Page 64

He’s in jeans and a light black sweater, his pale-blue eyes almost ethereal as he watches me, leaning against the wall.

Tall, lean, the right level of muscular, a man who doesn’t have to try and impress with his masculinity, he naturally exudes that and power and a deep level of sexiness that steals my breath.

And suddenly I’m an innocent virgin, ready to taste passion for the first time, trembling with both nerves and anticipation. Not to mention a healthy dose of desire.

But I’m not an innocent virgin. And I’ve tasted the passion that Demyan brings. It’s what I want, need; it beats a drum in my blood; I can’t quiet. And I know the reason I didn’t try to date after Sasha was born is this man.

No one could ever hope to stand up to him.

No one could ever hope to reach me like he did and does.

I know what I want to do. I want to relinquish my fear and anger and frustrations about this marriage he might be forced into. I want to pretend it’s all okay and sink down into him, let him touch me the way I crave. I want to give myself over to him.

But I have to tell him the truth first.

About our new baby. I’d planned on it, but I think it has to be now. Turn the page, start fresh. “Demyan —”

“Enough,” he says, straightening, that quiet command in his voice tapping into a part of my brain he made come alive the night we conceived Sasha. His domination, that thing I crave, fucked up as it is.

I’m melting on the spot because of that tone.

But I try to push through. “Demyan —”

“I said enough.” He strides to me with purposeful movements and stops right in front of me, our bodies almost brushing and my skin so alive it’s almost sparking. “I’ve been as accommodating as I can be. Letting you slink off to sleep with Sasha, using our son as a shield. I’ve let you turn me down when your body says take me.”

“I’ve even kept my hands to myself when you look at me like you want me to come in my fucking pants. So. Enough. Either you want me or you don’t, Erin.”

“I do, you know I do, but?—”

“No buts.”

And he hooks a hand in my hair and pulls me to him, taking my mouth in a deep and savage kiss.

I thought I wanted the soft, reverential romance of when he rescued me. A tenderness that whispered words of love.

But I was wrong. I want this, his domination, his taking, his passion so wild and needing he just states it—rough, naked, savage.

And I kiss him back as hard as I can, our tonguestouching and dancing. He’s danger and home; he’s fire and the dark glowing embers beneath the flame. And I want to be consumed.

Demyan lifts his head.

My hands shake as I tug at his sweater, but he pulls them away as he leads me to the lounge area, hand still in my hair, holding my head as he watches me.

The crackle and pop of the fire is like a sweet song and the heat radiating is nothing like the heat blazing from him as he lets go of my hair and puts pressure on my shoulders. I go to my knees.

I want his cock and I go to free him. “No. On your back, dress off, and stretch out.”

The tremble in me shimmers harder as I kick off my shoes and do as asked, flinging the cotton dress to the armchair.

Then he looks down at me. “Fucking glorious.”

Demyan drops to his knees. He kisses me again, tracing a line from my mouth to the swell of my breast, down over my chin and throat. Then he lifts his gaze to mine.

“Hands up over your head and keep them there.”

I can barely breathe. I want him to tie me up so I can’t move, so whatever he does is on him and I’m at his mercy.

I’m there, anyway.