Page 42 of Under His Control
Fire races through my veins. I stand, extending my hand. “Come.”
She slides her fingers into mine. I lead her toward the glass doors. Beyond them, the private rooftop infinity pool glows sapphire, steam curling into the desert night. Vegas sprawls below like a fallen galaxy.
She presses a palm to the glass. “It’s beautiful.”
I open the door. Warm air drifts in, scented with chlorine and distant desert sage. She steps onto the terrace, robe fluttering around her calves.
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she says.
“Neither did I.” I shed my jacket and drop it over a lounge chair.
She laughs nervously. “Of course you didn’t.”
I move behind her, my hands settling on her shoulders. She tenses, then relaxes into my grip. “Why the hesitation?”
She shrugs again, robe slipping to reveal one smooth shoulder. “I’m not exactly Brandy Melville.”
I turn her to face me. “You think I want a coat hanger?” I untie the belt of her robe, slowly, giving her time to stop me. She doesn’t. “I wantyou.”
The robe parts. I push it off her shoulders and it puddles at her feet.
Moonlight bathes her naked body—full breasts, dusky nipples peaking in the night air, hips flaring into generous thighs. My mouth waters. I step back, devouring her with my gaze.
“You are perfect,” I say, voice hoarse.
She crosses her arms—instinctively shielding herself. I capture her wrists, lowering them to her sides. “Let me look.”
Her chest rises and falls. She’s trembling, but she bravely holds my gaze. I circle her, fingers ghosting along her waist, the dip of her spine. Goose bumps erupt under my touch. When I reach her front again, my restraint snaps. I bury one hand in her hair, tilt her face, and claim her mouth.
She tastes of champagne. She moans, lips parting. Our tongues tangle. I walk her backward until her calves meet the lounge chair.
Breaking the kiss, she breathes against my mouth. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
She steps back, a wicked grin on her full, plush lips.
“Why are you still wearing clothes?”
CHAPTER 16
TAYLOR
Anatoly’s clothes hit the floor. His eyes never left mine the entire time he undressed.
My skin prickles under his gaze, nerves and heat tangling low in my belly. I fight the urge to cover myself again.
“Beautiful,” he says
He reaches out, palm warm against my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth with aching slowness.
“You’re everything,” he says, eyes dragging down the curve of my breasts, over my belly, to the softness of my thighs, “exactly as you are.”
I swallow hard, the words hitting deeper than they should. I feel seen—wanted—not in spite of my body butbecauseof it.
He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me flush to him, his mouth lowering to mine full of heat and need.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks.
