“Oil. Massage oil if you have it, anything oil if you don’t.”

Her heart jumped. Stuttered. Stammered. Began to accelerate. She was so not ready for this. “Um, Fyodor.”

“Where?” His voice was clipped.

“It’s in the third bin.”

He found it, shut the doors on the cupboard carefully and returned to the bedroom. “I’m going to push your tank out of the way. Don’t freak out on me. I’m just going to give you a massage to help you sleep.”

She wasn’t certain she could handle his hands on her body without going up in flames, but it was better than him insisting they have sex. A little of the tension eased in her as he sat on the bed beside her. Close. Very close. She pulled him into her lungs with every breath she took. Her lips tingled and she wanted to touch them, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers. That brought the memory of his taste. So good. So wild. He was addicting. She knew for certain she wanted him to kiss her again and that was dangerous and perverse when she was telling him absolutely no to sex. All right, so it wasn’t absolute.

“Stop thinking about sex. You’re making me hard.”

“You’re always hard. That isn’t me.” She said it without thinking and then bit her lip. Why in the world did she have to have a sassy mouth? She usually just thought her sass and smiled sweetly. He seemed to like her sass, and right now, in the bedroom, it was far too intimate between them.

“It’s you.”

Just the way he said it, his voice decisive. Low. Seductive. She didn’t need him to seduce her with his voice—she was already there.

He pushed her tank up slowly. Not fast. Slowly. She felt his breath on her bare skin. Warm. Soothing. The pads of his fingers brushed lightly. Seductively. Every nerve ending in her body awakened. She felt the pulse of her heart hammering secretly between her legs. His breath was closer. Closer still. Her lashes drifted down and there was one fleeting thought of self-preservation, but then his lips touched her. Barely there. A brush.

Electricity arched through her. Bright. Hot. A sizzling fire that sank into her veins and seemed to settle there. His gentleness was so unexpected, so unlike his dangerous demeanor, it disarmed her every time. There was no thought of running, only of lying there, drifting into a world of pure feeling, her body not her own.

His mouth moved up her spine, his lips claiming every inch of her backbone. She felt the nip of his teeth and the soothing lap of his tongue, but mostly, the whisper-soft touch of his lips on her skin. The blood in her veins turned to molten lava, a slow spread of heat that turned her body to liquid pleasure.