Page 32 of Savage Assassin

Or hers.

I see her eyes widen as I bend my head and hear the quick hitch of her breath. I feel her hands brush against my sides, circling around to press against my back, holding me closer as my lips brush against hers. A better first kiss, to wipe away the last one.

Soft, at first. Her bottom lip, full and soft, pressed between mine. My nose brushing against hers. Gentle, urging a little, but not too much. Letting her feel the warmth of my breath against her sensitive mouth, my hand holding the back of her neck, her waist, keeping her close. Keeping her safe.

I feel her shudder, feel her gasp. Her lips part under mine, the cue to deepen the kiss. To brush my lips over hers again before I press harder, firmer, my tongue sliding over that plush lower lip, pushing inside. Tasting her, champagne still bright on her tongue, and ohfuck, she tastes like fucking heaven.

I want to taste the rest of her. I want to fucking drown in her, until my blood is fizzing with her, until I find out every fucking moan and cry that she can make, exactly the way she moans at that moment, the soft sound on the verge of driving me mad as she arches into the kiss, her tongue sliding along mine, soft and quick and eager. I know in that instant that she’d let me take this as far as I would let it go.

It’s up to me to stop. To do what’s right. To keep myself from sinking into her, into the sweet eagerness of her kiss, because if there’s one thing that my godforsaken life has taught me, it’s that all a man like me can do to a woman like Elena Santiago is ruin her.

You ruined one woman’s life by wanting her. By loving her. Don’t fucking do it again.

That reminder does it. I pull away, breaking the kiss, tearing myself away from her through sheer force of will as I step back, teeth gritted against the desire burning through my veins, threatening to reduce me to nothing.

“I hope that was better,” I tell her, and I mean every fucking word of it. But I can’t look at her a second longer, can’t stay in the room a second longer, or I’ll do every fucking thing that I want to do to her, and then we’ll both be lost.

So instead, I turn on my heel, ignoring the look on her face as I bolt into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

Elena

I’ve never been so confused and wildly aroused all at once in my life.

What the fuck was that kiss?

I raise my fingers to my lips, hand shaking, as he storms away.I hope that was better,he’d said.

It had been. So much better than my own clumsy, embarrassing attempt at kissing him. I’d been so humiliated, especially when compounded by the fact that I’d misunderstood him. I’d thought he’d meant that we’d have to sleep together tonight, in order to avoid getting caught. It had been my way of trying to make him feel better about it, not so much as if he were forcing me.

I feel very sure, at this point, that Levin would never force me into anything. Which has had a strange, roundabout way of making me want him more.

And then he kissed me–likethat. A second try. A better first kiss, I suppose he’d been thinking. Butwhy, if that was all he was going to do?

I stand there, frozen, my lips still tingling from his kiss as confusion overwhelms me, staring in the direction he’d gone when he’d stormed into the bathroom.

What do I actually want from him?

Rationally, I know it doesn’t make sense for me to want him to be my first at all, andespeciallynot in these circumstances. Not only is he a fairly decent bit older than I am, but he’s also in charge of getting me to safety. He’s supposed to be mybodyguard, not my lover. If I were going to want anyone of my own choice, I should want someone closer to my age, more like me, more like the person I was raised to be. Not a dangerous older man with an uncertain past and a violent edge to him, tasked with doing anything necessary to keep me safe and get me to my sister in Boston.

Shouldn’t I?

I especially shouldn’t want him now, like this, in Diego Gonzalez’ mansion, surrounded by bedrooms in which a few dozen other men are enjoying women coerced into being with them. I shouldn’t even be able to be aroused in these circumstances. And yet–

In here, especially, it feels as if the rest of the world is gone. As if there’s only this room, and me, and Levin.

And my mouth is still burning from the kiss.

All I know of love and sex, I know from my books. From romance novels that paint scenarios every bit as dangerous and fraught as this one. I know that’s a part of it, that I’m romanticizing all of this, romanticizinghim, and yet as I slip into bed, still tangled up in the chiffon dress, my body still throbs with an arousal that I can’t fight.

I feel like I’m buzzing with it, coming out of my skin. I can feel my heartbeat, my pulse throbbing in my throat, and I lie there motionless for a few seconds, wondering if he’s going to come out of the bathroom.

The light stays on under the door, but it doesn’t open.

My hand slides down under the blankets I’d tugged up over myself.

I need something. I need release. I push the chiffon aside, finding the bare skin underneath, my teeth sinking into my lower lip against a gasp when my fingers slip between my swollen, sensitive folds. My fingertip grazes against my clit, sliding through heated arousal, and I have to fight not to moan as my head falls back.

I’d wondered if he was going to do this, all night. If he’d slide his hand a little higher, and touch me here, where I’d been aching all evening. I press my finger down, a little harder, moving it back and forth, in small circles, chasing the relief I need so desperately.

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