“It doesn’t get warm enough to laze around by the pool—at least, not for a little Italian girl.”
“Hmm,” I replied. “Why do you kiss me?”
His gaze dropped to my lips, his jaw ticking in thought. “I wanted to know what you tasted like.”
We both knew he hadn’t answered the question. He’d known what I tasted like three years ago, if that had been the only goal.
“What do I taste like?”
His eyes drifted back up to mine. They were so deep and serious they held me captive. His next two words tugged at my heart, even though I didn’t know the meaning.
“Kak moya.”
The lights flicked back on.
It should have broken the moment, but now, I could see the intensity in his eyes I hadn’t been able to in the dark. A possessive heat sizzling in blue flame.
We stared at each other.
My heart raced. My blood burned.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop.
Leaning in, I brought my mouth to his, pausing close enough to taste his breath. I was shaking in anticipation yet he remained still as I took a sweet pull on his lips. He didn’t kiss me back, but heat still pulsed and spread through me like fire, tightening in my breasts before descending to my toes.
He licked his lips, drawing a lazy gaze from my mouth to my eyes, as though he’d found the kiss slightly bothersome to his person. It should have been discouraging, but I was too far in to stop now.
I drew my tongue across his top lip and then nipped at the bottom. A low groan rumbled up his throat. The sound hummed between my legs, making me clutch both of my hands in his hair.
And then I licked his lips like an ice cream cone. It had no finesse, just pure, unadulterated want.
He made a noise of anger, grabbed the back of my neck, parted my lips with his, and slipped his tongue inside.
Lust exploded behind my eyes, blurring my vision.
“Is this what you wanted, malyshka?” His tone was heated, coated in a rough accent.
God, yes.
I could only nod.
He leaned back into the couch like he was settling in for the kiss. I went with him, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, mouth pressed to his. The man really didn’t kiss—I felt it in the lazy, blasé manner his lips moved against mine. But when he was all in on a kiss, it was the deep kind I had to pull back from to take a breath.
My pulse thrummed between my legs as he tasted my mouth, sucked on my tongue, and nipped me when I kissed him softer and sweeter than he liked. He could have it his way. Kissing had always got me so hot I’d do anything after a while, and just kissin
g Christian was better than sex with anyone else.
My hips rolled, mocking every thrust and glide of our tongues. I moaned, pressing tighter against him, running my nails down his biceps. I’d never admit it to the man, but I was obsessed with his arms.
My breathing grew ragged as my breasts rubbed against his chest every time I swayed into a kiss. Hot pressure built inside me as I grinded against his erection. The lust inside me was burning out of control, growing more frantic with every press of our lips.
He let out a rough breath and pulled away from me, his voice harsh. “Enough, Gianna. You have to stop.”
“Why?” I nibbled at his jawline and down his neck. He grabbed my wrist before my hand could reach his belt.
“Because another moment of this, and I’m not going to be able to.”
I looked at him, confused. “But I don’t want you to.”