War(31)

But he’d said I was safe, and I believed him.

I also believed, knew, that if I didn’t touch him, I would die. That drove me to him, carried me across the small distance to stand in front of him.

I reached for him and fell against him, my strength leaving me.

I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but more than anything, I wanted to touch him.

So I did. I wrapped my arms around his chest, pressed my body flat against his. Almost instantly, I felt better.

His warm, solid chest against my face, the smell of soap and man, the strong thud of his heart against my ear, all of them, together, made me feel as good as was possible.

After all that had happened, I might never feel right again, never be right again, but here, now, against him, I could pretend I was.

I squeezed him even tighter, and a tremor went through me when my breasts pressed his chest.

He shuddered, his chest hitching. At least I thought it had, but I couldn’t be sure, so I did it again, pressed myself even closer until I was flat against him.

I felt it again, that tremor that went through his big body, and when I brought my hips forward, I was greeted by his hardness against my stomach.

I wanted more of that feeling, so I moved even deeper into his arms, my eyes closed shut, my mind empty except for the sensation being against him was creating.

A sensation I wanted more of, so I pressed even closer still, his hardness against my soft stomach sparking a pull in my sex, one I hadn’t felt in far too long.

My face was still against his chest, and I loosened my hold and trailed my hands around his back to move up his sides.

His shirt was soft, expensive-feeling against my hands, and the barrier of it between my skin and his was somehow even more arousing.

The situation was insane, this entire thing was insane, but what felt so right and what couldn’t be ignored was what I needed now, so I moved my hands up over the slab of his chest, lifted them even higher until my fingers rested against the hard ridge of his collarbones.

His shirt was open there, a single button out of place where he had taken off his tie, and so I opened my eyes and looked at that spot and then moved my fingers to touch it.

His skin was warm, smooth, and my fingertips tingled where we touched, but that small contact wasn’t enough.

So I reached for his button, pulled it open slowly, then another, then another until I had made my way to the center of his chest.

I went to continue, but his hands on top of mine, huge, warm, strong yet gentle, stopped me.

I looked up, met eyes that were still fathomless, but different now. There was something in them, desire that I knew was reflected in my own.

“Milan, you’re in shock,” he said.

“Maybe. But maybe not,” I replied, continuing to unbutton his shirt.

As I did, I put a fraction of space between our bodies, but I moved my head forward, pressed my lips at the center of his chest, and then breathed deep.

That scent, soap and man, was stronger, his skin against my lips smooth.

I brushed my lips against that smooth, warm skin, barely grazed it as he had barely grazed my lips with his own that first time.

But when I felt that hitch again, felt it intensify when I moved my lips against his flat nipples, I moved my hand down to grasp his hardness.

The first touch of his hardness brought a moan from me, one that was desperate with longing even to my own ears, and as I stroked him through his pants, the tug at my womb increased, and my sex fluttered with the need for his touch, the need to be filled by him.

He put his hands on my wrist and pulled my hands away, holding both of mine with one of his.

I looked up to meet his eyes, stared at him intently, and in a moment’s breath, he was kissing me.

This kiss wasn’t like before, a gentle, light touch.

This kiss was possession, lips and tongue and teeth ravishing my mouth, making it impossible for me to do anything but feel.

He still kissed me, but dropped my hands, and brought my body close to his, grinding his hardness against me.

I reached out, curled my fingers against his chest, and then stroked my hands down his sides, over the ridge of his tight stomach, back up again, desperate to feel as much of him as I could.

I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and touched the bare skin of his back as he kissed me.

Then he was gone, my heaving breaths the only sounds in the room.

I looked at him, saw, as he watched me, the desire playing out on his face the same as mine.

I moved closer, stood up on tiptoe to brush my lips against his collarbone, his neck.

“I want you,” I said, and then I stood taller, my body stretching along the length of his as I kissed his strong jaw, his chin, and then finally, his lips.

His arms were under my butt and he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist automatically, moaning when the hard ridge of his cock settled at the apex of my thighs.