“Do you cook at all?”
“No. Never learned,” Mitya admitted. “You?”
“No. Sadly. I’d like to say I’m great in the kitchen the way my grandmother and mother were, but I got more of my father’s genes than my mother’s. I like fast cars.”
“You have your father’s eyes. The color is unique. Very beautiful. Even on your father the color, shape and lashes are very feminine.”
She did smile. She couldn’t help it. “Mom teased him all the time about his ‘girly’ lashes. She said she was so jealous, but she had beautiful eyes as well.”
“Does Annalise cook?”
“No. What about Sevastyan?”
“He might burn down a house if he tried. I don’t think he’s ever in the kitchen unless someone is baking. He has a fondness for sweets. It’s always his idea to go to Evangeline’s bakery. Well,” he hedged. “Not recently. When I told you I was there often, I wanted to go every day after that.”
“But you didn’t.” She closed her eyes and let his hands soothe her. “You stayed away. I think that means you have more discipline than I do. I almost stopped going there after I met Ashe and Evangeline. I really like both of them, and I was a little afraid whoever wanted me dead might follow me into the shop and try to shoot me there.”
His hands stilled and then he pushed her thick hair to one side. She felt the touch of his mouth on the nape of her neck. Her sex clenched. Her pulse jumped. Blood pounded through her clit. Even her breasts ached. All from that one touch. His mouth on her bare skin.
“I don’t like the idea of anyone shooting you, Ania.”
His mouth wandered lower, following her spine. His lips whispered over her, barely there, but she felt that touch through skin and bone straight to her heart. She didn’t want to love him. She didn’t want her heart involved at all. She was leopard. She knew what his leopard claiming hers meant. Still, he would rule her if she loved him.
She knew herself. She wanted a family like her own. She wanted to have a relationship like her parents’, all-encompassing. They would have been happy regardless of where they were or if they had money, even if there were no children. Their lives had been rich and fulfilled, extremely happy because they had each other. She would want to give that to Mitya, especially because he’d never had it.
“I don’t particularly like it either, Mitya,” she admitted, trying not to move under his ministrations.
His hands moved on her, stroking caresses over her bare skin. Where was her racerback tee? She’d deliberately worn her least sexy pajamas. She was one of those women who loved lingerie. She liked to sleep in silk or stretchy soft fabric that was sexy as hell. She didn’t have much in the way of plain.
The tee was around her neck, pushed completely out of the way, and his hands stroked along her sides so that her breasts felt inflamed with his touch. He caught her around the waist and simply rolled her over, into him. Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers. Fire reigned. Hot flames that consumed her poured down her throat and invaded her insides. Flames rolled through her stomach and settled in her groin. Deep. Hot. Pooling there like a bubbling lake of pure magma. Heat rushed through her veins, fiery arteries branching in every direction to carry need through her to every cell.
His kisses were pure fire. His taste pure addiction. Each time he lifted his mouth just an inch from hers, she chased after him, needing more. He took her somewhere else. Somewhere perfect, a blazing paradise she wanted to spend her life in. He drove every thought from her head, leaving her with nothing but feeling. Nothing but cleansing fire.
His hands went to her breasts, stroking more heat. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and she cried out as the heat burst through her. There seemed to be a straight line from her nipples to her clit, and arrows of fire pierced low and wicked. He trailed kisses over her chin and throat to the curve of her breasts.
His mouth was hot, a cavern of blazing heat as he suckled strongly, his tongue flicking and flattening her left nipple alternately. All the while he tugged and rolled her right one so that her hips were bucking, and the thin pair of pajama bottoms felt like a terrible weight on her skin.
She didn’t have a single thought to make him stop. Not one. She could only think of him. His hands, his mouth. His teeth. She hadn’t known the scrape of teeth against her skin could feel so good. His hands slid down her rib cage and over her hips. Lower, taking the material with them, so the cool air fanned her heated skin.