Page 37 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

I kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring all my want and need and confusion into the press of lips and tongue. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and I could feel her heat even through the layers of clothing still between us.

My hands moved to her thighs, pushing her dress up further, when she suddenly pressed her palms against my chest.

“Wait.”

I stopped immediately, breathing hard. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want this to be angry sex. I don’t want it to be heat of the moment, rage fucking, whatever you want to call it.” Her voice was breathless but certain. “If we’re going to do this, I want it to mean something.”

I stared at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. She was giving me a choice, a way out if I couldn’t give her what she was asking for.

But the truth was, it already meant something. Had meant something from the moment she’d looked me in the eye and called me a monster. Had meant something when she’d chosen to stay, to fight with me, to make this fucked up situation into something that felt real.

“Then I’ll give it meaning,” I said, my voice softer than it had been all night.

I kissed her again, but this time, it was different. Slower, more careful. Like I was memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her skin under my hands. I lifted her from the table, carrying her to my bedroom for the first time since she’d become my wife.

The room was dark except for the city lights streaming through the windows. I set her down beside the bed, my hands gentle as I finished undressing her, reverent as I laid her down on the silk sheets.

“Are you sure?” I asked, though the question nearly killed me.

“I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and the way her eyes locked on mine made my pulse thunder in my ears.

I bent, brushing my lips over hers in a kiss that was deliberate, measured, designed to brand this moment into both of us. Her hands slid up my chest, fingertips pressing into the muscle as though she needed the contact to keep from floating away.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmured against her mouth.

“You’ve barely seen me,” she whispered back, her tone a mix of challenge and invitation.

“I’ve seen enough to know I’ll never get enough.”

I let my lips trace the line of her jaw, down to the soft skin of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. Her breath hitched when my hands closed around her waist, drawing her closer, my body flush against hers. I could feel the warmth of her through the thin lace that covered her, and it made me ache.

I peeled the last of her clothes away slowly, watching her as each inch of skin was revealed to the city light spilling in. My gaze traveled over her, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly.

“You’re staring,” she said, a small, nervous smile touching her lips.

“I’m worshipping,” I corrected, my voice low.

Her smile faltered into something more vulnerable, more raw, and I leaned in to kiss her again, slower this time. My hands roamed—over her ribs, her hips, down the length of her thighs, until she parted her legs for me without a word. I slid a hand up, finding her already wet and warm, her body opening to my touch like it had been waiting for this.

She moaned softly, the sound curling around my spine.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, my fingers circling lazily, teasing.

“You,” she breathed, eyes locked on mine. “All of you.”

I kept my hand on her as I stripped the rest of my clothes away. Her gaze dipped to my body, lingering, before she looked back up, her lips parting in anticipation.

When I finally pressed forward, the first brush of myself against her made her grip my shoulders hard. I eased in, slow, watching her face as her breath caught. Her legs tightened around me, urging me closer, deeper.

The heat of her was overwhelming, the way she clenched around me sending sharp jolts of pleasure through my entire body. I set a slow rhythm at first, savoring every inch, every reaction. She clung to me, nails digging into my back, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that was messy and desperate.

“Faster,” she whispered, voice trembling.

I obeyed, driving deeper, the sound of our bodies filling the darkened room. She gasped my name, her head falling back, and I kissed along the curve of her throat, tasting her pulse.