Twenty-Twenty-Seven #2
“No,” he says, stepping closer still. “Not here. Not tonight. If you want something, you say it.”
I force myself to hold his gaze. “I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”
His expression shifts slightly, as if something softer comes to life behind the usual arrogance. “You think too much,” he says quietly. “You’re panicking over nothing.”
“Nothing?” I choke. “Ari, I don’t even know—”
“Who’s doing what?” he finishes for me, smirking.
I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.
“Caiden,” he murmurs, “if I wanted you on your knees the second we walked in, you would be. If I wanted to bend you over that bed before you finished opening your bag, I would. But I didn’t,” he continues softly, “that’s not what this is about.
” I keep my eyes fixed on his, and for the first time, I see it — the thing he’d never say out loud.
He wants this to matter.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear, and whispers, “You’re going to be underneath me because you want to be. Not because you think it’s the only option.”
“And if I... If I said I wanted to have you?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Then that’s okay,” he says softly. “But not tonight.” His fingers trail up my arm. “Tonight, you’re mine,” he murmurs. My breath stutters, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want control.
I just want him.
“Ari.” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
“Take off your coat,” he says quietly. “Start there.” My heart nearly stops. The words “take off your coat” shouldn’t make me feel as nervous as they do, but here we are. They drop into my stomach like a weight.
Ari moves back a step, eyes locked on mine, his hands loose at his sides, and his body held with that quiet, coiled readiness he always has. Except this time, it’s aimed directly at me.
I lift my hands to my collar, and I drag the zip down, sliding the coat off my shoulders. I hang it on the chair because throwing it carelessly feels desperate, and everything about this moment feels nothing like that.
When I turn back to Ari, I see him tracking the rise and fall of my chest. “Good,” he murmurs. One word shouldn’t pull at something deep in my spine like that. But it does. God, it does.
“What now?” I manage to ask, my voice lower than I intend it to be. Ari shrugs out of his jacket with a fluid roll of his shoulders, letting it drop onto the chair behind him. Then his fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, and my mouth goes dry.
He undoes them one by one. Slow, controlled and torturous. The lamplight hits his skin as he opens the shirt, letting it fall off his arms, baring his chest. I’ve seen him shirtless before, but it never felt like this. The need to touch him sweeps through me so fast it’s dizzying.
“Come here,” he says, crooking a finger. I move without thinking, stepping as close as possible without actually touching him. He looks down at me like he’s savouring every reaction, every tremor. “Are you still nervous?” he asks quietly, and I nod. “Good,” he murmurs.
“Good?” I whisper.
“It means you care what happens,” he says.
“And so do I.” My heart stutters, but before I can respond, he lifts his hand and finally touches me.
His fingertips trace the side of my jaw.
It’s reverent in a way I’m not prepared for, and my breath leaves me in a shudder.
He tilts my chin up, so I have to look directly into his eyes.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says. “At any point. You say it, and I’ll stop. No games.”
Arseny Zakirov is many things — arrogant, feral, impossible, but I’ve never heard him sound like that before. “I won’t need to stop,” I say, and my voice cracks on it.
His thumb runs across my cheekbone once.
“Then take off your shirt.” My breath catches again, but this time it’s not nerves.
It’s anticipation. I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head.
The cold air hits my skin, but Ari’s gaze is hotter than the fire behind him.
His eyes roam, slowly appraising, not in a way that makes me self-conscious, but in a way that makes me feel seen.
“Caiden,” he whispers, “Beautiful.” His hands slide to my waist as my fingers find his shoulders, then lower, tracing down his chest, following the warm skin, the scars and the curve of muscle. He shivers under my touch, barely, but enough that I feel it.
Ari shivers. Because of me.
Then I lean in and kiss him. I don’t rush it, and I don’t hesitate either. My mouth stays on his, the pressure firm enough that it eases into something deeper; he matches it, his hand coming up to gently grip my throat, holding me there while the kiss deepens.
Then, softly, he breaks it. “Lie down,” he whispers.
The bed is a few steps behind me. I move backwards until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I sink onto it.
I lie back, propped on my elbows, staring up at him.
Ari stands between my knees, leaning over, and sliding his hands up my thighs.
His thumbs brush the inside seams of my jeans with light, teasing, testing touches, watching my reaction closely.
“Good,” he murmurs again. “Just like that.” He leans down further, slowly, and presses his mouth to my sternum as he kneels between my legs. Heat spreads under his lips like fire catching tinder. He kisses lower, then lower, and lower still.
My head falls back, and my fingers curl into the sheets.
Every nerve in my body feels like it’s waking up after years of sleep.
He reaches my stomach and pauses, his hands steady on my hips.
“Caiden,” he says softly. I look down at him, his lips are parted, and his cheeks are flushed.
He looks… different. There’s something in his expression that terrifies me with how much I want it to be real.
“Tell me,” he says quietly. “If this is still what you want.”
“It really is,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “Don’t stop.”
He exhales, shakily, his hands go to my belt, and everything narrows to his touch.