Page 70 of Crimson Fury

“Girl Guides,” I lie, then set out disinfectant and gauze and cut bandages to size. He looks at me with a mix of gratitude and something else I can’t quite place. I avoid his gaze, focusing on the task at hand.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

“Save your thanks for when I’m done,” I reply, trying to keep my tone curt. I need to stay focused, and not let myself be affected by his presence…which doesn’t help my nagging fears about my pregnancy. But it’s nearly impossible with his muscular arm so close to me, his scent filling my nostrils. I force myself to concentrate on cleaning the wound.

“Scarlett,” Anton murmurs, his eyes fixed on mine, making my heart race. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“Someone has to,” I reply, tearing my gaze away. I reach for the bandages with slightly trembling fingers and carefully begin applying them. I don’t look up at him again until I’m done patching up the entire wound. Not perfect, but it will hold.

“Thank you,” he says again as I add the final touches to my handiwork. His palm settles over mine, stilling my movements. I stare at his large, calloused hand engulfing my own. A wave of warmth spreads through me and I hate how much I crave his touch. How much I want to give in to him. To this. To us. It unsettles me.

I swallow hard, willing my traitorous emotions to stay in check. “You should rest. I’ll clear up here. Go to bed.” I glance down at the mound of bloody dressings.

“Come with me,” Anton says, his voice low and husky. I risk looking into those oddly golden eyes, so full of intensity that my breath catches.

“No. We can’t.” My voice is barely a whisper, heavy with the weight of all the emotions churning within me. “No,” I say more firmly.

Pregnancy hormones.

Your head’s not right.

“Yes,” There’s an urgency in his tone that pulls at my heart. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before, vulnerable and raw. “Yes, we can,” he insists, his grip on my hand tightening. “I know it’s complicated. But I want you, Scarlett.” His eyes search mine, and it’s as if he’s peeling back the layers of my soul.

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle and tender. My breath hitches at his touch. At the strange expression in his eyes. It’s almost a softness. The ache inside me intensifies, and I know I’m losing the battle.

“Yes,” I breathe out the word, knowing I’m going to regret this. But I can’t help myself.

A smile touches his lips – a smile filled with promise and passion – and my heart skips a beat.

He tugs me closer until I’m resting between his knees. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me in against him. His lips brush my neck, and I shiver, tilting my head to give him better access. A thousand thoughts rush through my head; things I want to say to him. But now is not the time. Instead, I give in to the sensations that flood me as his hand cups the swell of my breast through the fabric of my nightshirt.

“Anton,” I exhale his name on a groan. He doesn’t respond with words, instead, his lips trail over my collarbone, the scruff of his stubble igniting prickles of pleasure across my skin.

“Zayka,” he murmurs against me, using that strange Russian word that I’ve been starting to wonder about. My hands tremble as I reach up to touch his face, tracing the contours of his jaw and cheeks before tangling in his dark hair.

I can feel the weight of our unspoken desires pressing down on us, threatening to consume us. I struggle with my conflicting emotions – wanting this man more than anything and yet terrified of what that means for me, for us…and for the life growing inside of me.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the doubts and fears that claw at me from within. I’m not sure about anything anymore. But when he rises abruptly and scoops me up against his chest, I’m sure that I want this. Until I freeze in alarm.

“Stop!” I try to hold my weight away from him. “Your chest!” He silences me with his mouth as he strides across the kitchen and kicks the door open. We make our way down the hall with our lips locked, my arm around his neck as I strain to avoid hurting him. But by the time we reach his bedroom, I’m desperate for him.

Anton kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, pressing me up against it as his hands hungrily roam my body. I moan into his mouth, arching into his touch. My doubts fade away, drowned beneath a flood of desire. All I can think about is having him, here and now.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, nipping and sucking in a way that makes my knees weak. “I want you,” he growls against my skin. “Now.”

I tug at the front of his shirt, trying to feel the heat of his skin. “Oh God, yes.”

As if my words prompt him, he tears my nightdress down the front, baring my body to his gaze. His eyes darken as he takes in my breasts, my stomach, and the curve of my hips. Then his mouth is on me, kissing and licking every inch of newly exposed skin. I gasp and squirm under the onslaught, desperate for more but overwhelmed by the sensations.

Anton drops to his knees in front of me, trailing kisses down my stomach. He looks up at me through his lashes, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I’m going to taste you now,Zayka.”

I don’t even get a chance to respond before his mouth is on me, hot and hungry. I cry out at the exquisite pleasure. My fingers twist in his hair as he devours me, building the tension inside me to a fever pitch. I’m barely aware of sliding down the door, grasping at his shoulders to support me. I’m too lost in the feel of Anton’s tongue and the fire racing through my veins.

When his fingers join his mouth, thrusting deep inside me, I shatter around them with a broken sob. The world goes white and I cling to him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. His lips never leave my skin, his tongue lapping up my essence like a man starved.

“Anton,” I gasp, my body still quivering from the aftershocks. “Please, I need you inside me.”

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