17. Aleksandr
CHAPTER 17
Aleksandr
W hen I walk into my house, I see it’s full of furniture—a lot of it. And a brunette is sitting on a couch in my living room with her feet tucked under her ass as she laughs at something on the TV. The TV I didn’t have before.
The color scheme has changed, and I squint into the corner where there’s a vase full of fresh flowers. Daisies, to be precise.
“You break into everyone’s house and fill it with furniture?” I ask, scanning the space. I should’ve known better than to leave my sister and Lena alone together, but Anya doesn’t take a liking to anyone. But she’ll also find a loophole in any situation.
I told her she couldn’t change anything in my house. So she used this ray of sunshine to do it. Then again, I don’t think Lena would let anyone use her.
She flicks her hair over her shoulder and looks up at me as she chews on some popcorn, then holds out the bowl to me in offering.
“Want some?” My stomach growls, but I pin her with a stare until she answers my previous question. “And no, you technically bought it. I just used your card, the one you told your sister to use.” She winks as she holds up the popcorn, somewhat smug with herself. I reach in and grab a handful. “Your sister’s a vault. She wouldn’t give me much in the way of details about you. But she loves you, that’s for sure.”
“We’re twins,” I tell her, and her eyes go wide.
“Oh, I see. That’s why.”
“Why what?”
“You both seem to hate the world.” She smiles and pops another piece of popcorn into her mouth as she turns her attention back to the TV.
It’s peculiar that she’s made herself right at home, considering how much she fears me. But right now, I don’t notice a hint of that previous trepidation. Maybe that bump to the head really got to her.
“Aren’t you getting a little too cozy here?” I ask.
She shrugs, her gaze not shifting from the television. “Hanging around your sister makes you less scary. Besides, when was the last time you actually had a guest over?”
“Guest’s are those who are invited,” I remind her.
“’You’re only a guest if it’s a home. Now, because of your sister and me, this place is a home. And, honestly, I wanted to see your face when you walked in,” she says with a smile, then crunches down on another piece of popcorn.
The nerve of this woman. I can only imagine it was spending time with my sister today that encouraged this type of confidence in her. And, for some reason, I haven’t thrown her out yet.
I look back to the television.
“What are you watching?” I scrunch my nose up as a screeching woman yells at another, her hands waving around and tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, The Real Housewives . I’m obsessed,” she says giddily.
I let out a sigh and undo the top three buttons on my shirt. “Can you be obsessed somewhere that’s not my house?”
“No. I ordered dinner, and it should be here soon. Shopping all day makes me hungry.” She turns the TV up louder as the doorbell rings. “Wow. What timing. You can get that since you’re standing, and make sure you tip,” she yells, not looking back over her shoulder.
I glance around, almost expecting to be recorded so this can somehow be used against me for blackmail or used against me by Anya.
When I realize it’s just us, I’m baffled that she’s telling me what to do. Yet I find myself walking to the door and opening it to find a teenager holding a bag of food.
“That will be fifty-five dollars, please.” He holds out his hand expectantly. When he looks up at me, he turns pale. I have that effect on people.
“She didn’t pay?” I ask.
He’s nervous as he shakes his head. “No, sir. She called to place the order. Payment is due on delivery.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a hundred dollars and drop it into his hand.
“I don’t have change for that,” he’s quick to say.
“Keep the change,” I tell him, closing the door once I grab the bag of food.
I walk over to the couch and hold the bag out to her. “Take your food and go.”
She looks up at me. “No, you’re going to eat with me. I ordered enough for both of us.”
My jaw tightens. Definitely a bad idea to let her and Anya spend any time with each other because now she’s starting to boss me around just like my sister does .
“I’m not hungry.” But just as I say it, my stomach betrays me and rumbles loudly. She tries to hide the smug smile and taps the spot next to her.
“Sit. I’ll get some plates and silverware.” Lena stands and heads to the kitchen.
I hear cupboards open and close, and I look back in confusion.
Anyone would think this is her home.
“Your sister told me you most likely haven’t eaten since yesterday,” she shouts from the kitchen.
I don’t say anything, just find myself reluctantly watching the drama unfold on the television. Do people really act like that?
Lena comes back, holding two plates and two forks. I eye her from head to toe in the long, flowy, yellow dress. It reminds me of sunshine. Her gaze drops to the couch.
“Sit, I’m hungry,” she says.
She waits until I sit, then she follows me down and opens the food. It’s Thai food. “Pad Thai is amazing. I went to Thailand once when I turned eighteen. Best food ever,” she tells me as she dishes out some food and then hands me the plate. “Yours.”
She makes a pointed look at my gloves but says nothing as I take it.
I stare at it. “Don’t you like Thai food?” she asks, concerned.
“I don’t dislike it,” I say. I just haven’t had it since… well, I don’t know if I’ve ever tried it. Most of my meals are prepared for me. I don’t care much for taste besides in my whisky. As long as it’s nutritional.
“Oh my god, are you carb counting or something?”
“No,” I say, dipping my eyebrows. “Is that usually what men do who you share pad Thai with?”
She tucks her feet under her ass again, and a wicked smile appears on her lips. “You curious about my type, Aleksandr?”
The way my name falls from her lips does something to me. I like it. A lot. Too much.
“What?” she says around a mouthful of food as she tries to look between me and the TV.
“Did you and my sister furnish your apartment, or did you get distracted by changing mine without my consent?”
She’s half distracted by the television. It’s a scene where two women are now discussing the drama that unfolded in the previous scene.
“They’re unpacking it all now. We prioritized here first,” she admits with a sheepish smile.
I take a bite of the food and am surprised by it’s flavor and that I like it. Lena laughs from beside me at the woman on the TV, and I realize it might be because of her company that it tastes more delicious.
I slowly eat the meal while watching Lena as she watches the TV. She has so many expressions, so much joy and freedom about her. It’s so different to the first time I saw her sing.
On stage, she’s focused and the center of attention, and she sucks everything and everyone around her in with her talent and poise. Here, she’s herself. Just Lena. I think this is the first time I’ve seen the real her, with her defenses down, around me, and that’s a dangerous thing.
She looks at me now and then drops her gaze to my empty plate. “Wow, you ate that fast,” she comments as she goes to take my plate, but I grab hers instead.
She looks confused as I take them. Hell, even I’m confused. “You’re a guest, are you not?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have guests. I don’t offer to take dishes, because I don’t eat with others. Besides my sister, of course.
I set the plates on the side table and look at the small bandage on her forehead. “Show me your wound.”
“Oh,” she says as she reaches up and fingers it.
“I can have a look,” I say, and brace myself as I get closer to her. I know the voices will start to scream if I touch her. But for some reason, I need to make sure the injury is okay.
It’s only a feather-light touch as I pinch the edge of the Band-Aid.
Filthy. Isolating. Pain.
I push away the ambush of mixed emotions and words that flood me, and focus only on the task at hand. The wound is clean and looks like it’s healing nicely. Good.
I continue pushing down the nauseating swirl of commotion that tries to tear me apart.
“Alek,” she says, and that’s when I realize how close I’m leaning in. Her voice is like a white flag for me in the war raging inside me. I can smell her floral-scented perfume. This close, I notice the finer details of her features, like the smile creases at her eyes. I raise my thumb, tracing them, focusing on only her, as it seems to keep the rowdiness away. It’s still there but only a niggle compared to how loudly it usually screams.
I trail my thumb down to her lips, and she sucks in her breath. My gaze flicks back to hers. Fucking stunning.
A wild bird inside, soaring. Singing. An inferno and phoenix all in one .
My cock twitches as my gaze dips down to her breasts. This fucking woman has no idea how perfect her body is built, and I can’t stand it when she wears those crop tops. Can’t stand the way men look at her when she passes by.
Mine .
I want—no, need —to at least taste her.
I dip my head to hers, licking her upper lip. She tastes like cherries, and I force my tongue into her mouth. A small moan escapes her, and I press into her. Deeper, harder, and demanding, all the ways my body needs her.
Her hands feather around my neck as she pulls me in. I tense, pushing away the nauseating swirl in my gut, overridden by the need for more of her.
Disgusting. Beautiful. Chilling. Warmth.
Her.
I use her as my anchor as I maneuver her onto my lap and let her straddle me. My cock firmly presses against my pants, screaming to be deep inside her.
Fucking perfect.
She’s starving. Ravishing me, and I’ll give her all that I have to offer.
Her body grinds against me, every touch a warm embrace colliding with the screaming, revolting ugliness that surfaces within me. But I push through it because I want her more. I slide my hand under her dress and over her outer thigh. And, fuck me, if that ass is not my undoing.
I fucking need her like my next breath.
I grab her throat, and her eyelids burst open in surprise as she pulls away slightly.
We share a breath as she goes to lean in, but I pin her where she is, control slithering back in.
Too young. Too good. Too real.
Disgusting. Alone. Blood.
“I’m sorry,” I croak. She’s confused as she awkwardly gets off me.
“I don’t mind the throat grabbing,” she’s quick to say. “You just surprised me is all.”
She’s not the only one who’s surprised.
I wipe at my mouth. What the fuck just happened?
I’ve fucked plenty of women, but none where the voices stopped. This fucking beacon of light of a woman was the only time I’d felt a sense of serenity.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
I know how to fight my demons. I become the demon.
But not Lena. She’s too good for this part of my world.
“I’ll call for Clay to take you home,” I say as I stand .
“Wait? What?” She sits upright.
I step out of the room. Because if I make her mine, I won’t let her go.
I’ll break her into a million pieces, killing that light inside her.
Whereas I might take satisfaction from it elsewhere, I just can’t do it to her.
She screams out my name, but I’m already gone.