Page 18 of Unrequited
But I close my eyes.
I tip my head back and feel his breath against my lips.
And then, finally,finally, his mouth meets mine.
It’s electric.
A shock of something pure and wild and aching floods me, lightning in my veins.
I stifle a moan and grip his hips.
And I kiss him back.
His hands settle on my hips like he owns them, with a branding touch that sends fire straight to my core, like he's been waiting his entire life just for the chance to touch me properly. There's no hesitancy in the way he holds me, no gentleness. Just possession.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The kiss deepens until it steals the air from my lungs and the thoughts from my head.
I love the feel of his fingers digging into my hips, grounding me. I love the heat of his mouth on mine, the way our breaths mingle like we’ve been doing this forever.
I’ve wanted him. God, I’veneededhim. I’ve fantasized about him while lying beneath my sheets in the dark, desperate and aching, touching myself as I pictured exactly this, just a kiss. But this is no gentle dream. This is wildfire and hunger, coiled so tight in my gut it explodes through me like a dam breaking.
And then he lifts me. Just lifts me like I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around his waist on instinct. One hand cradles the back of my head, protective and sure, and he shifts until his back hits the brick wall with a thud that reverberates through both of us.
I'm pressed against him, his chest solid, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he feels it through the thin fabric of his shirt. I’ve never felt more alive, never felt this real. Every single time I thought about him, every time I touched myself in the dark, it never even came close to this. This feeling. This drugging, dizzying taste of him.
“This,” he growls into my mouth, his voice raw, desperate. And I love that I did this to him, that I’m the one who made him come undone like this. “This is the only time I get to be selfish,” he says. “I want you.”
I don’t understand what he means. Not fully. But some part of me already does. Some part of me knows.
This kiss we’re stealing? It’s borrowed time. It doesn’t belong to us. We’re not supposed to be doing this, and we both know it. I don’t know what chains he wears in his life, but I know every link in mine. Still, I want it. I fucking wanthim.
His hands grip my ass, fingers flexing, and I tighten my legs around him in response. My body answers his call with primal instinct. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s been dying for this moment. Passion, fire, desperation, all of it.
And when we finally pull apart, breathless, we stare at each other like we’ve just survived something catastrophic or discovered something sacred. He’s looking at me like he’s trying to memorize me, like I’m a prayer he’ll say over and over again once I’m gone.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, his voice rough and laced with regret. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, lass.”
But I do. I feel it. Every inch of him is tightening with restraint. He’s holding himself back with an iron will, like it’s taking everything not to take me and walk me into the nearest bed, lay me down, and take my virginity like he owns it.
And the scariest part? God, I wouldlethim. I would open myself to him in an instant, without hesitation.
Then, slowly, reverently, his hand skims up my back, fingers gliding until they find my bra strap. I’m trembling. My breath stutters. Is he going to unfasten it? Is he going to take me some place where we can be alone?
But instead, he exhales, heavy and conflicted, and closes his eyes. His forehead rests against mine.
“We can’t,” he murmurs. “We shouldn’t. I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice breaking.
And this time, I know, Iknow, he means it. He’s not playing. Not hiding. Not being evasive or cryptic. He wants me.
This beautiful, dangerous man, who’s far too old for me, wants me.
Me.Zoya Kopolova. The youngest daughter in the Kopolov family. Innocent, untouched, gangly, awkward Zoya.
My god.
He bends down and presses his lips to my collarbone like it’s holy ground. Like he’s worshiping, not taking. And when he kisses his way up my neck, I shiver and moan, my head falling back, my spine arching.
I’d give myself to him. No doubts. Not a single question in my mind.
