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God, the man could kiss.
Our lips slid together, soft and sensual. He nibbled at me, as though sampling delicate fruit. Then his tongue slipped from between his lips and I was falling open to him, falling apart, begging him to come into me.
His arms went around me, his hands tangling in my hair as I rubbed my hands up his chest. I felt his heart hammering beneath my palm as he broke our kiss and moved his mouth to my ear. Hot breath whispered inside my head, full of wordless answers I could never decipher.
I was putty in his hands, my whole body listing into him, as though I were a sinking ship and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. If he kissed me again, I knew I would drown.
He didn't. Pulling away, he took my hand. “We should continue this conversation upstairs,” he murmured.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. Upstairs. Yes.
He guided me back into the gallery and then up the narrow staircase. The creaking of the old floorboards beneath our feet crackled in the air between us.
We arrived in the master bedroom on the top floor. The room was dark, this late in the autumn, and the skylight above us was like a black hole. I imagined if it were to break we would be sucked out into space.
Anton switched on a bedside lamp, then took me by the hand and led me to the center of the floor, a few feet from the bed. The whole room was white and blonde, clean and fresh. Anton stood in front of me. His whole being screamed control, even in the way he relaxed his stance. The rock hard body underneath his suit hummed with tension. He had to control himself to relax, and, despite myself, my heart went out to him.
What had happened to make him so guarded? What made him so alone?
My fingers twitched. The gulf between us was so great, but if I could reach across it, if I could touch him where he stood trapped in his own iron grip...
“Ask me a question.” The words were sharp and hard, startling me. I hadn't even been thinking about asking questions. But as I studied his face in the soft lamplight, I could see he was determined about something. There was nothing in his expression that told me what he was determined about, but that in and of itself was something.
I licked my lips. “Tell me about your family,” I said.
The barest of tells: the muscles around his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Disrobe,” he commanded me.
I brought my hands to the buttons of my blouse. One by one, I released them, and he watched me. As I parted the fabric above my breasts, I paused.
“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to button back up again?” There was far more bravado in my words than I felt inside. My knees were jelly, and the heat in my core was spreading.
“What would you like to know about my family?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Anything.”
“Anything?”
I knew then that I'd made an error. He could tell me whatever he wanted, and I'd be no further than I was already. Well. Might as well double-down. I lifted my chin. “Yeah. Anything.”
His eyes flicked down my body. “Very well. I have no brothers or sisters. Continue.”
Could have been worse, I thought. My trembling fingers popped button after button through their holes, and each one revealed me to him. At last they were all done, and I let the blouse slip from my shoulders to the floor.
Cool air caressed my skin, and my nipples hardened inside my bra.
“Ask.”
Another command. I wracked my brain. His stare was distracting, discomfiting. How could I concentrate when he was standing so close, watching me like a wolf eying a spring lamb?
“What were your parents like?” It was all I could think of.
Again his eyes tightened, and this time they didn't relax. “Remove your bra.”
Reaching behind me, I did as I was told. The straps slid down my arms and I tossed it to the floor and stood before him, naked from the waist up. Only jeans, panties, and a pair of low heels kept me from him now.
His hand floated out, hovering in the air between us. Large and warm, it cupped one breast, and I let out a sigh.
