Page 85 of Devil's Vows

GABI

Somewhere, alarm bells ring. Did I just say yes?

No?

Ivan asked, and I’m not sure if I responded. It must be the tingling of alcohol dancing through my veins because my brain has left the building, to such an extent that even Chiara doesn’t interrupt. I never expected the whisky to hit my bloodstream so fast or with such enthusiasm.

Maybe it’s because he’s kneeling in front of me, his body’s heat melting into mine, his touch like a drug I soak up through my skin.

It doesn’t matter, because all I can focus on is the swirl of his tongue and the slow swoop of sparks it ignites down my back as he kisses me deeper. He tastes of whisky, and it’s intoxicating.

His hands seem to be all over me in tender caresses—in my hair as he’s pulling back my head, opening my throat, more kisses on my already heated skin, then on my chest as he rips at my shirt’s buttons, impatient now, then on the clasp of my bra, unhooking and exposing me in one fluid movement, tossing my clothes to the side.

I immediately cover up with my arms, aroused but flustered. This is going too fast.

“No,” he murmurs as he reaches for my wrists, but I resist, locking my arms. His intense blue gaze searches mine. “You trust me, don’t you, Gabriella?”

My name sounds so soft on his lips, an echo of the way he touches me.

“Yes, but I’m not supposed to do this.” I trust him, but I still fear through the layers of my fucked-up past. Since I was seven, I knew my life wasn’t normal, and never would be, but what happened to me later messed me up even more. “We’re not married yet,” I murmur, clinging to the most logical straw for a good convent girl.

But we will be.It hangs between us, a weighty truth I won’t be able to side-step like I’ve been planning to.

“I just want to look at you,moya ptichka, because you’re fucking beautiful.”

Heat swarms my cheeks, and I drop my gaze, shy, grateful that the only light comes from the desk lamp. “I’ve never done this before.”

I’ve never even been naked with someone before, not even on that day with Randazzo, the Russian, and that godawful woman who told me she wasjustdoing her job. They had only one mission: to mark me.

“I’d hope so.” He lets go of one wrist to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Like my body, yours is for my eyes only. Now let me.”

My blush deepens as I recall how I looked at him. How I loved seeing every inch of his toned body, his tattoos, how he told me to have aproper lookand I did—like a woman starved. He’s just asking for a return of the favor.

My already tightened nipples harden even more where they’re pressed against my arms, and a very needy heat soaks my panties. I lick my lips and manage only a breathy, “Okay.”

He takes my wrists and gently pries them away, like I’m a new book being opened, discovered by the only man who would ever read me like this. And it feels so good to open up, to let go and allow this to happen, because aren’t books made to be read? Bodies to be touched? Women to be loved?

Just like he is doing now, slowly, with reverence, but he is feasting on me with hungry eyes, his fingers grazing my breasts, touching me where I’ve never been touched before, and a new layer of desire drifts onto the pile that’s already settled. He takes his time trailing his fingers over my skin, down the delicate slopes, to the sides, and then traversing the underside as I close my eyes, each sensation feeding into the build-up in my body.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his thumbs featherlight as he circles the tips, sending little shock waves to my clit, and I’m begging with my body, pushing deeper into his touch.

“Ivan,” I whisper on a shudder and, as if he knows exactly what I need, he dips his head, kissing his way to my breasts. His hand drives back to the nape of my neck, and with a firm grip, tugs at my hair, forcing my breasts up and to his lips.

I rake my fingers into his hair, already short of breath. When he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, I stop breathing, snatching at desperate little inhales as the intense arousal seems to seep through my body to my sex.

“Hmm, like that, don’t you,” he murmurs as he works his way to my other breast, my chest heaving against his lips. “Can’t wait to suck your clit,moya ptichka.”

I drag in a haggard breath. This wasn’t the plan. This has never been the plan.

I’m on a fake period.

He’s going to go down there to make me come and, in the process, discover my lie. And all the rest of them, too.

“Ivan—” I say, fumbling for common sense with lust-numbed fingers and failing. I need this to stop, but I don’t want him to stop.

He lets go of my hair, his hand circling my throat, squeezing his way down, trapping and releasing my breath in a gentle way that only pulses desire to my sex. As he straightens, he spreads my legs even wider, and with me perched on the edge of the seat, my jean’s crotch hugs tight against my clit.

“I’ve got you,moya ptichka,”he says as he clasps his hands to my butt and tugs me flush against him, his lips on mine as he quiets me with another deep kiss.“I’ll make you come like this,” he whispers against my mouth. “Keep it clean, for now.”