Ivan POV
My wrists are still pinned above my head, pressed firmly against the wall, and Zander's mouth—God, his mouth—is the only thing I can focus on.
He kisses me like he's trying to memorize me, like every breath between us might be the last. My knees are already weak, and he hasn't even started yet.
When he finally pulls away, just enough to let me breathe, his lips are still brushing mine—warm and unrelenting.
Then his free hand trails lower.
Down my neck, over my chest, pausing to toy with a sensitive spot just under my collarbone. I shiver beneath his touch, goosebumps blooming like wildflowers across my skin. I'm burning, yet I can't stop trembling.
His fingers graze over my chest, teasing, until they pinch at a nipple, and I twitch against the wall with a soft gasp. My back arches instinctively.
"You're so beautiful," Zander breathes, voice thick with awe—and something deeper.
I gasp as his hand travels lower, over my abdomen, then halts. His palm flattens over the ridge of arousal that's pressed insistently against his thigh. He exhales a soft, reverent curse.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something between awe and hunger.
"You're trembling."
I am. With need.
With nerves. With the want that coils low in my belly and rises in waves.
His fingers curl gently around me, and my head tips back against the wall, a breath leaving me in a stuttered moan. I feel so exposed, so completely open beneath him, every muscle taut and waiting.
I am. With need. With nerves. With the want that coils low in my belly and rises in waves.
His fingers curl gently around me, and my head tips back against the wall, a breath leaving me in a stuttered moan. I feel so exposed, so completely open beneath him, every muscle taut and waiting.
He strokes slowly, his thumb brushing the sensitive head, teasing me with the lightest touch that only stokes the fire rather than easing it. The rhythm is maddening—intentional.
"Zander," I breathe, trying to grind my hips forward, seeking more friction, more pressure. But he holds me steady.
"Easy, sweetheart," he says, his voice hoarse and barely tethered.
"Let me take care of you."
He shifts, pressing closer, his mouth trailing down the column of my throat. His lips find the hollow beneath my jaw, kissing, sucking lightly until he draws a sound from deep in my chest. The weight of his body against mine is almost unbearable, his arousal pressing against my hip through the fabric of his slacks.
His hand leaves me, and I nearly whimper at the loss. But then he slides his fingers lower, between my thighs. The touch is feather-light at first, tracing along the curve of my inner thigh, and then finally—he finds me again. Lower. More intimate.
My legs twitch, a breath escaping as he presses just enough to feel the heat of me.
"You're so responsive," he whispers, brushing his fingers through slickness that makes us both inhale sharply. "So ready."
I can barely speak, my throat thick with tension and unspoken desire.
He pushes gently, easing the tip of one finger inside, and my breath catches, muscles tightening instinctively.
"Relax," he murmurs against my ear, kissing just beneath it. "I've got you."
He works slowly, with aching care. Every movement is a promise. I cling to the sensation, my body already chasing more, already trying to pull him deeper. It's maddening and perfect and not nearly enough.
"It's not…" I manage, breathless. "It's not enough."
He laughs softly, almost pained. "Greedy."
Another finger joins the first, and I cry out softly, the stretch sharper but welcome. My hips shift again, trying to meet him, to take more. Zander doesn't let me move.
He murmurs something into my skin, something in a language I don't understand, but the tone alone has my knees going weak. He adjusts his grip on my wrists, holding me in place as his fingers move with increasing certainty, learning me.
His lips find mine again, kissing away the sound that escapes when he curls his fingers just right.
I shudder, my whole body jerking at the sudden jolt of pleasure. He finds that spot again, this time slower, dragging it out, watching my face.
"That's it," he whispers.
"There you are."
The room is too hot. My skin is too tight. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. And still he doesn't stop.
The sounds between us are damp and soft, rhythmic and obscene. I can't stop shaking. I don't want to.
He finally releases my hands, and they fall around his shoulders instantly, dragging him closer, anchoring myself to him.
I'm nearly undone, and yet I don't want this to end. Not yet. Not while he looks at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
He pulls back slightly, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You okay?" he asks, voice rough.
I nod, dazed.
"Better than okay."