It was wrong, a betrayal, but I wanted it nonetheless.
I let out a sigh, the sound breathy, desire-filled, one that I had never heard from myself. Anton dropped his gaze to my lips and then slowly, ever so slowly, he moved forward, the tightly coiled muscles of his arms moving against my back, his manly scent enveloping me.
Then he stopped, his lips millimeters above mine, and lifted his gaze to mine. The desire I saw swirling there sent my own spiking into the stratosphere.
When he grazed his lips across mine, I sighed again.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, had nothing to compare it to, but the feeling of his mouth against mine, his strong arm around my waist, sent my thoughts scattering, my mind filled with only the need to have more of the sensation. He pulled me closer then, crushing my breasts against the solid wall of his chest, his arm now a vise around my waist, but one that I welcomed, feared I would come to crave.
He felt immovable, and I was trapped, but in the most delicious way, and I couldn’t ever imagine wanting to escape his hold. And when he eased his tongue into my mouth, the action a mix of coaxing and commanding, any remaining tendrils of resistance were drowned in a flood of the desire he created.
With a passion and precision that didn’t surprise me at all, he kissed me, left no centimeter of my mouth untouched. When he pulled back and placed soft kisses at the corners of my lips, then moved out to kiss my cheeks, my chin, the tip of my nose, I was a bundle of nerves in his arms, anxious, needy for him to continue.
I peeled my eyes open, barely able to lift my lids, and when my gaze met his, my heart thudded even harder. His eyes, always dark, now swirled with desire, his own lids heavy, his need apparent. He pulled me tighter to him, and I felt his solid muscle against my chest, the insistent press of his hardness against my stomach.
My eyes flew open wider then, and I looked at him closer, saw the pulse of his heart at his neck, the slightly jagged edge to his breath, the tension that seemed coiled through his entire body. I lifted my hand tentatively, laid it against his biceps, right at the place where fabric gave way to skin. I closed my fingers slightly, testing the hardness of his muscle covered with silky-soft skin.
When he pressed his lips against my cheek, I took it as a sign of encouragement and squeezed tighter, but then I trailed my fingers along his arm, tracing the pattern of ink that I had only seen in fleeting glimpses.
I knew what those markings were, knew what they meant, but in this moment, I couldn’t think of it—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was him, touching him, having him touch me.
I dropped my hand, looked up at him, hoping to regain my equilibrium, hoping to remember what I was doing, but all I saw there was desire, the feelings that were reflecting what I felt, and I was powerless against them.
He slid his lips against my cheek, moved lower to again cover my mouth, and when he tightened his arms around my waist, I lifted my legs, instinct guiding me.
He settled me so that I was centered over his erection, and the sensation of Anton against me so intimately was my undoing.
I tightened my legs, pulling as close as I could possibly be, and then I met his eyes again, saw the question there.
I nodded and watched him as he processed my response to the unasked question, saw the moment when he too was lost.
And then he was moving, the compactness of my apartment leaving only a few options. He reached my small bedroom in seconds, paused long enough to look around before refocusing his gaze on me.
There was a fleeting moment of embarrassment when I thought about what he was seeing. I had never been one for frills, and in this place they had seemed even less essential. So all there was was a cheap, prefab bedroom suite, the full-size bed covered with a duvet and sheet set that were sold in a package deal.
I’d never cared for such things, but now I wished I had, wished that I was in a beautiful, fantasy place, and not here, not among the belongings of Lily Holan, a nurse with a grudge.
But then again, I wasn’t that, not now, something I was reminded of when Anton slipped his hand under my shirt. His fingers were rough, and the sensation of them against me coaxed out a broken moan, the little fissures that his calloused fingertips were creating intense beyond anything I had ever felt.
His ascent up my body was slow, unhurried, but I felt the slight tremor in his hands, looked up to meet his eyes and again saw the desire there. My curtains were slightly parted, and the sun hit Anton where he stood, lighting his always-dark eyes and his face, giving him an almost supernatural appearance.
I decided then that I would think of this in that way. It was supernatural, divorced from the real world, a moment in time, unexpected but one that I would allow myself to enjoy, no matter how wrong it might be.