Page 87 of Savage Lies

“But it’s ending soon, isn’t it? We’re going back to Moscow.”

“Tomorrow morning. Certain matters need my attention.”

She narrows her eyes, disappointment flashing before she hides it. “Always business.”

“I’ve loved being here with you,” she says softly. “Away from everything else, just us.”

“So have I.”

Her kiss comes desperate, like she knows this peace is ending.

“Make love to me,” she whispers. “Before we go back.”

There’s no denying her. I lift her and carry her upstairs, her fingers tearing at my shirt before I even set her down on the bed.

“Katya—”

“I know this doesn’t make sense. I know you’re hiding things. But none of it matters. Right now, I just want to be yours.”

The confession destroys me. This woman who should hate me—whowouldhate me if she remembered the truth—is offering herself to me with complete trust.

She yanks at the buttons, and the fabric of her clothing follows my shirt to the floor. Black lace clings to her body, and my mouth goes dry.

“Slow down,” I mutter, catching her wrists.

“I don’t want slow. I want you.”

Her words burn through me. My control slips, and I crush my mouth to hers.

“Lie down,” she orders against my throat before pushing me back until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.

She straddles me, her thighs gripping mine, black lace brushing my skin. I grip her hips to keep from losing it.

“You’re perfect,” I rasp, running my hands up her sides to cup her breasts.

“Then take me.”

The possessive edge in her voice makes me throb inside my jeans. She rocks against me, slow and deliberate, until we’re both moaning.

“Touch me everywhere.” She slides her hands over my chest like she’s claiming me.

Her mouth trails fire across my throat, teeth grazing skin. My control snaps, and I fist her hair, dragging her back to my lips.

When she reaches for my belt, I catch her wrists. “Let me worship you first.”

“Later. Right now, I need to feel you inside me before I lose my mind.”

Her desperation shreds my control. I flip her beneath me and tear the rest of our clothes away. We’re naked, desperate.

“Look at you,” I breathe, drinking her in. Spread for me, flushed, nipples peaked and begging for my mouth.

“Stop looking and start touching,” she demands, arching up to me.

I take one nipple between my lips, sucking hard while my hand works the other. She cries out and threads her fingers through my hair, holding me against her.

“More,” she gasps. “I need more.”

I slide my hand down, find her dripping. She arches and spreads wider for me.