Nineteen
Caiden
The barracks are almost silent when I wake up, that happens sometimes. I don’t dream — well, I do — but not the kind of dreams I can say out loud. It’s heat, pressure, hands and a mouth that belongs to him. It’s always him.
I lie there for a moment, staring at nothing, willing my anxiety to settle, but my body’s already decided how this morning’s going to go.
My heart beating too fast, skin running too hot, and that slow, traitorous ache low in my stomach, creeping lower.
I drag a hand over my face and mutter into my palm, “Jesus Christ, not again.” Every morning since that night I kissed him, and he kissed me back like he could tear the breath straight out of my throat, and I’d thank him for it — I wake up like this.
I throw the blanket off and swing my legs over the side of the bunk, careful not to shake the frame and wake Mason.
My feet hit the cold floor with a soft thud, and the air bites at my bare skin.
That helps a little, but I need the shower.
I grab my towel and cross the barracks with quick, silent steps.
I don’t even bother checking if anyone stirs behind me.
If someone wakes now, they’ll see everything written across my face.
I may also be slightly paranoid.
I push into the washroom and let the door sigh shut behind me, and the lights flicker awake.
I twist the shower handle, and steam unfurls immediately, rising from the drain in a slow, ghostly spiral.
I step under before the water fully heats because I’m desperate, and if I hesitate, I’ll think. And if I think, I’ll see him.
For a moment, the cold bites. Then the warmth catches up, sliding over my shoulders and down my back. The hiss of the stream fills my ears and I brace my hands on the wall, dropping my head between my arms.
Right on cue, because my brain hates me, the fantasy hits me. A fantasy built on a memory, twisted into something hotter.
Ari. Stepping into the shower behind me.
Water dripping down his chest, the way it did that day I followed him into the communal showers, bare, and unbothered, looking at me like I was dessert left out on the counter.
In my head, he presses up behind me, his breath on my neck, the scrape of his teeth, sharp enough to draw blood without breaking skin.
“Look at you, Caiden... wanting something you don’t even have the balls to ask for. ”
My fingers curl against the tile and I squeeze my eyes shut. This is pathetic. One smug, sharp-tongued, maddening Russian Sergeant has me acting like some lovesick idiot who doesn’t know what to do with his own hands.
Another wave of heat rolls through me. Enough!
I’m going to lose my mind.
I force myself to stand upright, and I let the water sluice down my face. I try to imagine anything else — training drills, weapons checks, my CO screaming about last week’s comms error.
Nothing helps. It’s Ari. Always fucking Ari.
The way he pressed into me at the fence that night. The way he said my name, like he’d been starving for it. The way he held my jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing my mouth as if he was thinking about something far too dangerous to say aloud.
And then the kiss. God, the kiss. That brutal, perfect crash of lips and teeth, and the way he made a noise deep in his chest when he kissed me back. The way he pulled away first, leaving me shaking, breathless, and furious, and wanting more.
I rinse my face again like it’ll drown the memory.
But there’s no chance. When I’m finally clean enough to pass for sane, I turn off the water, wrap the towel around my waist, and force my legs to carry me out of there.
Hopefully, the day will bury me in work, and I won’t have to see him. If I’m lucky.
I manage to avoid him all morning. Barely. Every time I enter a room, my eyes automatically look for broad shoulders and sharp cheekbones.
Every time I hear a sharp laugh, my pulse stutters like an idiot. But he’s nowhere, which should be a relief, except it feels more like a punishment.
By midday, my nerves feel stretched thin.
I don’t know what I want at this point, space or him.
Both would kill me, and neither is an option.
I’m heading down one of the narrower hallways near the armoury, thinking about lunch in the most robotic way possible, when something hooks around my waist and yanks.
It’s not hard or painful but I react instantly, twisting my weight, but the grip is already shifting.
And then I know who it is before I see or hear him.
Ari.
He pulls me sideways, right through a door I didn’t even notice was open, into a broom cupboard.
The door shuts behind us, quietly and quickly.
The half-darkness swallows me, and then his body is against mine, pressing against me like a wall I collided with and never had a chance of stopping.
“Ari what—” His hand covers my mouth to silence me.
His eyes catch the little sliver of hallway light still leaking under the door — bright steel grey, burning with something that makes my knees threaten mutiny.
“Be quiet, detka,” he whispers. I feel those words everywhere.
He removes his hand only when he’s certain I won’t make a sound.
He looks at me as if he’s reading every inch of my face.
His gaze sweeps down my body, like he’s choosing which part of me to ruin first. Then he leans in and kisses me slowly and deeply, his tongue pushing inside my mouth, doing what he does best. He pulls away from me for a second, nibbling on my bottom lip as he does.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he murmurs.
A shiver runs straight through me, and I swallow hard. “You— I—” I can’t form a sentence.
He smirks against my lips. “Yes,” he says quietly, like he’s answering the question I didn’t voice. “I know.” Before I can react, his hand slides up my chest and closes around my throat.
Fuck.
It’s just enough pressure to tilt my chin upwards.
My pulse slams frantically against his palm.
“Do you know what you did?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. His thumb strokes once along my jaw, slowly and deliberately.
“You kissed me,” he says. “And now I want more.” His mouth brushes mine.
“And I shouldn’t.” I swear my knees are actually about to give.
His hand slides from my throat down to my chest, then lower.
“Look at you,” he breathes, sounding amused and hungry.
“Shaking before I’ve even touched you properly. ”
“I’m not...” The lie dies halfway out of my mouth. He smiles, then presses even closer, harder, body to body, no space left between us. His hand drops to my abs. He slips it under my shirt, then drags it slowly up my stomach until it rests on my chest.
“Touch me,” he murmurs against my lips, soft enough to sound gentle, sharp enough to leave no room for disobedience. My whole body lights up like a struck match.
“Arseny.”
“Shh.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “You’re going to be quiet for me.
” He takes my hand and guides it slowly to his belt.
My breathing hitches as my chest rises and falls rapidly; the thrill of being told what to do burns through my veins.
My fingers tremble as I unfasten Ari’s belt, then the zip.
He’s already hard and straining against his boxers.
My hand slips inside, freeing him, and my fingers wrap around his thick length. Fuck. He’s so big. It makes my mouth water.
A shudder runs through Ari at the contact, his muscles tense, and his jaw clenches. “Fuck,” he snarls under his breath, his other hand fists in my hair and his cock twitches in my grip.
My thumb brushes over the slick tip, gathering the pre-cum, spreading it down his shaft in a slow, teasing stroke.
Ari’s breath comes out in a low, dangerous growl. “Faster,” he gasps. His voice is rough and his hand tightens in my hair. “Harder.”
My strokes quicken; my grip firms; my thumb presses into the underside of Ari’s cock the way I knew would drive him wild.
The slick, wet sounds of my hand working him fill the small room.
Ari’s head tilts back, his throat works as he swallows a groan, his hips jerk forward, fucking into my fist with short, sharp thrusts, his entire body is coiled tight.
“Yeah... like that,” he grits out. His voice turns into a low rasp. “Just like that, you fucking tease.” His free hand slides from my chest, trailing lower, gripping and squeezing my cock through my uniform.
My own cock is painfully hard, trapped, and leaking pre-cum with every stroke I give him, the ache of denial makes my breaths come faster, matching his.
Ari’s muscles tense, his entire body goes rigid as he nears the edge. He drags my head to his, pressing his forehead to mine. His voice is a low, guttural snarl. “Fuck. Caiden. Make me come.”
My strokes become frantic, my focus is absolute. I can feel Ari swelling in my hand, the veins throbbing, the head leaking more pre-cum with every pass of my thumb. Ari’s breath is ragged, his chest heaving, his grip on my hair bordering on painful.
Then, Ari breaks, groaning against my mouth as he comes hard and pulsing over my hand.
His release is hot and thick, coating my fingers, dripping from my hand to the floor.
Ari’s body jerks with the force of it, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.
I don’t stop stroking him, pulling every last drop from him, my own cock aching with the need for release.
Finally, Ari’s body sags against me. His hand loosens in my hair, sliding to stroke the side of my face. It’s gentle in a way that shouldn't undo me, but it does.
“Fuck,” Ari murmurs, his voice rough, his breath ghosting over my lips. “You’ve been begging for my cock all week, haven’t you?”
I let out a shaky laugh, my body still thrumming with unresolved need. “Maybe,” I admit. My voice has turned husky. “But I wasn’t the one who snapped first.”
Ari’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his fingers brushing over the damp spot right over my cock.
I swallow a moan, and my hips jerk involuntarily.
“No,” Ari agrees, his voice a low purr. “But you’re the one who’s still hard,” he says, thumb pressing right where I ache.
“And I’m not leaving you like this. Not today. ”