ELEVEN
CAIDEN
I wake up because my brain is already sabotaging me by tracking time.
It’s still dark enough that the corners of the room look murky, and the first thought I have is simple and practical.
It’s Monday. Niko will come, and if I lie here pretending that isn’t true, it won’t buy me anything except a worse start.
Ari is in front of me, my arm thrown over his waist, my hand settled low on his stomach, and his breathing is slow and even. Like this, he’s just a man in a bed in a cabin who is asleep with me because I’m here and he can.
I try to shift without disturbing him, purely out of habit, and his hand tightens on my arm straight away, a reflex that says “stay where you are.”
“Where,” he says, his voice rough.
“Nowhere,” I answer. “Niko will be here soon. We should seriously think about moving.”
He makes a sound that could mean anything; his grip loosens slightly, and I take my time, peeling his fingers away slowly and sliding out of bed.
I pull on joggers, a jumper, and switch the kettle on. I hear Ari shifting in bed behind me, then the next thing I know, he’s standing behind me. His hands slide to my hips, and I let him because it’s easier than pushing him away, and it’s what I want anyway, which is the part I don’t say out loud.
While the kettle boils, I turn enough to look at him. His eyes are clear, and there’s a moment where I think he’s going to make a joke, something biting and light, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steps in, grips my jaw with one hand, and kisses me.
It’s not one of his soft or lazy kisses. It’s a direct assault from his mouth to mine, and I respond automatically because there’s nothing in me that knows how to hold back from him when he does that. So, my hands go to his arse, and I pull him closer.
The kiss deepens slowly but not gently, and when he breaks it, he stays close enough that my breath hits his mouth. “Mm, morning detka,” he murmurs, and then he kisses me again.
We make coffee. Every time I reach for something, he’s there, touching me, his hand on my lower back, fingers gripping the back of my neck — all of it casual and second nature at this point.
I try not to look at the clock, and I fail, because my eyes keep flicking to the place where it sits on the shelf, and the fact that I’m watching it doesn’t change anything except my own patience, and Ari notices because he notices everything.
He reaches out and tips my chin up with his fingers. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Thinking,” he says, and his mouth curves like it’s a joke, but his eyes don’t.
“I’m not thinking,” I lie.
He leans in. “You are,” he says, kissing me again, longer this time, and it works because it shuts my mouth and gives my body something simple to pay attention to, and for a few seconds, I don’t care what day it is.
When we pull apart, I breathe out slowly and set the mug in my hand down before I drop it.
He watches, then reaches for me again, and this time he backs me against the counter, his hips pinning me there, and he kisses me like he’s reminding me that he can still make my brain go quiet whenever he decides.
I let him, because I’m not interested in pretending that I’m above that.
His kiss deepens; my hands rush to his hair, gripping the strands just to fucking ruin them, to feel something give under my fingers the way I’m about to give under him. Also because I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it again.
“Fuck,” I gasp against his lips, my cock already thickening, pressing against my joggers like it’s trying to burst free.
Ari’s answer is his teeth sinking into my bottom lip hard.
The sting shoots straight to my dick, and I groan, my hips jerking forward, grinding against the thick ridge of his erection.
One hand tangles in my hair, his fingers tight against my scalp, forcing my head back so he can trail his mouth down my throat.
His teeth graze my Adam's apple; he bites down, and I hiss, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m going to mark this beautiful body,” he says, his voice rough like gravel, “so every bastard knows you’re out of bounds. ”
A breathless laugh tears out of me. “As if I’d let anyone else touch me.
” Ari’s response is his hands everywhere, pulling at my jumper, tearing it up over my head before his mouth finds my chest, then lower, to my nipple, biting down hard enough to make me jerk.
“Fuck—!” The word turns into a moan as he sucks it after, his free hand already working at my joggers, yanking them down in one rough motion.
Cool air hits my cock; his fingers wrap around my shaft, stroking, before he gives it a sharp tug that has my hips bucking. “Mm, you’re dripping, detka,” he whispers, but his own breath is shaky, his cock strains against his bottoms, like it’s trying to tear through.
“Shut up and take me back to bed,” I shoot back, but my words slur as he spits into his hand, wrapping his fingers around my length, stroking me slowly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my balls and making me whimper.
Ari’s answer is to step back just long enough to shove his bottoms down his thighs.
I reach for him, but he bats my hand away, his eyes burning into mine as he grips my hips and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing.
The cold wood bites into my bare arse, but I barely feel it.
Ari’s between my legs in an instant, his hands sliding up my thighs.
“Bed’s too far,” he growls, his voice a dark promise as he leans in, his cock brushing against mine, the contact electric.
I don’t argue, not when his mouth crashes back onto mine, his tongue fucking past my lips.
And definitely not when his hands slide under my arse, tilting my hips up, spreading me open.
His fingers tease over my hole, and I gasp into the kiss, my body already aching and desperate for him.
Ari pulls back just enough to squirt lube into his palm, his eyes never leaving mine as he strokes himself, his cock glistening.
“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says, his voice a rough whisper.
A shudder runs through me from the first press of his cock against me, the thick head stretching me open slowly as he pushes in. I groan, my fingers digging into his arms, my nails breaking skin. Ari hisses, but he doesn’t stop, his hips rolling forward bit by bit until he bottoms out.
Then he pulls back and slams home, his hips snapping forward, his cock hitting that spot inside me that knocks my brain silent.
“Blyat’ Caiden,” he grunts. I can only moan in response, my cock leaking against my stomach, my body moving with his, meeting every thrust. The counter creaks under us, the wood digs into my back, but I don’t care.
All that matters is Ari — his scent, his heat, the way he fills me so perfectly it hurts.
His pace quickens, his thrusts turn frantic, his fingers bruising where they grip my hips. I stroke myself along with his thrusts; my hand is a blur, my cock throbbing, I’m so close—
“Coming—” I gasp, my body tightening, my orgasm coiling low in my gut. Ari leans over me, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he fucks me harder, deeper, swelling inside me.
“Oh, God. I love this ass,” he moans, his voice raw.
“Come with me, detka,” he orders, but he doesn’t even need to; I’m already there with him.
Pleasure explodes through me, my cock pulsing in my grip as I come, painting my chest, my stomach, and my fingers.
Ari’s hips stutter as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock jerking as he fills me.
Ari presses his forehead against mine, his body trembling, his cock still twitching inside me. “Vse moyo,” All mine, he growls in his possessive tone.
“Tvoy.” Yours. I smirk, breathless wrecked and completely his.
The sound of tyres crunching on snow reaches us from outside.
It’s faint through the walls, and the effect it has is immediate and ugly.
Ari doesn’t look toward the window; he doesn’t need to.
He stops moving, his mouth still against mine, his hands still pinning my hips, and for a second he holds me there, not letting me go. “That’ll be Niko,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” he answers, and he sounds normal, which is the worst part, because it means he’s already pulling away.
We get dressed without speaking much. Ari moves around me with that same efficient economy he uses on base.
The lack of hesitation is what makes my stomach flip, because I know he’s good at cutting things off when he decides it’s necessary.
When I pick up my bag, he takes it out of my hand without asking and slings it over his own shoulder like it’s his job. I follow him to the door. He opens it, and the cold hits us both. He doesn’t pause; he steps straight out into the snow.
Niko is waiting by the car with his arms folded, his face arranged into something that would pass for neutral if you don’t know him. He takes one look at us and lifts his eyebrows. “You both look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”
“Good morning to you too,” I reply.
Niko’s gaze flicks to my bag on Ari’s shoulder and then to my face. “Are you both ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, and I hate how flat it sounds. Ari doesn’t answer him. He steps close to me instead, grips my chin, and kisses me.
It’s not a subtle kiss; it’s a statement. A statement made in the open because he doesn’t care if Niko sees, as long as the person who matters understands it, and the person who matters is me.
I kiss him back hard, my hands grabbing his hips, pulling him in, because if I don’t take what he gives me right now, I’ll spend the next God knows how many months remembering what it felt like and resenting myself for not doing it while I had the chance.
When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine for a moment. I can feel his breath, and I can’t think of anything clever to say, so I kiss him again instead, quick and hard. He holds my face in both hands and makes a sound that lets me know he approves of the choice.
Niko clears his throat, loud enough to be rude. “I’m still here.”
Ari steps back first, and the shift is almost instant.
His facial expression closes off, and his posture straightens.
The softness is gone, replaced by something precise and unreadable.
I’ve seen that switch enough times to know it’s real, not a performance.
Which means it isn’t aimed at Niko or me; it’s aimed at whatever part of him would otherwise crack.
He turns and walks to the car, throwing my bag in the boot like it’s nothing, then shuts it with a hard, final slam. Niko gets in the driver’s seat, and I take the passenger side. Ari gets into the back without comment, sitting behind me.
The engine starts. The car moves.
The road is familiar, and the cabin shrinks behind us with each metre. I keep my eyes forward because if I look back, I’ll start doing the thing where I memorise what it looks like, and memorising it won’t help; it will just make it hurt more later.
Niko speaks first because I’m guessing he can’t stand the quiet. “Did you eat?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Did you sleep?”
“Enough.”
He makes a small noise of approval, then glances in the rear-view mirror. “And you?” he says to Ari.
“I’m fine,” Ari replies, and the tone is dismissive enough that it should end the conversation, which means Niko keeps going anyway, because he’s his brother and he’s stubborn.
“You look like an idiot.”
“Shut up and drive,” Ari responds. Niko huffs a laugh, then lets it drop, and the car settles back into quiet. Ari’s knee bumps the back of my seat once, lightly. It could be an accident, but it happens again a minute later, and I know it isn’t.
Instead of turning around, I reach back; my hand finds his through the gap between the seats. Our fingers brush, then lace together. He grips me hard, and it does something to my insides that I refuse to analyse right now.
We hold hands like that all the way to the checkpoint.
Just before the barrier comes into view, Ari releases me before we even slow down properly. The release is clean and quick. Niko pulls over. Ari opens the door and gets out, his posture shifting into something official as he steps onto the snow.
He stands out of view of the barrier with his hands in his coat pockets. Like this, he looks like a man who belongs here, who understands the rules, and who can move through them without flinching because he has no other option.
He leans down to my window, his eyes flicking once to Niko, then back to me.
“You know where to find me,” he says.
“I do.”
“And you will,” he adds. It’s not a question or a request.
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” I love you.
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu. Skoro uvidimsya, detka.” I love you too.
See you soon, baby. He doesn’t smile; he just looks at me for a second, then he reaches in, grips the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss.
It’s fast, hard, and over way too soon. When he steps back, his gaze drops to my mouth for a second, then lifts again, as if nothing happened.
He turns, then begins to walk back to the checkpoint.
I look in the side mirror as we drive away without meaning to, and he’s there, standing in the snow, hands in his pockets, watching the car drive away.
Then the road bends, and he’s gone.
Niko doesn’t speak for a while. He drives with his jaw set and eyes forward, taking us toward the airport with the same competence he brings to everything else, and I let him have the silence because I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid and embarrassing anyway.
By the time we hit the outer roads, he clears his throat and speaks without looking at me. “You will write.”
“Yes.”
“And you will not be an idiot about it,” he adds.
I almost laugh. “I’ll try.” He snorts, then goes quiet again.
The rest of the drive passes in the same managed silence, broken only by the sound of tyres on packed snow and the occasional shift of the car as we hit uneven ground.
The airport appears out of the grey, and Niko pulls up at the curb, jumping out to get my bag before I can, then hands it to me.
He studies my face like he’s checking something off internally, then pulls me into a brief, rough hug — one arm, hard contact, no lingering — then steps back and nods once.
I watch his car disappear into traffic before I turn toward the terminal.
I move through security on autopilot, boots off, bag through the scanner, jacket folded just so, and by the time I reach the gate, the adrenaline has burned off enough to leave something quieter behind.
I don’t replay the kiss, and I don’t let myself linger on ‘soon.’
When they call for boarding, I stand and move with the rest of the crowd. I’m just another body in a line, another set of documents checked, another plane waiting to lift me away from something I’m already committed to returning to.
I smile to myself, because this time, I know what I’m coming back for.
Or should I say... who.