Chapter 12 #4
“You make me crazy, Anya,” he rasps, his eyes locked onto mine. I stare into his ice-blue depths as he leans on his forearm, caging me in.
My heart thumps madly in my chest.
It seems like he’s warring with himself. “I want you so fucking badly.” Cursing under his breath, he mutters in Russian.
I swallow hard. “You hate that you want me?”
His voice is a low growl filled with regret. “No. I hate that I’ll fucking ruin you.”
I open my mouth to protest, even though I have no idea what I’ll say, when his mouth crashes on mine. It’s not gentle; it’s all-consuming as if he’s pouring every unspoken word and feeling into the kiss. His hands tangle in my hair. I stifle a moan at how good it feels when he pulls.
My hands find the broad expanse of his shoulders, his muscles tight and powerful. My arms loop around his neck. I pull him closer so there’s no distance between us.
The ground seems to shift under my feet.
My silky bathrobe slips loose as his hands skim up my sides.
I push against his chest, unable to stop him because I need to feel him.
I need him to brand me, claim me, mark me with his touch so when I wake alone in bed and remember that Semyon Kopolov is my husband, I can convince myself this is real.
"I can't fight you anymore," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Maybe I don't want to."
It feels like I've stepped into the world of adulting, admitting that I want him. I want to feel his hot, branding touch all over my body. I want him to make me tremble beneath him. I want to feel him in me.
He groans as my lips graze his skin, and I reach for his waistband. His fingers tighten in my hair, a low curse slipping from his lips as he stares down at me.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "My entire world was ordered neat in a box, in a row. And then you came in and smashed it all to hell."
"How romantic."
He groans again, and it feels like victory. He brushes his mouth against mine. Tentatively, I reach for his glasses and gently push them up his face so I can stroke his cheek, unencumbered. I cup his jaw, loving the way his stubble pricks my palm.
He kisses me back.
"I need you," he whispers. "I have to have you, Anya. I'm afraid if I wait much longer, I won't be able to be as gentle with you as you need your first time."
My heart aches as a lump forms in my throat. He's showing a side of himself that might break through every fortress I've built.
"I need you too," I whisper back.
Then he's lifting me. My legs wrap around his torso, his thick length pressing up against my bare pussy. My silk robe does nothing to hide me from him. He's kissing me as if he needs me to breathe again, and I'm kissing him back.
Semyon wants me.
He wants me so badly. He lays me down, taking a moment to stare at me, and I can tell he likes what he sees.
Leaning on one elbow, he explores the length of my body with a touch that borders on worship, leaving goosebumps and heat in his wake—a contradiction that feels so damn right.
Brushing his fingers through my hair, he gives it another tug, before he kisses my temple, kisses my lips.
He inhales me as he works his way down my body until he reaches my breasts.
Everything in me rises to meet him—my hopes, my dreams, my body.
My breasts feel heavy and full, and heat pools between my legs as he laps at one hardened bud and flicks his thumb across the other.
"Do you like that?" he whispers, his brow creased with curiosity.
This is Semyon. Cataloging. Noting.
I can't make peace with the fact that this is the boy I loved—the one I thought I would hate forever. And now I'm surrendering to him. But that was then, and this is now.
"Yes, I like it.” I tug his hair. “Do it again."
His hand cracks across the fullness of my ass.
"Ask politely."
Oh god.
"Do it again, please. Please, Semyon."
"Better."
He trails the length of my body down between my legs. "Spread your legs."
I let my legs fall apart, giving him access to my slick heat. I moan when thick fingers find my folds, and he stifles a groan himself.
"Fucking gorgeous," he breathes out.
We're going to do this.
We have to.
I groan as his lips graze my skin. He's just about to kiss my belly when his phone buzzes on the nightstand—a sharp, jarring sound that shatters the moment.
Semyon's entire body grows rigid, his fingers flexing against my thigh as his gaze flicks to the phone.
"It’s Rafail."
"Ignore it," I plead, tugging at him again, but I already know he can’t. His expression darkens.
"I have to take it," he says to me. "It's law. Fuck."
I clench my fists at the loss of him and turn away when he answers the phone, angry that my eyes blur with tears.
"Yes," he growls into the phone. The momentary calm shatters as Semyon curses, his eyes swinging back to mine. Whatever Rafail just told him impacts me too.
"What? When? Are you sure?"
I scramble to my feet, alarm prickling me. I’m already heading to the closet to get dressed. "What's wrong?" I ask, my voice shaky.
He turns to me, his face a mask of ice again.
“Eli’s leaving may be more complicated than it looks.”