28. Lena
CHAPTER 28
Lena
D inner with my brother went well. I didn’t tell him about Alek because there’s nothing to tell. And even though I love and trust Archer, I know he’ll tell our parents. The last thing they need is fuel to add to the idea that I’m already making reckless decisions in my life.
Which I’m not entirely sure I disagree with.
I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with my brother about London. I never thought about going elsewhere, and I love living in New York, but it bugs me that he thinks I’m lonely. But maybe that’s just the big brother in him coming out.
I’ve been tossing and turning all night in my bed, unable to stop thinking about what I want in my future. I came here to go as far as possible in my career, but I became stagnant in my current position at some point. Now that I’m not working at the bar, I should start networking and auditioning elsewhere like I’d promised myself.
It took me two years to get this spot in the theater company, so how much longer would it take for me to obtain anything else?
Rapid banging on my door has me shooting up in bed. What the fuck? It’s two in the morning.
I’m scared for my fucking life until his voice comes through the door.
“Lena!” Alek calls my name.
I flop back to the bed, contemplating getting up.
“Lena, I know you can hear me.”
I roll my eyes. My brother mentioned the bad-boy types he had to shoo off, so I bet he’d be beside himself that I’m letting someone like Alek into my home. Then again, he did purchase every furnishing in it.
Pushing off my blankets, I climb out of bed and make my way to the door. When I open it, there is Alek with a busted eye and blood dripping from his hand.
“Oh my god, what happened?” I ask, pulling him inside. I notice the cut on his shoulder. It doesn’t look deep, but I’m not a fucking doctor. Blood is usually a bad thing.
Panic tightens its hold on me. He’s going to be okay, right?
I usher him onto one of my kitchen stools and quickly go through my shelves to find the first aid kit.
“Take off your shirt so I can see how bad it is. Why didn’t you go to the hospital, you idiot?” I lecture. Alek’s patched me up before, so I know for certain he’d be able to help himself or find someone far more capable than me. He doesn’t say anything and just watches me. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” The only injury I can see is his shoulder, but what if there’s a cut somewhere else? Or worse, a gunshot?
He leans in and kisses me, soft and tender. My thoughts short-circuit as I’m taken in by him. He pulls back, and I’m still stunned.
“Feels better now,” he says with a slow smirk. I want to hit his chest and talk some sense into him.
“This isn’t a joke, Aleksandr. You’re bleeding,” I scold, and I’m taken aback by how much my voice trembles.
“I wasn’t joking. But if I were… at least I’d die a happy man.”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s not funny.”
But he smiles like he’s been holding out just to see me laugh.
“Anyone can fix this for you Alek, why are you here?” I boldly ask.
“I thought if I was bleeding, surely, you’d let me in,” he confesses. His hand cups my cheek, and my breath falters. “I had to see you. You were the first person who came to mind, and I wound up here.”
I want to clutch his words to my heart. Hold them as truth. But I find myself fighting the tension instead. I shake my head and undo his shirt, pulling it off him. He has a cut on his upper arm, and blood is dribbling down to his gloves.
“Can I take them off?” I ask, nodding to the gloves. He looks at them and slowly nods. I reach for his gloves and take them off one by one, careful with each movement as I do so. “How did this happen?”
“Men came for Cinita at the hospital.” I freeze at his words. “I showed them the way out.” His gaze falls to my hands, which are now touching his bare one where I took the gloves off.
It’s scary how easily he can say things like this. Yet I’m mesmerized by his immaculate, beautiful hands.
“Does it hurt to touch others?” I whisper. “Is that why you wear these?” I put the glove to the side.
“No, I just don’t want to touch people. Why would I? Have you seen what people do? How easy it is for them to bleed?” he says with disgust, as if they’re filthy. I feel like it’s true but that he also uses it to cover up something far more wounded than his arm.
“It doesn’t look deep, but you need to see someone who can handle this, Alek. I’m not a doctor,” I say, still surprised that he came here in the first place.
“I wanted to see you,” he says sincerely. “Even on death’s door.”
I hit his other arm, and he chuckles. “Stop pretending you’re dying if you’re not, Alek. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
I search for a bandage in the kit, and I can feel him staring at me.
“Why are you really here, Alek?” I ask, wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. I learned a thing or two from Archer, but he still needs to have it checked out.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, his gaze locked on me intently.
“Liar.”
“I wanted to come here, Lena. I really wanted to see you. Had to.” His arm raises, and he looks at me, his hand suspended as if he wants to touch my cheek. “Can I touch you?” I look at his hand, which is immaculately clean despite the rest of his arm.
“I may be dirty,” I whisper .
“You aren’t. You are anything but,” he says as his hands land on my bare stomach just below the hem of my short tank top. His hands wrap around my waist, warm and surprisingly gentle.
For a killer, he sure knows how to touch.
Something is oddly intimate about his bare hands, as if more than the physical barrier has lessened.
“Aleksandr.” At the sound of his name, his grip tightens on me.
“Say it again,” he demands quietly. I look at him and touch his chest, careful not to hurt him.
“Aleksandr,” I say just as he stands so quickly, I can’t even prepare myself. His arms are under my ass, and my legs go around his waist, as he walks me backward until we hit the wall.
“Your arm,” I breathe out, but his mouth is on mine, taking away any concern. I feel his hands all over me, sliding up and down while they hold me to him. Like glue.
Inseparable.
Undeniable.
Fucking painful if we don’t see it through.
He walks into my bedroom and gently lays me on my back as he comes down on top of me. I can feel all of him against me, his warmth and touch, as if he’s memorizing every part of me.
I’m being consumed entirely.
It’s more than a kiss.
So far, only touch alone.
Touch—the thing he feared most but is making an exception for me.
“You’re touching me,” I whisper. He nods and locks eyes with me, those forest-green orbs taking my breath away. “How does it feel?”
“Fucking incredible,” he says before he moves down, and his lips touch mine. His body presses me into the mattress, and before I can stop myself, my hands start moving, trying to tear off the remainder of his clothes. I want them off, and I want him .
He complies and moves with me so I can undo his pants and pull them down. I reach for my own shirt and break away from the kiss as he helps me pull it off so my breasts are bare in front of him. I shove at my shorts and shimmy them down. I don’t sleep with underwear on, so now I’m naked, and so is he.
I notice his injury is still bleeding, and start to have second thoughts. He notices it because he moves quickly, taking me as if I’m his God-given right. His mouth assaults my nipple, and he sucks and bites before moving on to the other one. I drag my hands up and down his back, scraping my nails as I go, before he moves even lower. His mouth leaves kisses over my stomach as he trails downward before he reaches where I ache for him most.
“You are such a good girl,” he croons, looking up at me. He touches me between my legs, and I spread them a little wider. “See, you know how to behave,” he says as he inserts a finger, and I arch into his touch.
He moves his head lower until he kisses me just above where I want him. I look down at him and watch, enthralled, as his tongue darts out and makes its way down to my slit. He makes sure to taste all of me before he gets there. When he does, my hips buck, and he moves one of his strong, veiny hands—fuck, they’re nice hands—and pushes my pelvis down, holding me in place, then slides his tongue up and down.
“Fuck,” I gasp as he continues the slow and torturous pleasure. He slides another finger in. “Fuuuuck,” I say again, unable to help myself.
“I think that mouth needs to be washed out with my cock,” he murmurs against my pussy. A smile tugs at my lips as he continues finger fucking and licking me. He keeps going until my knees start to shake, my hips strain against his hold, and a scream rips from my throat.
“My good girl,” he says as I come all over his hand and mouth.