He sounded gruff but almost tender. The kiss he touched to her lips was gentle. Brief but followed by one a little longer. A little more thorough.
She sighed in relief. He wasn’t giving up on her. As he took her mouth, she curled her arms around him, pulling him into her, wanting to feel all of him. When she tilted her pelvis, he slid home. There was a final sting, but—oh—such a sense of rightness. Too many sensations to pick apart and name. She was all feeling and he was part of it. All of it. She squirmed against him, filling her hands with him, seeking maximum contact while reveling in the fresh magic of being possessed by him.
He kissed her with ravenous generosity, exciting kisses that transmitted joyous signals through her, making her move against him.
Thick Russian words filled her ear as he slid his wet mouth down her neck, tucked his hand under her bottom, carefully withdrew and thrust.
It felt so perfect, so good. Clair threw back her head, a lusty groan tearing raggedly from her lips. She couldn’t speak, could only embrace this primitive state and encourage him with ancient signals, stretching and arching beneath him, moaning her pleasure.
Urgency built, quickening their rhythm. The sensations were so acute she wanted to scream. She needed more. “Please, Aleksy, please.”
With a growl, he thrust faster, offering what she craved, taking and giving, straining over her, driving her to a peak, holding her there, pushing her off…
She fell, but into flight. Breathless, soaring flight. Distantly aware of his guttural yell, she rose to skim the sun, where she burst into brilliant, ecstatic flames. It was the most delicious death until, like the sparks from a spent firecracker, she drifted in pieces back to earth.
* * *
Aleksy reeled as he left her. Dealing with the condom was his excuse, not that he voiced it, but he had to get away from her. He was spent, body twitching with exertion and coated in sweat, but he wanted her again. She was like Christmas dinner, when it didn’t matter that he’d already gorged himself. Greed for more consumed him.
He splashed cold water on his face, then glared in self-disgust at his reflection, his scar standing brilliant white against his flushed skin.
Incredible, mind-shattering sex that shouldn’t have happened at any pace. You’re going too fast. No wonder she’d been so shy about surrendering to passion. And when she had…
Please don’t ruin it. What was he supposed to have done? Left her frustrated and disappointed by her first experience with a man? Would that have salvaged something of the civilized gentleman in him?
As if there’d ever been anything civilized in him, he thought with bitter self-recrimination, old blades of guilt and abhorrence flashing between himself and his image. He was well aware of the primitive forces in him. He held them in check with his rigid standards, always. Shame and contempt filled him for dallying with a virgin. He’d stolen from a man he didn’t even know.
How dare she put him in this position?
He moved back to the bedroom to confront his mistake and found her sitting up, the sheet knotted in her fist against her collarbone leaving her pale shoulders bare.
She looked like a bride on her honeymoon, thoroughly tumbled, lips puffy and ripe, hair tousled, expression still retaining some vulnerable innocence while her new knowledge made her skim a hesitant, admiring look over his frame.
That look was a baited hook that caught in his gut. Lower even. The erection that hadn’t completely subsided pulsed with renewed life.