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Shit.
Desire floods my system, impossible to block out. A grunt leaves my throat as I try—and fail—to ignore the spark of heat in her eyes as she looks up at me. This is ridiculous. I should say no. I should tell her it’s a terrible idea, her brother is my best friend and would probably beat my face in if he knew I took advantage of his emotionally vulnerable sister. But she doesn’t look vulnerable right now. She looks damn sure of herself, and how can I deny her?
No, more than that. I don’t want to deny her.
I reach out and tuck a strand of silky dark hair behind her ear, enjoying the way her breath catches in her throat. “You sure, Aly?”
She nods, a hint of shyness coming through in her expression. “I’m sure… I just don’t know what to do. Will you show me?”
My throat goes dry. Screw it, I can’t pretend the idea of being her first kiss isn’t enough to make me instantly hard. I shoot a cautious look at the closed door, confident that no one’s coming in here anytime soon. I clear my throat and push to stand. She watches me closely. My fingers instinctively find her chin as she blinks up at me, vulnerability etched across her face. I’m on the verge of crossing a line that should never be crossed, and I can’t find it in me to care.
“You know, I want this as bad as you do,” I say.
“Really?” Her cheeks turn a shade of pink as her gaze drifts down to my lips. My thumb skims over her mouth, a mouth I’m sure is going to taste like the sweetest ripe fruit. Like perfection.
Her pulse flutters in her throat as I tighten my grip on her chin and run my tongue over her lower lip. This kiss is like jumping off a cliff, exciting and terrifying all at once, because after this, there is no turning back. I’ll know what she tastes like forever.
My lips capture hers. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in sheer enthusiasm, opening herself up to me so perfectly. I devour her, running my tongue along her full lower lip then sucking it into my mouth. She releases little moans as my tongue brushes against hers, her skin silky and soft beneath my hand, still cupping her jaw.
Her hands find my arms, fingers digging into my skin like she doesn’t know what to do with all this need, all this pent-up desire. And damn, I feel it too. If it was any other girl, I’d be balls deep in her right now. But not Alyona. This kiss is all we can share.
So I make it count.
I grab her ass and lift her onto me. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her legs instinctively find their way around my waist. “You’re such a good girl,” I praise her, and she arches against me. “Your body knows exactly what to do. What it needs.”
Her response is a whimper from the back of her throat. She’s desperate for it now, shimmying her hips, eagerly seeking relief. “More,” she begs.
And I’m so tempted to give her the more she is craving. One hard circle of her clit, and I bet she’d go off like a rocket in my hand. I imagine her face flushed, back arching as my fingers brush against her throbbing clit, and it’s so fucking tempting, but…
But that’s not what she asked for.
She asked for a kiss, that’s all.
Her first kiss. So that’s what I give her.
CHAPTERNINE
LEO
The moment Alyonasteps onto the main deck, she comes to a dead halt and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. Her eyes ping-pong around, absorbing the scene in front of her. It’s a lot. Some would call it sensory overload. “What. The. Fuck,” she mutters.
Genevieve may have gone a little overboard. Resting my ankle on my knee, I sit back in the chair and enjoy the look of bewilderment on Aly’s face. “What? Not to your taste?” I feign offense.
There’s champagne chilling table-side in a silver bucket that glimmers under the fairy lights strung crisscross above us. A layer of rose petals so thick you’d think a flower shop had exploded covers every surface, and rows upon rows of candles line the dining area, their flames dancing in the shadows, even though I’m sure it’s against fire code.
This is not romance, it’s romance on steroids.
Aly approaches, still looking at me like I’m mentally unwell. “Should I be concerned? Are you feeling alright?”
I raise my whisky glass in cheers. “Perfectly fine, thanks. Nice outfit,” I shoot back.
She blinks innocently, but there is nothing innocent about her chosen attire. She’s wearing a snug-fitting white T-shirt that exposes her midriff, minuscule denim cut-offs, and rhinestoned cowboy boots.
I don’t have to question whether she knows the effect her outfit has on me; her defiant smirk says it all. She lowers herself into the seat across from me. “I dressed up, just like you requested. Since we’re posing as an American couple, I thought I should look the part.” Liar. She just didn’t like me telling her what to wear. “But this”—she gestures at the petal explosion all around us—“is disturbing.”
Her glossy hair tumbles around her shoulders, but it’s her lips I can’t tear my eyes from. Full and lush, they’re painted a vibrant, bold, take-no-prisoners kind of red. It feels personal.
I just shrug nonchalantly, popping an olive into my mouth. “Maybe this is what a man does when he’s head over heels. Maybe you need to find a man who truly understands the meaning of romance.”
