Page 46 of Save Your Breath
I forgot what I was supposed to say. I forgot how to laugh. I forgot how tobreathe.
Those dark eyes were nearly all black as they scanned me from where my lips were parted all the way down to where my toes were hidden under the warm sand. They snagged likea fisherman’s hook on seaweed along the way, too — on my collarbone, my breasts, my navel, my hips, my thighs, my calves.
I felt like an offering to a king or a god, like I was his to devour and there was nothing I could do about it.
Like I wouldn’t do a thing even if I could.
“Läck du mir,” he muttered, the words rolling together as one in a deep baritone that had my toes curling in the sand. I had no idea what it meant, but I didn’t need Google Translate to get a general understanding.
It was in his eyes, in his slack jaw, in the way he ambled up to stand with his gaze never leaving me.
“Fuck, Mia…” He shook his head, reaching out to drag his knuckles down the length of my arm as if it was the most natural instinct, as if he couldn’t help but touch me.
Chills swept over me like a cool summer rain.
I knew it was for show. I knew he was much better than I was at making this look natural. This was probably how he touched all the women he fooled around with — as if they belonged to him, as if they were the object of his every obsession.
But it still knocked me breathless, even if it was fake.
His nostrils flared as he took me in again with a closer view, his fingertips sliding just beneath the yellow strap at my collar bone. “dFarb staht dir mega.”
I somehow managed a small laugh that didn’t sound like my breath was prisoner in my chest. “Are you aware you’re speaking to me in another language?”
“I said this color suits you,” he mused, his voice quieter, rougher. I didn’t miss how he struggled to swallow, how his jaw drew tight as his hand slid up my arm and around to the back of my neck.
His fingers curled in my hair there, his eyes pinning mine.
“You’re exquisite.”
“This isn’t the plan,” I breathed, eyes struggling to stay open as desire flooded through me. It was too much, having him this close, feeling him tower over me as his rough hands framed my face and tilted my chin up toward his. “You’re supposed to sit there. I’m supposed to—”
“The plan was eviscerated the moment you showed up in this,” he said, plucking at the lemon-colored string at my hip. “Gives a new meaning to your nickname, Strings.”
“Oh,”I whispered. God, I hoped I whispered it. I hoped I said it in my head, actually, or at least muttered it so quietly that he couldn’t hear.
Aleks swallowed as his hand trailed back up. He cradled my face, pulling me to him. I was incapable of doing anything other than just barely keeping my balance as I leaned into his touch.
“Ready?”
“Huh?”
He smirked as I struggled against my lightheadedness at the feel of his hands on me.
“Can I kiss you now?”
I licked my lips, eyes already fluttering shut as I nodded.
“Strings…”
My eyes reluctantly opened, and Aleks thumbed my jaw as every muscle in him seemed wound tight with restraint.
“I’m going to need verbal consent here,” he said roughly.
“Kiss me.”
The words were nothing more than a breathless adjuration, and then his lips were on mine.
It was like being thrown into an icy lake, the way a little gasp erupted from me the moment our mouths melded together. Aleks held me steadier at the sound, his hands stable where they framed my face, his arms serving as safety rails as I wrapped my fingers around his forearms and held on for dear life.
