“Thanks, buddy.”
Mussorgsky and Stravinsky whine for attention, too. I greet them the same way, letting them run their tongues over my cheeks. “You guys are the best!” I say, laughing.
I lift my gaze and see Tolyan watching, holding a glass of clear liquid that I’m certain is vodka. His eyes are soft now, their colors deeper somehow. A corner of his mouth is curved upward, and suddenly it’s impossible to look away. I can’t remember a time when he’s appeared this approachable.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is an awesome way to celebrate my birthday.”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday,” he says with a small smile.
Warmth blossoms in my heart, spreading all through my body so that my fingertips tingle and toes curl. Even though more people than ever before wished me happy birthday today, hearing it from his lips makes the day seem complete.
Tolyan feeds the Dobermans, who immediately wolf down their food with gusto. Then we sit at the table for dinner. He pours me a glass of dry white wine to go with the meal.
We clink glasses. The food is good, and the company’s even better. He doesn’t talk much, but I chatter as usual, then after a while we fall into comfortable silence. I’m aware of his movements, the methodical way he uses his utensils to eat the curry and rice, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows his vodka, the sheer enjoyment he seems to get from the simple act of eating. And watching him fills me with contentment…and a small bit of restlessness. I wish I could reach out and touch him. Just brush fingertips or something…
But I pull myself back. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I’m twenty-six years old, and I don’t know how to act on this attraction. I haven’t felt anything like this before. In high school, it was different, just kids shyly or brashly going for it. Now I’m an adult, and I don’t have the youthful energy, nerve and optimism of teens anymore. I can’t imagine ways to make up for my lack of practice. I haven’t dated or been close to anybody in the last eight years.
When we’re done with dinner, I help him clean up the table.
“You should sit and relax. Have some more wine,” Tolyan says, gesturing at the table.
“I want to help.” I smile as I toss the cartons in the trash and come out of the kitchen into the living room. “You’ve been amazing. This is the best birthday I had in almost ten years.”
And because I can’t stop the welling of emotions in my heart, I give in to my impulse and hug him, wrapping my arms around his massive frame.
He stiffens for a second.
Oh shit. He doesn’t want to be hugged.
Embarrassed and awkward, I start to pull back, but his arms go around me. It’s my turn to tense, with surprise, then almost immediately I relax, my heart thudding. I tilt my head and look at him.
As seconds tick by, his eyes soften with something that feels like affection. My heart is racing faster.
“It can still be better.” His voice is low. “I haven’t sung you the happy birthday song.”
“Um…” I blink, unsure how to respond.
He frowns a little like he can’t believe he’s saying this. “I’ve…never done it for a woman.”
Pleasure unfurls. He has a way of making me feel like I’m incredibly important. “Okay. Thank you. I’m listening.”
He holds me like we’re dancing, his warm palm against my waist, and his other hand cradling my much smaller one gently. His cheek presses against mine. I can smell the subtle scent of him, all woodsy and male.
Everywhere we touch, I tingle. Air is thicker and sweeter, like honey.
He sings, a little slower than usual, prolonging the moment. His voice is surprisingly melodious, a baritone with a hint of sexy rasp. We sway to the sound of his voice, his hands on me, his breath tickling. His lips are so close to my neck. Every note of the song feels like the ghost of a kiss.
My blood thickens with desire. It pulses through me, lighting my senses with excitement.
I inhale shakily. Never before have I felt this intense attraction and need. It’s like being with Tolyan, feeling safe with him, is bringing all my senses and desires to life.
When the sweet song ends, I tilt my head, so our lips are a hairsbreadth away from each other. His eyes bore into mine, then shift lower.
My head booms with need. It suffuses me until my entire body seems to be one throbbing mass of desire.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper.
“My pleasure,” he murmurs, sending hot shivers along my spine.
I lose my balance slightly, my fingers clutching his hand. It’s like I’m slightly drunk. What little distance between us disappears as I press my mouth against his.
He takes over instantly, his lips and tongue brushing, molding, licking, cajoling. Every touch stokes the lust burning through my veins. I wrap my hands around his neck and run my fingers through the short, silky texture of his hair.
He smells like the cigars he loves to puff in the evening—spice and coffee. Underneath it is the scent of his skin, warm and intoxicating. I can taste the wine we shared and him, all wild and powerful.
Pleasure like I’ve never known before courses through me like white-hot fire. I move closer, clinging and kissing him like it’s the only thing that matters in the universe. I crave him like a drug, and every touch intensifies the delirious high.
I tug at his shirt, untucking it. I slip my hands underneath, bold and greedy. His skin’s taut over the gorgeous, lean muscles I’ve admired so many mornings. The tingling sensation starts at my fingertips, then spreads all over like wildfire.
I glide my palms over his ridged abs and sides and trace the lines of his powerful back. All the while, I keep kissing him, keep pressing close, and revel in the feel of his rock-hard erection pushing against my belly.
The sound of his roughening breath is like an aphrodisiac. My underwear’s already soaked through. A painful ache makes my nipples tingle, while the emptiness between my legs throbs.
“I want you,” I murmur, my voice thick with desire.
“Are you sure, little fawn?” he whispers against my wet mouth, tender from the endless kiss.
I give him a small, but most affirmative, nod.
“Once I start, I might not be able to stop.”
He’s giving me a last warning, but instead of making me scared, excitement sparks like fireworks. “Who’s talking about stopping?” I wrap my limbs around him.
His eyes are narrowed with barely leashed passion. He reclaims my mouth. The kiss is unrestrained. Out of control. He devours my mouth like he’s starving for all of me. And I’ve been hungry for him for so, so long. Maybe ever since that jogging trail encounter, when he appeared like an awe-inspiring avatar of retribution. My guardian angel.
He glides his hands underneath my top. They’re large, hot and callused. He touches me all over, and it’s like pouring gasoline over the fire burning inside me.
When my back hits something soft, I realize I’m lying on a mattress. Not my room.
Faint whines come from someplace behind him. He doesn’t turn. “Out,” he says in a gravelly voice.
The dogs leave, and he quickly gets up and shuts the door, exiling his birthday-coned Dobermans.
I can barely take a breath before he’s on me again, pulling my clothes away and throwing them over his shoulder. He’s more desperate now, his movements impatient. I reach for him and yank at his clothes. I want him as naked as me, as vulnerable and needy as me.