Page 77 of Jump on Three
I fell into the gray.
Pushing up on my toes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought my lips to his. It was a hard press, seeking and finding the sensation my mind was craving.
Ivan reared back, away from my wanting mouth, his brow in a deep furrow. “What was that, Evelyn?”
My lips were tingling even as my stomach plummeted and shame reddened my face. “I’m sorry. I—”
He jerked me into him, his fingers sliding into my hair. “I told you never to be sorry. And blyat, please never be sorry for putting your mouth on mine.”
“All right.”
I touched my lips to his again, this time more carefully. Instead of pushing me away, his fingers slid deeper into my hair, and he dipped his face so our mouths could do more than just brush.
My lips parted, and his tongue swept inside, gingerly meeting mine. A light touch, a flick, then a slide. He tasted of mint and yearning. I tried to rise higher on my toes so I could have more of him. We were too far apart for the way I wanted to kiss him.
Ivan must have felt the same. Dragging me against him, he lifted me off my feet and carried me to the armchair tucked in the corner, sitting with me in his lap. I plastered myself to his chest, his embrace around my middle warm and deliciously tight. The pressure in front and behind me put me into an almost meditative state, where the outside world faded and our connection brightened.
I brought my hands to his face. The layer of scruff on his jaw scratched my palms and a spot inside my brain that made me tremble. It felt so good to smooth my hands back and forth I moaned into his mouth. Ivan responded, his tongue lashing mine, teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
He stroked my hair like it was the finest silk. Carefully, he indulged, running it through his fingers in slow motion. The gentle tug at my scalp filled my stomach with warmth and liquefied my bones. I melted into his chest and let my fingers glide down his neck to rest on his swallow. That skin was as smooth as the rest, which seemed impossible.
I couldn’t stop myself from commenting on it, even though it meant I had to stop kissing him to do so. “It doesn’t feel like anything.”
He cocked his head, his eyes trailing from the top of my head to my lips. “What did you say?”
“Your swallow. It should feel like something.”
He didn’t speak for a long time. So long, I tore my eyes away from his tattoo to look at his face. He was frowning at me, a deep crevice between his brows.
“Are you upset?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I do not understand what you mean. My swallow?”
“Yes.” I hadn’t learned the names of birds in my Russian lessons yet, so I couldn’t translate for him. I traced the lines of his tattoo, from the pointy wing to the beak. “Your tattoo. The bird is a swallow. I thought I would feel the lines, but if I close my eyes, it’s just skin.”
“Ah.” He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut. “Lastochka. That is how we say it.”
“Lastochka,” I repeated.
His eyes reopened, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You have a good accent. You make a simple word sound very pretty.”
“Thank you. But why were you frowning at me that way?”
His palm slid up my ribs to my shoulder. “When you said it didn’t feel like anything, I thought you meant when you kissed me.”
I gasped, pulling back to frown at him. “No. That’s not what I meant. Even if I did think that I would never be so rude to say it. I simply would never kiss you again.”
He rolled his lips together, but it did nothing to disguise his grin. “Does that mean you will kiss me again?”
“I would like to. Do you want me to?”
His hand traveled from my shoulder to cup my nape. “Very much, angel.”
“Okay.” I leaned forward and brushed my lips over his. “Even that I feel, Ivan.”
“I feel it too.”
He nabbed my bottom lip with his teeth, and electric sparks shimmered behind my eyelids.