Page 47 of Perfect Stalker

The city lights of Atlanta twinkle through Ivan’s floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a romantic glow across his penthouse. My skin tingles with the memory of our perfect evening at The Optimist, where conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine.

“Tonight was wonderful,” I say, watching Ivan’s strong hands as he uncorks a bottle of red wine. “Thank you for taking me there.”

Ivan pours the wine with practiced grace, the rich aroma of blackberries and oak filling the air. “The pleasure was mine.” He hands me a crystal glass, his fingers brushing mine.

The leather couch cradles us as we sit, closer than strictly necessary. The wine spreads warmth through my chest, though I suspect the heat in my cheeks has more to do with Ivan’s proximity than the alcohol.

“You’ve been watching me all evening,” I say, taking another sip.

“How could I not?” His gray eyes capture mine, dark with intensity. “You’re captivating.”

My breath catches. The air between us crackles with electricity, drawing us closer like magnets. Ivan’s hand slides along my jaw, tilting my face up to his. His thumb traces my bottom lip.

“Jenny...” My name on his lips sounds like a prayer and a warning wrapped into one.

When our lips meet, it’s soft at first—questioning, exploring. The kiss deepens, and Ivan’s hand tangles in my hair. I taste wine and desire on his tongue. My fingers grip his shirt, pulling him closer.

He breaks away just enough to trail kisses down my neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs against my skin.

“Me too.” The confession slips out before I can stop it.

Ivan growls low in his throat, recapturing my mouth. His kiss turns demanding, possessive. I match his intensity, years of denied attraction exploding between us.

My wine glass sits forgotten on the side table as Ivan pulls me onto his lap. He strokes my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into him, wanting more.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

I answer by kissing him again, pouring all my need into it. His hands grip my hips, grinding me against him. The friction sends sparks of pleasure through my body.

“Ivan...” I gasp when his teeth graze my neck.

He pulls back, studying my face. His pupils are blown wide with desire, but there’s something else in his expression—a vulnerability I’ve never seen before.

“You’re playing with fire,dorogaya,” he warns, though his hands continue their maddening exploration of my body.

“Maybe I want to burn.” I roll my hips deliberately against his, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. He draws me against him and hold me so tightly I can’t breathe for a minute. I’m lightheaded but surge closer, wanting more of it.

He holds me tenderly but possessively as he kisses me again. Ivan wraps a section of my hair around his fist, tugging back my head. “Mine.” I don’t know if he means my hair or me. Probably both.

He lowers his head and nips my neck, making me moan. “Say it,” he demands.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

His eyes flash with triumph, and he claims my mouth again. Our tongues tangle together in a passionate dance. I grind against him, seeking release.

“Not yet,” he says, breaking the kiss. “I want to savor you.”

Ivan stands, lifting me easily. He doesn’t let go of me as he carries me to the bedroom. Even after putting me on his bed, his hands seem like they’re constantly on me. He strips off my clothes, his gaze hungry.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, running his hands over my bare skin. He leans down and captures one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently. I arch into him, gasping.

“More,” I beg.

He obliges, teasing my other nipple with his tongue. I writhe beneath him, lost in pleasure. He slides his hand between my thighs, stroking my clit. I cry out, bucking against him. He continues to suck and lick my nipples while rubbing my clit until I’m on the verge of orgasm.

Just as I’m about to fall over the edge, he stops. I whimper in protest, but he silences me with a kiss. “Trust me,dorogaya,” he whispers.

“I do.” I say that with unexpected intensity. He needs to hear it, but funnily enough, I’m just as driven to assure him he has my trust. I tug at his evening jacket. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Ivan.”

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