He just stared at me. What was he looking for? Permission? Understanding? Finally he moved, placing his palms on the wall on either side of my head, boxing me in.

His star tattoos were at my eye level, mere inches away, beckoning me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and press my lips to his chest.

Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until all his pain disappeared.

Tentatively, I leaned forward to graze my lips over one of his tattoos. He flinched as if I’d struck him, but he didn’t stop me. I chanced a brush of my lips over his neck. He was motionless, a statue on the outside, a brutal enforcer on the inside.

I nuzzled the rugged line of his jaw. I smoothed those locks of hair away, then kissed the chiseled cheek I revealed.

When I slanted my lips over his, he shuddered out a breath and drew back. Blazing in his gaze was that bone-deep yearning, the one that called to mine. “What do you want from me, Natalie?”

How to articulate it? I want to kiss you until you forget your pain for a time, want to hold you tight against me because I can’t seem to get my body close enough to yours. In other words . . . “I want you to make love to me.”

Before, I hadn’t slept with him because of the future and consequences. I wasn’t sure I would live long enough to enjoy the former, so I couldn’t be bothered with the latter.

At my admission, his brows drew tight; he looked like he was unraveling.

I asked him, “What do you want from me?”

I gasped when he fisted the collar of my dampened shirt. “I want what’s mine.” He tore the material from me with one rip, stripping me.

I was trembling, bare.

As his gaze raked over my naked body, he couldn’t bite back his anguished groan.

Sevastyan looked at me like a man plummeting toward death would look at a pair of wings. As if I were the difference between life or death for him.

I laid my palms over his star tattoos; he cradled my face. His forehead met mine. For long moments, we stayed like that.

When he took my mouth with his at last, I parted my lips in welcome, closing my eyes as he softly kissed me. God, I loved his taste, wanted to drink in the heat of his mouth.

As ever, I was struck by the contradictions of this man. He was tender, yet carnal. His thoughts were a mystery, but his body told a story—of his restraint: rippling muscles, heaving chest, shaking hands.

With a groan, he flicked his tongue harder against mine, telling me that he was about to deepen this kiss. Telling me that he was about to claim this part of me, with the rest of my body to follow.

That he was about to conquer.

And when I surrendered utterly, he consumed me like he’d been suffocating and I was the sweetest air.

Chapter 28

Sevastyan kissed me until I was dazed, boneless against his hardened body. I clung to him when he yanked my knee to his hip, clamping it there.

His c**k pressed against my belly like a pulsating brand, and I grew wet for it, readying.

He used his free hand to grip one of my br**sts, leaning down to lick its stiffened tip. I whimpered when he suckled it between his lips, still working that clever tongue, forcing more tension to coil low in my belly. He tended my other nipple in turn, tonguing, sucking, leaving both achy peaks straining for more.

Then his hand trailed down to cup me. He slipped his middle finger inside my spread lips, making me moan, “Yes, yes . . .”

When he felt how slick I was, a defeated sound broke from his chest and a second finger joined the first to open me.

Then he withdrew those fingers to his mouth, his lids sliding closed as he sucked clean my cream. Another dip, another suck. As if he was drinking me one drop at a time.

It was the worst torture to feel his strong fingers filling me, then emptiness. “Inside me, Sevastyan, please . . .”

He delved them deeper. “This is what you need.” He pumped them into my core until I was clawing at his shoulders.

I felt light-headed, taken over by a kind of delirium. I needed him to lose control—because I was about to. My hands traveled down his wet body, my fingertips lovingly trailing over his sigh-worthy pecs.

On the way down, I brushed my thumb across one of his flat ni**les, noting his sharp inhalation. As I sifted my nails through the crisp hair of his goody trail, his hand tightened on my pinned knee.

Once I reached the heavy weight of his cock, he rasped, “Use it.”

I rocked my hips up as I pulled his shaft to me. When the head made contact with my pu**y, he bit out a curse, his length jerking in my hand. Panting, I ran the crown up and down between my swollen, flaring lips.

“So slick,” he growled. “So ready for me.”

As I petted my clit with the bulbous tip, his towering body shuddered with need. “Enough teasing. Wanted this too long.”

He covered my hand with his own, fitting the crown against my entrance, pressing forward just a fraction.

As soon as I knew without any doubt that I was about to lose my virginity, worries crept in. He was far larger than anything that had ever gone into my body. This is going to hurt.

He pulled our hands away, then began easing deeper, wedging the broad head inside. My gasp was cut off by his lips, hungry and insistent as he sank his c**k farther. Each inch forced me to stretch more and more; where would it end?

Just as I felt a tendril of panic, he drew back. His smoldering eyes scanned my face, gauging my every reaction.

Though the hot water had long since run out, I began to sweat. The stretch burned—too big, too big—so I raised myself up on my toes to buy some time.