My heart drummed.
My thighs clenched.
My * pulsed.
And then he moved. He moved until he was flush to my front. Flesh to flesh, sharing space. “Talia…,” he whispered, his warm breath skirting down the side of my neck.
“Zaal…,” I whispered in reply, my eyes closing at his nearness.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head. Zaal hissed through his teeth as he glanced down. He towered over me, dwarfed me with his sheer size.
Zaal’s hands smoothed up over my waist, teasing me inch by inch. A low rumble sounded in Zaal’s throat, making my * flood with wetness. Then his hands skirted over my breasts, up the sides of my neck, and landed on my cheeks.
We stood there, suspended in the moment; his hands cupping my cheeks, breathing in each other’s air. The pulse in my neck raced, then my eyelashes fluttered in anticipation of what was to come.
Our desperate gazes met.
He took a deep breath.
Then he whispered, “You are … for me?”
And I knew I was done.
Trampled, heart-flattened, done.
You are … for me? Four simple words that smashed through any barrier between us.
“Zaal,” I moaned and, with my hands threading over his broad round shoulders, I lifted to my tiptoes. Zaal’s eyes widened in surprise as I drew in my mouth toward his. His hands, on each side of my face, tightened. His breath slipped through his lips with a nervous exhale.
Eyes remaining open, I brushed my lips over his. Zaal stilled. He panted into my mouth, which hovered in anticipation next to his. Zaal’s warm sweet breath caused my * to ache with need.
I expected Zaal to crush his lips to mine. That a man of his size, with such a primal persona, to overpower me, to control me, to dominate me. But he stayed still, body tensed. I pulled back slightly, only to see his eyebrows drawn. His pupils were dilated, the whites of his eyes shining brightly. His nostrils flared. The three moles to the left of his cheek had me entranced as they twitched with nerves.
Then it hit me—Zaal didn’t know why my lips were touching his.
I sighed. The heat of realization melted in my chest. He’d never been kissed.
Zaal’s hands were cupping my cheeks like his grip was the only thing keeping him grounded. Keeping him from falling.
Smoothing my hands up the sides of his thick neck, I threaded them through his now-soft ebony hair and lay them on his cheeks. Zaal’s eyelids lowered, his anxious eyes fluttering to relax at my touch.
“Zaal?” I whispered. His eyes bolted open, that jade green stare catching mine. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Frown lines laced his forehead. His cheek twitched. “I … I don’t understand. You speak … differently from what I know.”
English, I thought. He struggled with understanding English.
Zaal’s face searched mine. He was Georgian. I didn’t speak Georgian, but most Georgian Mafia knew Russian. I prayed he did, too.
“Potzeluy,” I offered. Zaal froze, his gaze drifting above my head. His expression was one of deep concentration, as though he was trying to remember how he knew the word. “Do you know the word?” I pushed.
His head dropped and he nodded. “I think … I think…” His head lifted and he pulled me to his lips with his hands still on my face. My heart fired off beats like a cannon in battle. His lips moved until they hovered next to mine. “They, our lips meet. They meld.” A crease between his eyebrows formed. He asked, “How? How do I know this?”
I swallowed as his panicked eyes searched mine for an answer. Before I could reply, his face paled. His hands shook against my cheeks. Zaal’s eyes squeezed shut. His lips parted. “I think … I think someone used to kiss me … before I belonged to Master?” Sweat beaded on Zaal’s forehead. My stomach fractured at the lost look on his face. “Tal … Talia … who would have done that?”