Page 2 of Thorns of Love
Adrian stood up, his chest brushing against mine. His eyes were on me, simmering with an anger that confused me. My cheeks grew warm, but his fury cooled my heated skin.
One second we stared at each other, the tension stretching and wrapping around my lungs. I didn’t understand it. It felt like there was a key piece I was missing, but I just couldn’t grasp it. That night in the gazebo was everything and so much more.
His gaze descended down my body. My throat squeezed and my breathing labored.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I blinked. He snatched my hand and, confused, I followed him. My skin lit like a beacon, aware somewhere deep in my mind that if this was a normal scenario, I’d punch the guy in the face and tell him to explain himself.
And here I was, following like a blind puppy.
We were outside the club now, Adrian’s black Maserati parked in the alley. My heels clicked against the pavement.Click. Click. Click. Until we came to a stop in front of his car.
He removed his mask, revealing his beautiful face.
“So you’ve been thinking about the gazebo?” he asked, his voice almost bitter.
I faltered. Something about the way he watched me nagged at me. My heart beat fast and hard. Alarms bells rang inside my brain. Except the warnings made no sense. This was Adrian Morozov, my big brother’s best friend. The boy who’d been around me my entire life pretty much.
He opened the passenger door to his Maserati, signaling for me to enter. My brothers always warned me to listen to my sixth sense. Always. This time, my sixth sense went way off the rails.
He grasped me by my nape, then swallowed my next breath in his mouth, along with all my common sense. I hadn’t had sex since that night. My body tingled, fire spreading through me, all-consuming. My blood sizzled and my stomach flipped.
“Get in, Tatiana,” he drawled against my lips.
His hands felt different than I remembered. His kiss felt different. “Did you change your cologne?” I breathed against his lips. He nodded. “Go back to that citrus and sandalwood,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around his neck.
The heat of his body seared against mine. I rubbed against him. Abstinence was a bitch now that I knew what I had been missing. I wouldn’t last long. In the back of my mind, I kept comparing it all to the gazebo. But in the haze, my lustful brain didn’t process it.
His fingers glided up my legs, his touch rough. I rose to my toes and kissed him. A rumble resounded in his chest and I pulled away.
“What?” I questioned, my tone breathless. He stilled, the look in his eyes torturous and conflicted. “What is it, Adrian?” I repeated, my cheeks hot.
He pulled my hair to one side and pressed his face into my neck. A shudder erupted beneath my skin, cold from the volatile energy emanating from him. Maybe he’d abstained from sex since that night too and he was barely holding on. His lips pressed against my skin, skimming over my flesh.
“That dress.” His tone was rough. His gaze caught fire as it traveled over my body. Heat bloomed between my thighs. “It makes you look so fucking hot.”
Goosebumps ran down my arms. A tremor rolled through my body.
“Car. Now,” he rasped.
I listened to his command without a single objection. I listened to it, ignoring the feeling that kept nagging at me in the back of my mind.
As soon as he pulled the door closed, he shifted me over him and I straddled his hips. Our mouths met. His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me closer to sit on his erection. It was new. Different. Unfamiliar.
I rocked myself against him. “Why did you make us wait so many years?”
My eyes, half-lidded and hazy, met his.
“You’re my friend’s little sister,” he stated. “I should have never touched you at the gazebo.”
I should be disappointed that he let my brother keep us apart. I wouldn’t have let anyone keep me from the one I love. But that was the thing with infatuation. It made you stupid and crazy.
I pulled his bottom lip between my teeth and kissed him. He even tasted different from what I remembered. I met his eyes, pushing his suit off his shoulders. Then I undid the buttons on his shirt, eager to touch him. The last time, I didn’t get to touch him. Last time, he gave me pleasure. This time, I’d give him pleasure.
Pressing my fingers into his skin, I scraped my nails down his chest. Ink marred his flesh, revealing the casual Adrian I’d come to know over the years. I shifted on his erection, rocking my hips and grinding, desperate for release.
This was so much better than all the nights over the years I had to get myself off. I was starved for a man’s touch. Delirious with the need for it.
