He tugged on her lower lip, biting gently as he pulled down the lace cup of her bra, his knuckles brushing against the soft swell of her breast. He pulled back and looked down. Her breast was perfect. Her nipple small and hard...pink. He couldn’t resist, bending his head and exploring that hard tip with his tongue, feeding her to himself as if she was a succulent morsel...
* * *
Zoe was drowning in heat. Sensations were piling on top of sensations so fast she couldn’t breathe. Maks’s mouth was on her breast, tugging, licking, and it was the most exquisite form of torture she’d ever been subjected to.
Then he was pulling up her top and exposing both breasts to his hands, his mouth.
Zoe’s head rolled back. His thigh was between her legs, where she ached. As if he knew exactly what she wanted he moved subtly, so that the sensation spiked like a sharp knife-point.
It was too much... She couldn’t get her head around how fast things were moving. In spite of all her rationale, telling herself this was different—way different from what had happened before—she suddenly felt trapped. Very aware of Maks’s weight on top of her, holding her down.
She put her hands against his chest and pushed, but he didn’t move. Panic flared, eclipsing pleasure. She pushed harder.
Maks pulled back, his eyes molten, cheeks flushed. ‘Che cosa, cara?’
He wasn’t even talking English.
Panic was making Zoe fight for breath. ‘I can’t... I can’t breathe.’
Maks reared back. ‘Zoe? What is it?’
She scrambled up and back, drawing her knees up to her chest. She shook her head. Already the waves of panic were receding, leaving her feeling cold and ridiculous. This wasn’t the same situation.
‘I... I’m sorry. It was just all going so fast... I felt trapped.’
In contrast to hers, Maks’s clothes looked a bit rumpled but were still on. She felt dishevelled. Awkwardly, she straightened her clothes.
Maks got up and went over to the drinks cabinet. He came back holding two glasses.
He handed her one. It held dark golden liquid. ‘Here, take this.’
She took a sip, watching as he threw the liquid in his own glass back. She winced inwardly. The drink had a warming, numbing effect.
He sat down, giving her plenty of space. ‘What was that, Zoe?’ Maks looked pale. ‘Did you think I was going to...to force you?’
She shook her head, an immediate and visceral rejection of that rising up inside her. ‘No. No. Not at all.’
She couldn’t think straight when he was looking at her like that. She put down her glass and got up from the couch, pacing away from Maks. Walking to a window that reflected back her own image. It was dark outside.
She owed him an explanation. At no point had she really felt unsafe or pressured. It had been her own demons.
She turned around. ‘Someone else did, though. My ex-boyfriend. I trusted him and he...’
Maks surged to his feet. ‘He raped you?’
Zoe looked at Maks. His face was stark. She shook her head. ‘No, but he almost did. I managed to stop him, get him out of my apartment.’
The memory of that awful night made Zoe shiver. The awful full, ugly truth of why Dean had sought her out again.
‘Who was he?’
Maks’s voice
was like steel. In that moment she had a premonition of what it would be like to face a far less benign Maks. She’d faced him once before, when they’d first met.
‘Someone from my past. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone now. He’s not in this country.’
Maks was finding it hard to absorb everything Zoe was telling him. She looked so vulnerable, standing on her own, arms folded tight across her chest. The thought of someone forcing themselves on her made him feel sick. But also livid. She was so petite. Slight... He wanted to go over to her, but he felt she wouldn’t want that. Not yet.