The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 29: A Night With The Devil pt2

Lydia sat on his lap, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her legs straddled his, the thin fabric of her nightgown barely clinging to her skin. Ivan’s hands rested on her waist, his thumb slowly moving in circles as if he was holding himself back. Her lips were still parted from the moan she’d let slip—his name, soft and needy.

"Ivan..." she breathed again, her voice barely a whisper.

That sound—his name from her lips like a plea—did something to him.

He sat upright quickly, his arms tightening around her. His chest pressed against hers, their skin hot. His breath came fast, uneven, like he was trying to stay in control but couldn’t. Lydia’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for him again, but this time, it was her who leaned in.

She kissed him.

At first, it was gentle. Her lips moved slowly over his, savoring the feel of him. But that soft kiss wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not for him. The need between them had been building, waiting, too long.

She kissed him harder, pushing closer, her fingers gripping his hair. Ivan responded instantly. His arms wrapped tightly around her body, his lips pressing back with a hunger that surprised even him. Their mouths moved together, deep and messy, filled with desperation and heat.

He kissed her like he needed her—like he couldn’t breathe without her.

Lydia moaned softly into his mouth, and he groaned at the sound. His hands slid down to her thighs, gripping them before moving up under her nightgown. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, slow, teasing. She gasped against his lips, her hips grinding slightly on his lap.

He pulled back only for a breath, eyes searching hers. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth before he leaned in again. This time, he kissed the corner of her lips, then her jaw, then her ear. "You drive me insane," he whispered.

Her fingers trailed up under his shirt, palms gliding over the warmth of his skin, the sharp ridges of his abs, the scar above his ribs. She pressed her lips to his throat, kissing softly, then nipping just beneath his ear. Ivan cursed under his breath and pulled her tighter, his control slipping with every sound she made.

Her nightgown shifted as she moved, one strap falling from her shoulder. Ivan’s eyes dropped, breath catching at the exposed skin. He brushed his lips over her bare shoulder, slow and reverent, then lower, down the slope of her collarbone, tasting her with every kiss.

Lydia’s hands slid down to the waistband of his pants, her fingers dipping beneath the fabric without going further. She could feel him, the tension in his body, the way he trembled just barely beneath her touch.

He kissed her there—her chest, her shoulder, her collarbone—with a reverence that burned more than lust. Every press of his lips made her want more. She arched into him, desperate for friction, and he let out a low groan that vibrated against her skin.

And then his lips traveled lower.

Ivan shifted slightly, slipping the other strap of her nightgown down. It fell off her shoulders, revealing her bare breasts. He stared for a second, his breath catching, before leaning in.

He kissed the swell of one breast first, his lips slow and warm against her skin. Lydia’s breath hitched. He moved to the other, doing the same, kissing the soft curve before finally taking one nipple into his mouth.

Her head fell back instantly, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. His tongue circled the sensitive bud before he sucked, slow and deep, drawing another moan from her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he worked her with his mouth, switching to the other nipple, teasing her with the same agonizing care.

She squirmed beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat and sensation. His hands held her firmly, guiding her hips to grind gently against him as he sucked on her breast again, his tongue flicking against her peak before pulling it into his mouth once more.

Her entire body was on fire.

"Ivan..." she moaned, breathless.

He looked up at her, lips wet, eyes dark with hunger. "What on earth have you done to me?"

She whispered, "I want you..."

Ivan’s hand moved to her back, holding her close. He laid her down on the bed beneath him, gently but with a kind of urgency he couldn’t hide. His body hovered over hers, his mouth claiming hers again, rougher this time. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, holding him in place.

He groaned when their bodies pressed close, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric.

Lydia’s fingers roamed across his chest, down his abs, feeling the warmth of his skin, every scar, every inch of him. Her hands were shaking. Her body was burning.

She moaned again, louder this time. His name slipped from her lips like a prayer.

"Ivan..."

He kissed her harder, his hand sliding between her legs again. He touched her slowly, his fingers moving gently over the wet fabric. She was already trembling. Her breath hitched as his touch grew bolder, and she arched her back, wanting more.

Ivan leaned in and kissed the curve of her breast, his lips soft and warm against her sensitive skin. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him there as her body writhed beneath him. His name left her lips again, broken and breathless.

"Tell me to stop," he said suddenly, his voice low and ragged.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Instead, she brought his face back to hers and kissed him with everything she had. Her body arched beneath his, her hips lifting, searching for relief against the hardness pressing between them. He moved with her, grinding slowly, his control hanging by a thread.

"God, Lydia..." he growled against her lips.

Her hands grabbed at him, her nails lightly dragging over his skin. She couldn’t take it anymore.

"Ivan, please..."

Then—he stopped.

His hand froze. His body tensed. His lips pulled away from hers. For a second, he just stared down at her, his breathing harsh. Lydia blinked, confused, her body still aching.

"What...?" she whispered, barely able to speak.

Ivan sat up suddenly. His hands dropped to his sides, his jaw clenched. He didn’t look at her.

"I can’t," he muttered.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, staring at him. "Did I... do something wrong?"

He didn’t answer. He ran a hand through his hair, his back turned slightly to her now.

"No," he said after a long pause. "It’s not you..."

Lydia sat there, her body still burning, heart racing. Her nightgown was half open, her skin flushed, lips swollen from their kisses. She didn’t know what to say. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

Ivan finally stood from the bed, pacing a bit like he couldn’t breathe. Like he was at war with himself.

Lydia stayed on the bed, her body aching, still craving his touch, his mouth, his everything.

The silence between them was heavy.

Ivan glanced back at her once, eyes filled with something—desire, confusion, guilt—but he looked away quickly.

She didn’t understand.

But she knew one thing—he wanted her.

And she wanted him even more now.