Chapter 85 – Ivan POV
Insane.
Zander slams his lips against mine like he wants to devour me—like I'm something he's been starving for. The kind of kiss that leaves no room for air, no space for thought. Just heat. Just pressure. Just him.
His hands cup my face, fingers threading into my hair as if anchoring himself to me, pulling me deeper, closer. I feel the sharp inhale through his nose as he presses harder. His lips move over mine with a hunger that borders on desperate—biting, dragging, devouring.
I gasp against him, and he uses it—his tongue sweeping in, claiming my mouth like it belongs to him, his hand moves to the back of my neck, angling my head the way he wants.
My fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt, clutching at him, grounding myself because my knees aren't holding up anymore.
When he pulls back just barely, we're both breathless. His eyes meet mine—dark, blown wide with want—and I feel it like a pulse between us, that spark, that fire, waiting to devour the rest of the oxygen in the room.
"You say things like that," he growls, voice like gravel and thunder, "and expect me to hold back?"
I'm dizzy. Starstruck. Drenched in heat. But somehow, I manage a breathless smile.
"I never said I wanted you to."
His mouth crashes into mine again, hungrier this time—no hesitation, just heat and teeth and tongue, dragging a whimper out of my throat as I press against him with all I have.
The kiss turns deeper, dirtier. His hand finds my waist, gripping tight.
The kiss turns deeper, dirtier. His mouth claims mine with something between reverence and hunger. His hand tightens at my waist, dragging me flush against him like he can't bear even an inch of space between us. I feel his breath against my cheek as he breaks the kiss—just long enough to move lower.
His lips trail down to my neck, the heat of them ghosting over my pulse before he presses in, kissing just beneath my jaw. Then lower—across my throat, down to the curve of my collarbone, lingering there like he's memorizing the taste of me.
"I've wanted to—" he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin.
Kiss.
"Do this—"
Kiss. Slower this time, just beneath my ear, where it makes me shiver.
"So much—"
Kiss. Firmer, right at the base of my throat.
"I've been so—"
He groans against my neck, voice shaking with restraint.
"Fucking desperate."
Kiss. Hard, open-mouthed, his teeth just grazing.
"You have no idea how happy I am."
Another kiss. This one softer. Lingering. Like he's breathing me in.
"You taste amazing."
His fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, and I watch them tremble as he undoes them one by one.
I giggle when he loses patience and rips the shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. Probably designer. Probably expensive. But the look in his eyes says he doesn't care. He'd ruin a dozen more if it meant getting to me faster.
Before I can even form another thought, his hands are on my face—both of them—cradling me like I'm something breakable and precious, and he kisses me again. Rougher. Deeper. Like he can't stand not tasting me, not feeling every second of this pressed against his lips.
The wall behind me is hard and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning between us. It keeps me trapped—but I don't want to be saved.
I arch into him, wrapping my arms around his back, trying to hold on—only for him to catch my wrists and pin them above my head. One hand. Effortless.
My breath catches.
His strength, the way he handles me like he knows exactly how to make me come undone—it makes my pulse stutter.
His free hand trails down my chest, fingers brushing the robe's edge. Every touch is maddening, featherlight but full of promise. And then he reaches my waist.
A single tug—and the knot I'd tied with shaking fingers comes loose, falling open like it had only been waiting for him.
The robe parts. Cool air rushes in. My breath hitches.
Zander freezes for just a second.
His eyes trail down, taking me in.
The way his jaw clenches—the way his chest rises and falls as if he's trying not to lose control—I can feel the desire rippling off of him like heat off stone.
His voice, when it comes, is low and wrecked. "You… You have no idea what you do to me."
I should be smug. Tease him. Say something bratty.
But my mouth is dry. My knees are weak.
He releases a slow breath through his nose like he's taming a beast, and his hand returns to my body. Gentle at first. A thumb brushing my hipbone.
Then suddenly, his hands are cupping my face again, and his mouth crashes against mine. Not soft. Not tentative. It's deep, hungry, and unrelenting.