooth downwards, over my back, down to my waist. His fingers are rough against the silk, catching on it a little. “You shouldn’t have lost your virginity on a vintage sofa.”
The memory comes back, as sharp and piercing as the moment of pain when he’d first slipped inside of me, and with the same burst of heart-racing desire at the reminder of just how it had all happened.
Adrik telling me that he was on duty, that he shouldn’t have a drink. Me insisting, telling him that he saved my life, and I only wanted to thank him. Flirting, maybe, in the way of someone who doesn’t really know how to flirt.
It would be hard not to flirt with Adrik. He’s gorgeous—six foot three inches of muscled, tattooed perfection, always dressed in fatigues meant to be loose but pulled taut over muscled thighs and an immaculate ass, and a tight black t-shirt. Even without meaning to, he’s made to be flirted with.
I don’t even entirely remember how we ended up the way we did. I remember that he asked me how I was doing, if I was healing well. I had said yes, that my injuries were getting better. It was all very formal. I turned my head, reaching for my glass, and suddenly felt his hand on my face. There had still been a bruise there, healing, on my jaw.
“Do you think it would have happened,” I whisper, “if you hadn’t touched me like that?”
He knows what I’m talking about. I see it from the wry twist of his mouth. “I shouldn’t have,” he says quietly. “It was out of line. But—” he hesitates, brushing his fingers over my lips again. “I can’t say I regret that I did.”
“You could kiss me like that again,” I whisper, tilting my chin up, and I see the smile on his mouth as he bends to kiss me. I feel it against my lips as his press against mine.
He was my first kiss. My very first, sitting on a chintz sofa in the informal living room, the taste of vodka lingering on both of our mouths. His fingers that had grazed below the bruise on my jaw found a place to rest on my waist, his other hand coming up to touch the unhurt side of my face, and I had discovered what it was like to be kissed by someone I chose, and kissed in return.
It was unexpected and better than I could have ever imagined, having spent my whole life believing that the only intimacy I would ever experience would be within a marriage arranged and brokered without my input.
I had known I shouldn’t allow it. I still had value to my family. My innocence still had value. Even a kiss was too much.
But as Adrik said, I had been so lonely. I had experienced so much pain—ached for a gentle touch. To feel pleasure instead of hurt. Adrik’s mouth was full and soft and warm, the kiss eager and careful all at once. I could feel that the desire in it had been there for a long time, maybe even before my kidnapping, before my rescue. I thought of him watching me over months and years, wanting me, pining for me from afar. It was all so romantic that I let myself be swept up in it without even really knowing if it was all true.
Nikolai had been somewhere far away, and no one would find out. I was still a virgin—my kidnappers hadn’t taken that from me—but they had hurt me, shamed me, and stripped so much else away. Adrik’s hands, I had felt, could piece that back together. He could give me something that no one else could.
And he still was.
His mouth moves over mine, strong and sure, without hesitation. I sometimes wonder, afterward, how he seems to have no fear with me. What he’s doing could cost him his life. I can’t imagine that a night with me, a week, or the month that we’ve spent doing this, is worth what would happen to him if Nikolai found out. And yet—
He doesn’t seem to care.
“Marika—” He breathes my name against my lips, his hands finding the silk tie of my robe. I’m nude underneath, and when the silk falls away, I hear his groan of pleasure, his hands touching bare skin. They’re broad and rough, gripping my delicate waist. I love how he makes me feel—fragile and protected all at once, as he lifts me onto the bed, him still fully clothed, and me bare as the silk flutters to the floor.
“You liked it when I did this to you.” He slips one hand between my thighs, parting my folds for a thick finger, sliding over my already aching clit. “When I touched you like this—”
“Yes—” I’m already breathless. My gaze flicks downwards, seeing the thick ridge of his cock, pressing against the fly of his fatigues. I can feel the slick shape of the buttons beneath my fingers before I even touch him. How it feels to try to quickly get them open, slipping my hand inside to find the hot, hard shape of his cock. I know the sound he’ll make when my palm brushes against him for the first time since he came into the room.
There are a dozen or more small intimacies that I know about him now that I shouldn’t—and the same for him with me.
He bends down, turning me so that my ass is at the edge of the bed, kneeling down so that his mouth is level with the apex of my thighs. “I did this to you, remember? Kneeling in front of the couch to eat your sweet pussy for the first time—”
I suck in a breath as his lips graze over my inner thigh, sliding higher. “I wouldn’t have been able to take you if you hadn’t,” I whisper, the words breaking in between each one, my voice cracking with desire as his mouth moves closer to where I need it the most. “You were too big. And I—”
“I was the first.” There’s a raw desire in his voice when he says it, his lips brushing directly between my thighs. “The first to taste you. The first to fuck you. The first to do this—”
His tongue presses between my folds, sliding hotly over my clit, and my head falls back against the blankets. There’s no more talking, no more teasing. There’s only his mouth pressed between my thighs, the hot, wet, sweet pleasure of it, his tongue sliding and rolling over my clit as he holds my legs apart and I press into his hands, wanting more. It feels so good—I could never have imagined that anything would feel so good.
I feel his fingers slide against my entrance, teasing me. I arch into his touch, impatient, and I feel the vibration of his laugh against my skin.
“You want it,” he murmurs. “I gave you one taste, and you’re insatiable.”
“Adrik—” I moan, hips bucking against his mouth as I reach down, running my hands over the short crop of his blond hair. “Stop teasing me.”
“Oh, this isn’t teasing, princess.”
