Yelena honestly didn't know how long she'd been kissing Mika. Time blurred, minutes or hours dissolving into the heat of their embrace.
But for the first time since last night, she didn't care—didn't care about anything except the press of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the delicious feeling of his tongue dancing with hers.
Yesterday, Mika had been utterly dominant, overwhelming, unyielding, leaving her breathless beneath his weight and his want. She'd barely been able to move, barely been able to do anything except clutch him and surrender.
But now, something was different.
She was no longer pinned helpless. She could move, could act, and she did. Her arms slid up around his neck, pulling him down to her with desperate, greedy hands.
Without thinking, her legs curled around his hips, locking him to her as though she wanted to erase any space between them, to feel every last inch of him.
