Page 32 of Only for Tonight

She swats my chest. “I haven’t been with anyone in almost a year.”

“A year?” I lean in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Then you deserve something special.” I kiss her collarbone. Her sternum. The curve of her ribs. I work my way down slowly—her stomach, her hip, the sensitive skin inside her thigh—and I feel her breath catch with each new spot.

“Alexei . . .” Her voice is breathy, uncertain, like she’s not used to this—someone taking their time with her, making it about her.

“Lie back,” I murmur against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

She does. I peel her leggings and panties off, and when I finally press my mouth to the center of her, she makes a sound that rewires something in my brain permanently. Her fingers find my hair, and I take my time—listening to her, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hips lift off the bed, what makes her say my name like it’s a word she just discovered.

She comes apart slowly and then all at once, her body tightening and then releasing, my name on her lips, her hand gripping my shoulder hard enough that I’ll feel it tomorrow. Which I love.

I kiss my way back up her body—her hip, her stomach, between her breasts, her throat—until I’m lying beside her and she’s blinking at the ceiling with this dazed, half-smile.

“So,” she says eventually, her voice wrecked. “That’s what that’s supposed to feel like.”

Something about the way she says it—like nobody’s ever bothered to do this right for her—makes my chest tighten. I push her hair back from her face and kiss her forehead.

“Did it feel good?” I murmur low.

She nods shyly.

“Then that’s exactly what it’s supposed to feel like.”

She rolls toward me, her hand sliding down my chest, my stomach, tracing the lines of my abs. “My turn.”

“Ryleigh, you don’t have to—”

“Alexei.” She meets my eyes. “Shut up.”

I shut up.

Her mouth follows the path her hand traced—down my chest, across my stomach, lower—pushing my T-shirt out of the way. I unbutton my jeans and Ryleigh’s eager hands shove them down.

When she reaches me, my breath leaves in a rush. She’s careful at first, almost tentative, and then she’s not, and my hand finds her hair and my head falls back against the pillow and I forget my own name.

She’s incredible. Attentive and responsive and devastatingly good at reading every sound I make, and I’m trying to hold on, trying to make this last, but she’s relentless.

“Ryleigh.” Her name comes out strained. “Baby, I’m close.”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away. She stays with me through all of it, and when my body finally lets go, it’s the most intense release I’ve felt in years.

Afterward, she crawls up my body and tucks herself against my side—her head on my chest, her leg thrown over mine, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. I wrap my arm around her and press my lips to the top of her head, and we lie there in the quiet, breathing together, neither of us in any hurry to be anywhere else.

“That was life-altering,” I say.

She lifts her head. “Life-altering?”

“Too much?”

“Little bit.” She lays her head back down. “But I’ll allow it.”

I run my fingers through her hair, slow and steady, and the silence settles around us. Warm. Easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever—falling into bed together, curling up afterward, her breathing evening out against my chest while I stare at the ceiling feeling like the luckiest person alive.

As if on cue, a cry from the next room.

Ryleigh tenses, already starting to sit up.

“I’ve got her.” I press a kiss to her temple and swing my legs off the bed. Pull up my boxers and jeans.