Page 22 of Savage Princess

I move a little closer on the bed, my breath catching, and I tilt my chin up, looking straight into those blue eyes that always make me feel as if I’m a little dizzy, every time they meet mine. “Kiss me again,” I whisper softly. “Reallykiss me, I mean. Like you did after the auction.”

He tenses instantly. I can feel it, even from inches away. His lips part, and I canhearthe way he’s going to say my name, that warning edge to it, telling me that I’m going too far. But no sound comes out.

I reach out hesitantly, scooting a little closer on the bed, setting my beer on the edge of the nightstand. My hand brushes against the nubby cotton of his t-shirt, and I’m so close now that if he reached out, I’d be in his arms.

“Elena.” When he whispers my name, it’s almost a plea. I don’t know if it’s a plea for more or a plea for me to stop tempting him, but I don’t know if I care. Right now, I feel like I’d die to have his lips on mine again.

“Please kiss me,” I whisper, and he closes his eyes.

“Christ, Elena–”

There’s the warning that I was waiting for, but I’m not about to let it stop me. I want this—him—too much to stop.

I reach out, my fingers curling into his shirt. He starts to pull back, as if he’s going to stop whatever is coming next, but I reach up with one hand instead, curling it against the back of his neck as I lean in, my lips meeting his.

He tastes like the beer we’ve been drinking, something sharp and salty beneath that, and a thrill runs through me at the cool press of his lips against mine. I feel hyper-aware of everything, of the soft hair at the back of his neck beneath my fingertips, of the dampness between our lips, of his heart beating beneath my hand. I feel as if I could stay in this moment forever, and be happy.

“Please kiss me,” I whisper against his mouth. “I fucking dare you, Levin Volkov.”

His hands come up, and I think he’s going to push me away. But instead, I feel them on either side of my face, and he pulls me in.

I gasp, and his tongue slides into my mouth. The kiss is hot and hungry and desperate—it’s nothing like the kiss after the auction, which was slow and gentle and practiced, the kiss of a man trying to kiss me exactly as he felt Ishouldbe kissed.

This is the kiss of a man who knows heshouldn’tbe kissing me and is doing it anyway, because he can’t stop himself.

It sends a thrill through me, lighting me on fire, and I curl my hand tighter behind his head, half in his lap, as I slant my mouth over his, tangling my tongue up with his as I moan against his lips.

“Fuck, Elena,fuck—” he groans, his hands still cupping my face, holding my mouth to his, and he goes in for another kiss. I’m afraid to move too much, afraid to startle him out of the moment, but as his tongue slides through my mouth, I reach down to touch his thigh, the muscle jerking through the denim as I press my palm to his leg.

I slide it up, wanting to feel his cock. I want to feel how hard he is for me.

My hand presses against the thick ridge, and I moan, feeling myself clench at the thought of him inside of me again. I want to do it again, now that it’s not the first time, now that it won’t hurt so much. I want to find out how it feels the second time, and the third, and the fourth. I want to experience all of that with him.

I wanteverythingwith him.

He gasps my name against my lips, and suddenly I’m spilled back onto the bed against the pillows, Levin’s heavily muscled body over mine. I feel the scrape of denim against my inner thigh as they’re spread open by his hips between them, and I feel as if I can’t breathe.

He looks down at me, lips reddened from our kisses, his eyes dark. “Dare me to do something else, Elena,” he murmurs, and I hear the softest of slurs in his voice.

He’s a little tipsy. Not drunk, I don’t think, not enough to not remember this in the morning—and I’m glad about that. Iwanthim to remember. But enough that I can get under his defenses, enough that he can’t resist me the way he usually does.

I shouldn’t take advantage of it. But I can’t help myself.

“I dare you to slide your hand under my dress,” I whisper, my mouth close to his, and I feel him shudder.

His hand drops to my hip, my thigh, sliding down to the hem of my sundress as his fingers curl into it and start to lift it. “Where do you want my hand?” he murmurs, and my breath catches in my throat. “Show me.”

“Here, to start.” I press my fingers against my breast, and Levin’s eyes flick down, his gaze heating.

His palm slides beneath my dress, up my thigh, his fingertips grazing over my hipbone. It slides up over my belly, between my breasts, until his fingers replace mine, curling around the soft flesh as his palm slides over my nipple. I gasp, sensation sparking over my skin, and Levin’s fingertips circle the stiffening flesh, teasing it to a stiff peak.

His hand slides to my other breast, doing the same, until they feel swollen, my nipples stiff and aching, and I can feel the wetness gathering between my thighs. His hips shift against me, his fly pressing roughly against the thin fabric there, and I moan as I arch upwards, grinding against him.

“Christ, Elena, you’re going to drive me mad.” He pulls his hand out from under my dress, shuddering as he tries to hold himself still.

“I dare you to take off my dress.” I tip my chin up, waiting for him to tell me that he hasn’t taken a turn, that he hasn’t asked me anything or dared me to do anything, knowing that we’re well past the actual game now. This is just a thinly veiled excuse for me to tell Levin what I want him to do to me, and for him to follow through on it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

Or at least hethinkshe shouldn’t.

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