I smile at him, and he makes a funny noise in his throat before pulling me into him and kissing me. His lips are full and soft, the scent of bergamot is citrussy around me, and his body is hard and already familiar against mine. And even though we’re standing in a dark, dusty library foyer, it’s bloody epic and everything I never knew I needed.

Chapter Thirteen

Two Weeks Later

Misha

I come awake slowly, lying with my eyes closed and feeling the sun warm on my face and the softness of the sheets against my body. I move slightly and the scent of sex rises up in a dark and warm puff of air. My dick hardens instantly and I open my eyes to find my bed partner.

He’s lying next to me on his stomach with his face turned away. His long hair is a wavy blond mess and the sun plays upon it, glittering in the strands. The sheet is pushed down his body, just barely clinging to the swell of his arse, and his back is a long, lean olive stretch of skin. One leg is out of the sheets, and I’ve learnt that he seems to achieve total comfort by being halfway in and halfway out of the covers. Like he’s doing the hokey cokey with the duvet. Anything else and he gets edgy and dramatically fussy, as if the sheets weigh more than a ton.

I edge closer and flatten myself against him, sighing happily at the feel of his body against mine. His entire gorgeous body—with its soft silky skin and hair-roughened surfaces—is mine to do as I like with. Like a long blond playground.

I rub my fingers over the freckles on his shoulders, smudges of colour as if he’s been dusted with cinnamon. He shifts position and sighs, the sound a soft exhalation in the stillness of the bedroom.

I abandon his freckles, fascinating as they are, and cuddle closer. Yes, I cuddle closer. I shake my head. What the fuck is happening to me that I, Misha Lebedinsky, am now cuddling up to my bedmate who is unconscious so my motive isn’t even sex? I bite my lip. This is cuddling for cuddling’s sake. How far have I fallen?