Page 34 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
After there being nothing but tension between us, that heat mounts even higher, and that need is stoked within my stomach.
Regardless of my previous resistance, I can’t help but think of one word while a relieved-sounding breath is exchanged between us.
Finally.
Finally…he’s giving in and not pretending he doesn’t want this.
Even if his desire was more than obvious at the club, he wanted to act like the opposite was true. I don’t know why, but it’s pointless to even try and avoid it now.
Whether it’s the alcohol or the pent-up frustration of being at each other’s throats, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care in the slightest.
When I move closer and give him everything I’ve been holding back, Roman groans from somewhere low in his chest, and it sends a rush of excitement through me. Those sparks push my desire into overdrive, and before I know it, I’m in so deep, that I can’t possibly find my way out again.
“Please…” I whisper against his lips while resting a hand against his chest, hoping to coax him into more.
“Please what?” He asks, knowing damn well what I want.
But that breathless tone of his has me feeling powerful in a way. Like the tables have turned in my favor.
Feeling desired only makes me need this more. At once, I know I want to go further. I want to find out just how dangerous he can be.
“I want you,” I murmur in between kisses, drifting even closer to his lap.
For a beat, Roman pauses, then his fingers flex against my waist, and he kisses me again, but harder. More urgently.
While I arch into him, seeking every point of contact I can get, he pulls me closer and nearly melds our bodies together.
It’s all so hot and overwhelming at once, but it’s so good. Too good to waste.
A thrill scurries down my back at the thought of reaching that next step. Of giving in and being able to feel him so completely. To surrender and gain some sense of satisfaction.
This is it…it has to be.
Roman’s hands roam, leaving fire in their wake while they grab and squeeze. At the same time, he maps my curves and hums against my mouth.
It's dizzying. Addicting.
I can’t get enough of how he tastes or the way he holds me like he can’t stand to be apart. I savor the burning trail his tongue makes along my lower lip and the way it makes my entire body hum with eagerness.
We continue like this for an indiscernible amount of time, both nearly starving and unable to get enough.
But as the vehicle slows and pulls into the driveway, his enthusiasm simmers down to a barely-there state.
When Roman pulls back, I open my eyes, and I find him staring back at me with his jaw clenched.
At once, I can tell the urge to restrain himself has returned in full force.
My brows pinch together as I gaze at him while I catch my breath. “Roman?”
He forces out a breath and averts his gaze before running a hand over his mouth. That tension etches its way into his features. “Not tonight.”
Blinking back at him, I feel thrown off balance. “What?”
“You heard me,” Roman murmurs, voice gentler than usual. “You’ve been drinking.”
“So have you.”
He doesn’t seem all that amused as he returns, “And I’m not drunk.”
