Page 91 of Little Blue

Finally, she murmurs, “Not tonight.”

What does that mean? Does she still intend to escape me? Or does she just want me to chase her?

Heat burns in my blood at the thought of the latter.

I shift, clear my throat, and move into the closet. I re-emerge with a lovely sapphire blue gown my mother chose and delivered for this night. Her lips part and a gasp sounds.

“Where did you get that?”

“My mother had it delivered for you.”

“It’s beautiful.” She’s awed, I can see it. Pride swells inside every inch of me. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” I deny her the information, loving the way her brows crunch in a cute little frown.

“Ilya…”

I love when she says my name.

“While we’re on the subject of surprises.” I move to lay the dress on the bed, shooting a look of warning at the cat to stay off. I take her hand. “Come.”

I guide her into the bathroom, watching as her eyes land on the new stack of body butter. The same she’d sobbed over not long ago.

Her eyes dart to me and her lip quivers.

Fuck, don’t cry.

“You bought these for me?” Why does she sound so broken? This was supposed to make her happy.

“Do you like it?” Tension spreads through me. I’d ordered these while she’d been asleep on my chest, in my suit, in the dead of the night. I’d been trying to make her?—

I don’t have time to finish the thought, because she’s flung her arms around my shoulders, her legs around my waist. Blood rushes to fill my dick as my hands grab her, holding her to me. Then she crushes her mouth to mine in a kiss that sears me to my soul.

It’s the second time she’s kissed me of her own accord. Unlike the first, that was far too short and tasted of grief, this kiss is fire.

I can’t help myself. I take over.

Crushing her to the wall, I demand entrance with my tongue. When she moans, I rock my hips into her core, fucking hating the clothing that separates us. My hands are everywhere, over the curve of her ass, her waist, her breasts, and back down again to the hem of her shirt. The need to feel her skin under my hands is a desperate ache I’m helpless to deny as I press my palms into the skin of her back, dragging them up and down.

When she rocks her hips into me, as though seeking the very part of me that burns to sink deep inside her, I know if I don’t stop this, I’ll take it too far. I’m hovering at the edge of control, pushed to the ledge one too many times by this beautiful woman who captured my heart with just one look. It was only fair play I capture her body. Now, it’s a matter of war who wins the soul.

Tearing her mouth from mine, my breaths fall heavy to mix with hers as I rest my forehead against hers. When I’m confident I’ve gathered myself just enough to look into her eyes, I pull back.

She’s beautiful. Exquisite. Flushed cheeks and blue eyes burning with desire.

I huff a laugh. “Remind me to buy body products for you often.”

She laughs. The sound is a balm to my ravaged, sin-coated being. “Thank you, Ilya. It means more to me than you can know.”

I want to kiss her again. If I kiss her again, I won’t stop.

I set her on the ground, watching her cautiously as I say, “Get yourself ready and meet me downstairs.”

With that, I press a kiss to her forehead. And then I do one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life.

I walk away from her.

Thirty-Eight

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