I swallowed at the sight of him. I fought for breath at his savageness; his brutal, primitive presence, and I lost my sensibilities.
Driven by instinct, I stepped forward, Zaal’s eyes immediately snapping up to meet with mine. His nostrils flared, his taut traps flexed, and his hands clenched at his sides. It was predatorily, and I felt like I was his prey. Though I wasn’t afraid. No, the opposite; turned on, compelled, drawn in, but never afraid.
Zaal’s cheek twitched as I approached, and I stopped just inches away. I fluttered my eyes from the view of his chest to his eyes; his eyes were already fixed on mine.
“Zaal…,” I whispered, hearing the longing clear in my tone. “Do you not want to cleanse?”
His pectoral muscles, marred with deep scars and ink, pounded heavily as his breathing grew labored. “You,” he rasped. My stomach and thighs clenched. Reaching down, he picked up my hand and laid it flat on his torso. I gasped when he began to steer my palm over his abdominal muscles, his jade eyes blazing with need. “You cleanse me,” he said, his clipped English and heavy Georgian accent growing thicker. “You touch me.”
He pushed my hand ever lower. My breath hitched as my palm ran over the head of his cock. “Zaal,” I moaned as my free hand lifted to rest on his bulging bicep. I was overcome by him, by this inexplicable pull between us.
Zaal’s hand over mine, we placed our joined fingers over his hard length. His jaw clenched and a growl rumbled in his throat. His eyelids grew leaden. I watched in fascination as his long black lashes swept against his high cheeks, his tongue licking along his full bottom lip.
My index finger, free from his hold, ran along the tip, pre-come kissing my skin. Zaal stilled, a deep groan surged from his lips, and before I’d known it, his strong hands had fisted the material of my thin sweater and ripped it in two.
Instantly, my breasts were bared.
Zaal panted as if he couldn’t draw his next breath without touching me. And my tether was strained. I thought of the necklace around my neck, its significance, the memory, the giver of the gift. But I became lost in that trusting sea of jade. The pull of Zaal’s draw, and the truth that I’d never felt this viscerally connected to another person in all my life, well, I tried to push it away … but could not.
Zaal was without restraint, tormented by the primal need to take. To take me. To own me. I could see it in every tense muscle, every protruding vein. He wanted to fuck me.
And, Lord forgive me, I wanted that, too. Damn the consequences, I wanted the man I’d sworn to always hate. I was fired with need.
Leaning to his side, I lifted Zaal’s red scarred wrists, once manacled by shackles and chains. I brought them to my breasts, my hands covering his as I silently urged him to touch.
Long calloused fingers grasped at my flesh. Hot shivers traveled like flares to the apex of my thighs. His touch alone sent me close to the edge. If this flicker of pleasure was a taste of what was to come, I wasn’t sure there would ever be any going back.
For a moment I had to question whether this betrayal with Zaal—against my family—was worth it. I cast my gaze across his identity tattoo, the scars from Lord knows what, and then his face, open, trusting, and handsome. Those beautiful innocent eyes. I sighed deeply, a sense of accepting peace flowing through me. It was worth it. Pure instinct told me he was worth it.
I chose to follow my heart.
Zaal’s face flushed as his hands explored. Meeting his gaze, I couldn’t look away from his hungry face as I snapped the button of my jeans. But Zaal looked down to watch, his hands palming my flesh more and more, his fingers grazing over my erect nipples.
I rolled my jeans down my legs and kicked them to the side of the room. Nerves overwhelmed me, engulfing my skin with hot shivers.
Tension built to a heady storm as our body heat clashed. Zaal’s rough hand still stroked my skin, his fingers tracing south.
I stood only in my black lace thong, a flimsy barrier from being completely bare, completely vulnerable.