Page 40 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“I’ve been in love with you since I was twenty years old,” I continued, the confession ripping out of me like shrapnel. “That night at the club, when you kissed me and then walked away…it destroyed me. I spent five years trying to convince myself it was just a crush, just rebellion against my brother’s world. But when I thought you might be dying, when I thought I might lose you before I ever got the chance to tell you….”
The words died in my throat, but Lev was still watching me with those intense gray eyes that saw everything I was trying to hide.
I took a shaking breath and whispered the words that would change everything between us.
“I love you, Lev.”
The silence that followed felt eternal. I watched his face for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was feeling, whether I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Then he moved.
He didn’t waste a second, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give me time to take it back or build new walls between us. His mouth crashed down on mine with a desperation that stole my breath and set my blood on fire.
This kiss was different from all the others. Deeper, more desperate, full of pain and passion and relief that made my knees weak. I could taste the fear he’d carried when he thought I might be hurt, the same terror that had driven me to his side tonight.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me through the penthouse toward our bedroom.Our. When had I started thinking of it as ours?
We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desperate hands.
“Help me with this,” I gasped, fumbling with his shirt buttons.
“Fuck the buttons.” He yanked it over his head, then reached for my blazer. “I need to see you. Now.”
Clothes disappeared like obstacles between us and something we’d both been craving for too long. My blazer hit the floor, followed by his shirt, then my skirt.
“Your belt,” I demanded, working at the buckle with shaking hands. “Get it off.”
“Impatient?” His voice was rough, teasing, but his hands were already helping mine.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“Then let me catch up,” he murmured, hooking his fingers into my panties and dragging them down my legs. “Fuck, look at you.”
Until we were skin against skin and I was breathing his name like a confession. “God, I need you.”
“Say it again,” he demanded.
“I need you. I’ve needed you for so fucking long.”
Even his gloves came off—those black leather barriers he never removed for anyone. I watched him peel them away slowly, revealing scars across his palms and fingers, old burns that had healed into raised ridges of damaged skin.
“Don’t,” he started, trying to pull his hands back. “They’re not—”
“They’re beautiful,” I interrupted, catching his wrists. “You’re beautiful.” I traced the scars with gentle fingers, and he shuddered. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” he breathed. “No, it feels—nobody’s ever—”
“Nobody’s ever touched you like this?” I brought his scarred palm to my lips, kissing each ridge. “Then they were idiots.”
He pulled me closer, crushing his mouth to mine. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Good. I want to ruin you.” I bit his lower lip. “I want you to forget anyone else who came before me.”
“Already done,” he groaned, his hands sliding down my body. “There’s only you. Always been you.”
We worshipped each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His hands mapped every curve of my body.
“So soft,” he murmured against my skin. “So fucking perfect.”
