Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,43

a choked cry bursts from my throat as heated pleasure rockets through my body. The release is so powerful it wipes away all thought, all reason, and it’s only as I come down from the high and open my eyes that I realize he’s stilled on top of me, his head turned toward the door and his powerful body all but vibrating from tension.

A split second later, I realize why.

“Chloe, is that you? Are you—” Alina freezes in the doorway, her negligée-clad figure outlined by the light streaming in from the hallway.

A light she must’ve turned on when she heard us.

Or more specifically, heard me.

A hot flush sears my face and neck as I realize exactly what she heard—and what she’s seeing.

Me, in bed with her half-naked brother in the middle of the night, my pajama top hiked up to my armpits.

There’s no spinning this as an accident, no mistaking it for anything other than what it is.

“Excuse me.” Alina’s tone turns chilly. “The door was open. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

She disappears into the hallway, and Nikolai mutters something that sounds like a Russian curse. Rolling off me with an explosive motion, he strides to the wide-open door and slams it shut, plunging us back into darkness.

I scramble to a sitting position, yanking down my tank top as I hear his returning footsteps. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing? My hand pats frantically along the nightstand in search of the bedside lamp switch, and the light flips on just as the mattress dips under his weight.

For a few beats, we just stare at each other, and I register all sorts of panty-melting details, like the way his straight black hair is mussed from my fingers and how his sensual lips are red and swollen, glistening from our rough kisses. Mine must look the same because I can feel them, damp and throbbing, aching for more of his addictive touch and taste. He’s wearing only a pair of running shorts, and his chest and shoulders are all lean muscle, his abs sharply defined. Unlike the powerful trunks of his legs, which are sprinkled with crisp, dark hair, his torso is smooth, his lightly tanned skin marred only by a pale, puckered scar on his left shoulder.

My heart rate kicks up.

Bullet wound.

I’ve never seen one, but I’m certain I’m right. It’s either that, or a drill bit went through his shoulder.

The lingering glow of orgasm dissipates as fear born of clearer thinking filters in. Who is he, this gorgeous man who appears to be so intimately acquainted with danger?

Why is he in my bedroom, on my bed?

Slowly, I scoot away, not taking my eyes off his. The bullet wound, the bruised knuckles, the wall around the compound, and the guards… There’s a story here, and it’s not a good one. Violence, in some shape or form, appears to be part of my new employer’s life, and I want nothing to do with it, no matter how much my body longs for us to finish what we started.

What I started, by kissing him so thoughtlessly, so brazenly.

At my retreat, his tiger eyes narrow, and I feel his frustration, the simmering fury of a predator witnessing the inevitable escape of his prey. Except it’s not inevitable in our case—with his superior size and strength, he can stop me at any point, and the fact that he remains still despite the tension evident in his powerful muscles is more than a little reassuring.

He must realize what I’m thinking because his expression smooths out, his posture taking on a relaxed, almost lazy vibe. “Don’t worry, zaychik. I’m not going to pounce on you.” His voice is soft, his tone gently mocking. “If you don’t want this, just say so. I’m not in the habit of bedding the unwilling… or anyone pretending to be that.”

My face feels like someone is burning coals under my skin. He’s no doubt referring to my impromptu orgasm, something I haven’t let myself think about yet. Because as shameless as my behavior tonight has been, nothing beats dry-humping him like a bitch in heat—and coming from it.

“I’m not—” I stop, realizing I was about to launch into childish denials. “You’re right,” I say in a more level tone. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was completely inappropriate and—”

“And it’s going to happen again.” His eyes are like amber jewels in the warm light cast by the lamp. “You’re going to kiss me, and we’re going to fuck, and