Page 139 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

I’VEMADEAMISTAKE.I know it as soon as our lips crash together. Mingled harsh breaths, his heartbeat racing beneath my palm as I rest my hands on his chest and press myself against him. I’ve never done this, never thrown myself at a man because I either had to kiss him or go up in flames.

Our wedding kiss, as unexpected as it was, had the tether of being in front of hundreds of people. It could only go so far. Even our excursions around Paris, as we held hands at the café or he slid a possessive arm around my waist at the Louvre, had been for the benefit of anyone watching.

Here, there’s only us. No excuses. And as I respond with an aching need that makes my whole body throb, I have no regrets. Not when his arms are around me like bands of steel, his groan filling me, his hard length pressing against my hips. I’m acutely aware that there’s only my robe and the fabric of his pants between the most intimate parts of our bodies.

I slide my hips up and down just a fraction. The friction on my sensitive skin makes me tremble.

“Theós.”

He growls it against my mouth as he spins me around and pulls me into the privacy of the penthouse. Cool air kisses my skin and I glance down to see my robe parted, revealing my breasts. It should make me feel self-conscious, embarrassed.

But when I look up and see Gavriil staring at me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satiate his hunger, all I feel is a reckless boldness urging me on.

I step back. Need a moment, just a moment to think. Gavriil’s hands tighten momentarily on my waist before he releases me, the tendons in his neck straining as he sucks in a shuddering breath. Seeing his restraint, his respect even as he devours me with ravenous eyes, pushes me through that last moment of hesitation.

I surge forward again, my hands sliding up over his chest as our mouths meet. It’s not a kiss but a branding I feel through my chest, through the pulsing in my core, all the way to my toes as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth in an intimate caress that makes me moan.

His hands dive into my hair, anchoring my head as his lips trail over my jaw before he nips my neck. The graze of teeth on sensitive skin makes me cry out and arch against him. I press my hips against his, pressure building as wetness slicks my thighs.

“Gavriil...”

He nudges one leg between mine as he holds me against him. I shift, the friction of his pants against my bare skin making me pant. His mouth descends to the curve of my shoulder, then farther down. One tug and my robe falls open, baring my naked body to his gaze.

“Ómorfi.”

The word ripples through me. I don’t know any Greek, but I don’t need a dictionary to feel the meaning. To feel beautiful. Seen.

Before I can claw back enough of my sanity, Gavriil dips his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth. Sensation spears out, heated energy whirling through my body as my fingers slide into his hair.

“Gavriil!”

His tongue swirls over me. His hair, thick and silky beneath my hands, is a lifeline as I spiral upward. He keeps one arm banded around my waist as his other hand cups my other breast.

He pulls back. I moan, not wanting this to be it, to live with this unbearable pressure seething beneath my skin, electricity crackling through my veins as if I might combust unless I find some kind of release—

He sweeps me into his arms and stalks over to the couch. I take advantage of my proximity to his neck and repeat what he did to me, kissing his heated skin before I run my tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat.

A growl rumbles in his chest before he sets me down on the couch facing him. He grabs my knees and spreads my legs. I should be embarrassed. I should stop. I should definitely stop.

Not a chance.

His next kiss is fierce, one I return with my need growing to unbearable proportions. I don’t know why I’m responding to him with such wild abandon. Maybe it’s because I have no vengeance to achieve, to focus on to the detriment of everything else. Maybe this is the distraction I need as I try to figure out the rest of my life.

Or maybe it’s simply this man. This man who infuriates and impresses and seduces.

I tense as he glides one hand up my leg, pauses at the top of my thigh and taps out a teasing dance with his fingertips.

“Please, Gavriil.”

I don’t care that I’m begging, that I’m letting him see just how deeply he affects me. All I care about is being touched, feeling wanted by this man I’m married to.

His hand skims higher. His fingers gently stroke, light touches that tease and stoke the flames higher as he uses his other hand to pull my robe down to my waist and move his mouth down to continue his sensual assault with tongue and teeth on my other breast.

“You’re so wet.”

I cry out as he slides one finger inside me. It only takes a few long, slow strokes for the peak that’s been building since he stalked toward me on the terrace to burst.

“Oh, God!”

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