Chapter 29 Vaughn
VAUGHN
“Are you serious right now?”
I push the sunglasses down my nose, staring at Yulian, who’s lining up empty cans by the far left side of the garden.
“Dead serious,” he says, bending down, and I get distracted because his ass looks really good in those shorts, his tattoos on full display, his tan skin gleaming under the rare British sun.
The breeze is chilling, but Yulian is pretending this is summer as he parades around shirtless, his bare feet sinking into the damp grass. Honestly, he must be doing it on purpose to seduce me.
It’s working, by the way, because I can’t take my gaze from him.
Not sure why I suggested we lounge in the garden after the disaster of a lunch Yulian tried to cook. He made such a mess of the kitchen that I had to clean—seriously, not sure how he could even bear to say that we should leave it to the housekeepers.
The food was not bad per se, but the mess was not worth it. Definitely won’t let him cook again.
But that’s what I said a couple of weeks ago when he nearly blew up the oven, but then he’d jump into the kitchen half naked and I sort of let him do whatever he wanted, even attempting to fix some failed recipes.
I know how to cook simple stuff, but Yulian is always going for new adventures just for the sake of it.
Honestly, every week is a journey with this guy.
It’s been about a month since I started coming here weekly, since the ride to the gas station that he repeats occasionally. Ever since that conversation we had in the middle of nowhere, something has shifted between us.
We still fuck the moment I walk in the door. Sometimes, Yulian will jump me before I’m fully in the house, but even when we’re not fighting to top, I love talking to him.
Yulian is actually very intelligent, street-smart, in a sense, and he has a high range of emotional IQ, which, honestly, can’t be said about me.
I can listen to his bold opinions about politics and the state of affairs for hours.
His only downfall is that he believes a lot of conspiracy theories, and when I rightfully pointed out that they’re stupid, he says, “Those who believe all conspiracy theories are idiots, but those who believe none are also idiots.”
Other than that, he loves watching the most random shit on TV, from those fake wrestling matches to spy thrillers to mindless sitcoms. I’ve kind of grown used to his taste and lie there on the couch, allowing him to crawl on top of me as he flips through the channels.
I’ve grown used to a lot of stuff with Yulian. Such as his messiness, his reckless behavior, and the way he hugs me to sleep, crushing me beneath him every chance he gets.
But mostly, I’ve gotten used to how he makes me laugh. Honestly, I’ve never laughed as much as when I’m with him; sometimes, his expression itself is hilarious.
Even when I’m in New York, he manages to make me bust out laughing. Now, I only read his random texts when I’m alone, because Mom and Dad started giving me looks.
They can truly be random as fuck and entirely full of his conspiracy-theory nonsense. Such as:
Ever notice pigeons don’t fly at night? Government drones gotta recharge. Don’t argue, Mishka, I know this one’s real.
Cy just tried to explain probability theory to me. I told him I already know my odds of dying stupid are 100%. He didn’t laugh. You would’ve. Or maybe not, but come on, it is funny.
Squirrel stole my Snickers bar today. Stared me in the eye the whole time. You think he’s also a spy?
Ever thought about how toothpaste companies invent cavities just so we’ll keep buying their crap? Capitalism, baby.
Trees communicate through underground networks. Cy told me it’s science. I say it’s so they can gossip about us when we piss on them.
The Vatican has a giant telescope called Lucifer. Google it. They’re watching aliens. I’m telling you, Mishka, Jesus had friends from space.
There’s a stairway in the woods that leads nowhere. Saw it online. People who climb it don’t come back. Wanna test it together?
Your Ivy League friends probably drink adrenochrome. Look it up. Actually, don’t.
Octopuses have alien DNA. Don’t roll your eyes. Scientists said that. Google it.
I don’t really google the nonsense he sends, but he still insists it’s backed by evidence and that I should broaden my horizons.
Usually, I’m half exasperated, half charmed by his random declarations. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if, maybe, some of them are true.
He’s clearly muddying my mind. He’s a bad influence.
Still, I find myself looking forward to his texts, to his random conversations at three in the morning while I’m lying in his arms or the other way around.
And I look forward to just…being here.
Every week, I leave New York as early as possible on Friday and leave the island as late as possible on Sunday—sometimes, early Monday morning—just so I’ll have more time in Yulian’s company.
It’s been the happiest month of my life.
I’ve never looked forward to the weekends as much as I do now, practically counting the hours until Friday.
This secluded little house has become my lifeline and the one place where I feel like myself. No mask, no worries, and no thoughts about responsibilities.
I only exist.
Breathe.
Fuck until I can’t move, then do it all over again.
I laugh and smile and shake my head at the messes Yulian makes on the regular.
But I don’t mind it. Really. I love that he’s also himself around me. That he tells me all his wild stories, which usually end up with him breaking a bone or the law or both.
He doesn’t tell me about the sexual adventures much, though. He probably senses that I turn murderous when he mentions his ex-fuck buddies, so he refrains from that. I know he has his past, and I have mine as well, but I simply don’t like thinking about it.
Imagining him with someone other than me is unbearable. I can’t help it.
And it’s all because of Yulian. He’s just so…unguarded.
Whenever we go on our nighttime rides and we make stops, he often has someone flirting with him. Yes, I threaten them either with my eyes or words to back off, but it’s not fun.
Yes, sometimes they flirt with me, too, but I don’t give them any reaction, and I certainly don’t smile in public as much as he does.
Even now, he’s flaunting himself while lining up the cans, looking absolutely gorgeous under the sun. The golden hues catch on his muscles, the ink, his hair, making both the blue and brown of his eyes glint.
“You’re really going to shoot cans?” I ask.
“Sure am.”
“It won’t kill you to stay still for a while.”
“Nah, I’d rather do something fun.”
“Have you always had that?”
He tilts his head in my direction. “Had what?”
“Restless energy?”
“I don’t think it’s restless per se. I just was never allowed to be still, I guess.
My father always had some course or shit lined up for me, and laziness didn’t sit well with him.
” He pauses, smiling without humor. “You once asked me if my life is worth so little to me. It actually isn’t, but from a young age, I was conditioned to never look weak, and my brain thinks the best way to showcase my strength is to dare death whenever I can. ”
My heart squeezes, thinking about the absolute hell he’s been through with his dad. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Yuli. You’re the strongest guy I know.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Stronger than Niko?”
“Yeah.
“Stronger than you?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He’s grinning wide. “Come on, join me for shooting.”
“No, thanks.”
“Your loss, baby.” He grabs the gun from the table next to the lounge chair I’m lying on and winks, grinning.
Fucking hell.
I subtly adjust myself because my cock is begging for attention just at that wink, and if Yulian finds out, he’ll definitely tease me and restart the fuck fest.
Not that I mind, to be honest. We’ve had enough of a break.
Yulian lifts his arm, his shoulders relaxed but in the right stance as he fires. The can wobbles and falls.
“Bull’s-eye!” He cranes his head in my direction. “You saw that, Mishka.”
“It’s not that impressive.”
He raises his brow. “Show me what you got, then.”
“Not interested.”
“Because I’m totally a better shot than you?”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I beat your ass in the shooting range back at the camp.”
I jump up from the lounge chair and grab my own gun, then stand beside him, the damp grass swallowing my feet.
He smirks, thinking he’s won, but truly, I’ve willingly taken the bait. My shoulder brushes his as I aim and shoot. The can wobbles a bit but stays standing.
“That still counts,” I say.
“It didn’t fall.”
“It moved and I hit it.”
He steps behind me, close enough that I feel his soft exhales on my nape. His hand slides over my forearm, correcting the angle, nudging my stance firmer with his knee.
It’s so close to my inner thigh, my cock takes notice.
“Like this,” he murmurs near my ear.
I tip my head back, my eyes sliding to his. “What are you doing?”
“Correcting your stance.”
“It’s perfectly fine. You’re just searching for an excuse to touch me.” I keep staring at him as I shoot, hitting the can clean.
“That was hot, baby.” He squeezes my arm. “A man who can shoot has a special place in my heart.”
“Is that so?” I fire again, knocking another can over while looking at him.
“Careful, Mishka.” He wraps an arm around my waist, slamming me back against him. “You’re turning this into foreplay.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?” I wrap my hand with the gun around his neck, rubbing my ass on his growing erection. “Wrestle me for who gets to fuck the other first?”
“Always, baby.” He drops his lips to mine with a groan, then pulls away for a beat. “Can you not leave tomorrow?”
The pout in his voice nearly undoes me.
He’s been asking that for the last couple of weeks, and it’s becoming harder to tell him “You know I have to” or “Yes, I do.”
Because I don’t want to leave either.
The more time I spend with him, getting fully submerged in his chaos, the more I don’t want to go back to my monotonous life where he’s not there.
But I can’t say that, so I kiss him hard, fusing his body with mine.
This is the only way I can show him how much he means to me.
How much he’s changed my life.
Even if it’s temporary.