Page 46 of Imperfect Desires

He begins to move, his thrusts steady and deep, his body driving into mine with a rhythm that’s both primal and tender. I meet him with every movement, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs wrapped tight around his waist. The room is filled with the sound of our breaths, our skin slapping together, the creak of the bed.

“Alina,” he groans, his voice breaking as he speeds up, his body losing its control. “I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” I plead, my body on the brink, my orgasm building like a storm.

He doesn’t. He drives into me harder, faster, his muscles straining, his face a mask of raw emotion. And then, I’m falling, my body shattering around him, my cries echoing in the room. He follows, his release powerful, his name on my lips as we both collapse, our bodies still joined, our hearts pounding in unison.

Later, as I lie in his arms, my body sated and my mind at peace, I feel his heartbeat against my cheek. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, his breath evening out. I close my eyes, a smile playing on my lips, and for the first time in weeks, I feel whole.

His eyes narrow, and I feel them trail down my body, slow and deliberate. My nipples tighten under his gaze, and I shift uncomfortably, suddenly hyperaware of how dishevelled I must look. His stare lingers on the damp spot between my thighs, and I flush, heat creeping up my neck.

“Are you on a mission to kill me, Alina?” His voice is a low growl, and before I can respond, his hand cups my cheek. His thumb brushes over my slightly swollen lips, and I shiver at the roughness of his skin against mine. His breath is hot and ragged as he leans in, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

There is no satisfying our craving.

Where he was gentle before, he can now barely contain himself. His tongue invades my mouth, demanding and possessive, and I moan into him, my body pressing against his, matching his tempo. He tastes like smoke and something darker, something that makes my knees weak. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down my neck, his teeth nipping at my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. His hands grip my hips, his touch firm, as he dips his head, capturing one nipple.

I gasp, my head falling back, my body arching into him. He sucks and nips, his tongue teasing the sensitive peak, before moving to the other breast, his fingers rolling and pinching the neglected nipple. His touch is relentless, his mouth a torment, and I’m drowning in the pleasure he’s wringing from me.

He dips a finger into my soaking pussy and begins to slide in and out. Pleasure rips through me. He moves to remove his hand, and I quickly pull it back to my throbbing core, muttering for him not to stop. He chuckles darkly and introduces a second finger and increases his pace.

“Lev,” I cry out, my body convulsing as I come, waves of pleasure crashing over me. But he’s not done. His fingers pump in and out of me, drawing out my orgasm until I’m a boneless, trembling mess.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine as he slowly pushes into me. I moan, my body stretching to accommodate him, and he groans, his hips pressing flush against mine. He starts to move, his hips rolling, his cock sliding in and out of me with a rhythm that’s both brutal and beautiful.

I’m climbing higher and higher, my body tensing as I feel the familiar coil of pleasure building again. He’s fucking me with a ferocity that leaves no doubt about his claim, his body slamming into mine, his hands gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

I scream his name as I come, my body milking his cock, my nails digging into his back. He groans, his body tensing, and he comes with me, his cock pulsing deep inside me. He collapses on top of me, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged against my neck.

I’m boneless, my body spent, as he rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. I nestle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, my mind a blur of pleasure and confusion.

But as I drift off to sleep, his hand tightens around me, and I feel it—the weight of his scars against my skin, each one a reminder of the battles he’s fought. And I wonder if he is now ready to fight for what we undeniably feel for each other.

17

Lev

I wake up to silence.

Soft light filters through the windows, casting faint shadows over the room. The early morning sun stretches across the silk sheets and highlights the curve of her bare shoulder.

Alina is lying on her stomach, her dark hair spilling over the pillow. One slender arm is tucked beneath her face, her lashes resting against her cheeks.

She looks peaceful and Innocent.

Her breathing is soft and steady. The sheet has slipped low down her back, exposing the smooth line of her spine and the dip of her waist.

My chest tightens painfully.

My hand itches to reach out and brush the hair from her face—to trace my fingers down the curve of her back and feel her melt beneath my touch again. But I don’t.

My clothes are on the chair near the window. I move silently, sliding into my pants and buttoning up my shirt with mechanical precision. My movements are deliberate and controlled. My face is a mask of cold indifference.

But inside?

I’m unraveling.

Alina shifts in her sleep, her lips parting slightly. My breath catches. She looks so young. So vulnerable. I swallow hard and sit down on the edge of the bed. My hand trembles as I push her hair back from her face. She sighs softly, leaning into my touch even in sleep. My chest constricts.

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