Page 121 of Nine Months to Bear

“To make it more than it is.”

Stefan backs me against a leather armchair, his hands bracketing my hips. “And what is it, Olivia?”

“Biology.” My voice cracks. “Chemistry, like you said. Hormones.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” His breath warms my ear. “When you’re alone at night, thinking about my hands on you—is that just biology?”

“Stop.”

“You set these boundaries.” His fingers trace the hem of my skirt. “Tell me where the line is.”

“Stefan—”

“Here?” His hand slides higher, fingertips grazing bare skin above my stockings. “Is this crossing a line?”

My breath catches. “Yes.”

“But you’re not stopping me.”

“I should.”

“Then do it.” His fingers inch higher, finding the edge of my underwear. “Push me away. Tell me no.”

I can’t. God help me, I can’t. My body arches toward his touch even as my mind screams warnings.

“That’s what I thought.” His finger hooks the fabric, pulling it aside. “Your boundaries are made of tissue paper,lisichka.”

“And yours?” I gasp as he strokes me. “What about your boundaries?”

“I don’t have any with you,” he admits. “That’s the problem.”

He slides two fingers inside me and I bite down on a moan. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid—this loss of control, this helpless need that makes me forget who I am and what I’m doing here.

“I do hate it when you look away from me.” His free hand grips my chin. “I want to see your face when you break.”

“I’m not—” But I am. I’m already breaking, falling apart under his touch.

“What if I can’t help myself, either?” He increases the pressure, the rhythm. “What if every time I see you, all I can think about is this?”

“Then we’re both fucked.”

“Yes.” He crashes his mouth against mine. “We are.”

The kiss destroys whatever argument I had left. His tongue lashes against mine while his fingers work magic between my legs, and suddenly, I’m coming apart, shaking against him while he swallows my cries.

When it’s done, he raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“So much for boundaries,” he murmurs with a wry chuckle.

I want to argue. Want to push him away and reclaim some scrap of dignity, whatever’s left. But my legs are jelly and my mind is static and all I can do is cling to his shoulders while aftershocks ripple through me, making me twitch and gasp.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I say, knowing even as I say it how stupid it sounds.

“No?” He withdraws his hand slowly, deliberately. “Then why are you already wet again?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He steps back, giving me space I don’t want. “Get ready for bed, Olivia.Ourbed.”