Page 47 of Savage Assassin

The blanket is too small for there to be any real distance between us. I can feel the muscled bulk of his body behind mine, the tension in him as he tries not to press up against me, but there’s not really anywhere for either of us to go. His arm is lying on his side, trying not to touch me, but after a moment, I feel him shift, and his arm moves over my waist. He’s not holding me, not exactly, but his arm curls over me, and the heavy weight of it makes me feel safer than I have in a long time.

I shouldn’t feel that way. We’re on a deserted beach god only knows where, and I have no idea what the plan is for rescue or how we’re going to get out of here. Levin hasn’t told me how bad of a situation we’re in, exactly, but I’m getting an idea.

At this moment, though, all I can think about is how good it feels to have someone close like this, curled around me, the size of him enveloping me, a strong arm holding me. I’ve never slept in a bed with anyone, never had a man so close to me. It feels good–even better than I’d imagined it would.

It’s harder to fall asleep than it was before–not because I’m cold any longer, but because I don’t want it to end. I can feel him breathing, slow and steady, and then I feel something else, too.

Something presses against the curve of my ass, hard and thick, and a jolt goes through me as I realize he’s getting hard from being so close to me. I’d felt it before, when I was on his lap at the party, but now we’re all alone, very far away from anyone who could see or hear. Alone on a beach, under a starlit sky, and it feels more romantic than it should.

I want to squirm against him. I want to feel him get harder, find out what it’s like to get him even more aroused than he already is. The sense of power that it gives me is intoxicating, knowing that he’s getting turned on byme, just from lying next to me.

It takes everything in me not to move, lying very still. But I feel his breathing change, and he shifts away from me a little, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “It’s not on purpose.”

Slowly, I crane my head a little, looking at him backward over my shoulder. My back arches a little as I do, my ass brushing up against him, and I feel him stiffen all over. “I think it’s a compliment,” I tell him teasingly, and I can almost hear his teeth grinding. “You hinted earlier that what happened back in Mexico was a mistake, but you must want to. I can feel it, Levin.”

My voice is breathier than I mean for it to be, but I can’t help it. There’s a tightness coiling in my stomach, heat blooming over my skin at the feeling of him so close and so turned on, and I want to keep going. I want him to cup my face with his hand and kiss me, pull me harder against him, grinding against me until neither of us can take it any longer. There are a dozen half-formed fantasies in my head, and I want all of them to come true.

“This has nothing to do with that, Elena,” he says gruffly, and I twist a little more towards him, laughing softly.

“It’s pretty obvious.” I don’t know why I’m still whispering–there’s no one to hear us–but the moment feels too intimate to speak more loudly than that. “I can feel it–”

“You’re very innocent,” he says quietly, and I can tell that he’s trying to be kind, but the way he says it sends a small jolt of hurt through me. I don’t want him to think of me as childish or innocent, or naive. I want him to see me the way I see myself–as someone capable, smart, who knows what she wants, if she were given the chance for it. And it feels like, right now, I’ve been given an opportunity to have it.

To enjoy something I never would have gotten to, otherwise.

Surelysomethinggood has to come out of all of this?

“Sometimes it just happens,” he says, his hand resting on my hip, as if to hold me a little bit away from him, and in place so that I can’t squirm against him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Elena.”

I know I should let it go. I should pretend that it’s not happening, close my eyes, and try to sleep. But my entire body feels as if I’m vibrating with how close he is to me, my heart pounding in my chest, my skin as hot and flushed as if I were on fire. I’m not cold any longer, not with him so close to me. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be cold.

I twist under his arm, rolling towards him before he can stop me, so that we’re suddenly face to face, so close that my nose is almost brushing his, my legs bumping up against him. If I moved a tiny bit closer, I’d feel his erection pushing against my stomach, and it’s all I can do not to move that fraction of an inch. My hands are between us, and I start to reach out to touch him, but he stops me before I can. His hand grabs both of mine, holding them still, as he looks down at me. I can just barely see his expression, silhouetted in the moonlight.

“What would you do if I told you I wanted it too?” I whisper, and I feel him breathe in deeply, as if he’s trying to control himself.

He wants me. I know he does. I can feel it in every straining line of his body, in the way his hand is wrapped around mine, keeping me from getting any closer. I can feel it in the hitch of his breath, see it in the set of his jaw.

“I would tell you,” he says, very slowly and carefully, “that it doesn’t matter. Because this is not going to happen, Elena.”

I tilt my chin up, almost daring him to kiss me. I can see the glint of his pale blue eyes, and for a brief second, I think he might do it.

And then he shakes his head, slowly, and reaches for me. My heart skips a beat in my chest as I tense, anticipating him pulling me closer, the slide of his fingers through my hair, the warmth of his body flush against mine.

His hands close over my shoulder and my waist, and he turns me over, gently but firmly, so that I’m facing away from him again. I can feel that he’s lying on the very edge of the blanket, leaving a sliver of space between us.

“Go to sleep, Elena.”

My entire body feels as if it’s faintly pulsing, thrumming with desire. I never knew it was possible to ache like this, to feel my heartbeat beating through my veins, to feel hollow when I don’t even know what it’s like to be filled up. I feel as if my skin is too tight, my lungs too small, as if I can’t breathe deeply enough. I want him, and I know that I never knew what it felt like to want anything before this.

I know he’s not going to give in. Not tonight–maybe not ever. I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep. I’m exhausted, and I can feel it starting to creep in, my body relaxing by degrees despite the steady throbbing just beneath my skin.

When I do fall asleep, all I dream about is him.

The hand on my waist, sliding lower, dipping below the edge of my shirt, brushing against the taut flesh there. Hesitating, unsure whether to go up or down–and then his fingers move upwards, sliding against my breasts, cupping, teasing, finding my nipples, and tweaking them between his fingertips. I arch against him, pushing them into his hands, wanting more.

I feel his breath on the back of my neck, the hard press of him against the curve of my ass, his other hand running through my hair, making a gentle fist in the soft strands as he tugs my head back. His lips run along my throat, brushing lightly, his tongue drifting down the line of it all the way to the hollow at the base, kissing me there lightly as his hand moves lower. It drifts back down my stomach, to the very edge of my jeans, tracing a line just under the waist as his hand moves closer to where I need it so badly–

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