Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aleksei
“Aleksei!”
My name… called out in a hoarse moan. Stella shifts, her fingers curling against the sheets as if reaching for me. Her breath quickens, catching in her throat.
I lean closer to the screen, watching her unconscious form. On the bed, her body arches softly, hands moving over herself. The sheets slip away, baring her skin.
She moans again, hips lifting, thighs parting in silent invitation. I burn to join her, to taste that soft skin, to hear my name from her lips when she’s awake and aware.
But she doesn’t know I’m here, doesn’t know I’m watching. This is wrong. An invasion. I know it, even as my thumb hovers over the screen, zooming in to focus on her parted lips, the swell of her breasts. My body tightens in response, my need urgent and visceral.
I’m painfully aware of my own bed, waiting in the room beyond. Of the many ways I could satisfy this ache. My hands on my own flesh, just as she touches herself.
But the idea of release without her — it doesn’t sit right. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to touch myself as I watch her dream.
Her eyelids flutter, her breath quickening. Her fingers dip between her thighs, shy at first, then more certain. I think of how unaware she is that I’m witnessing this private moment. That she’s sharing this with me, even in her sleep.
She whimpers, her breath shuddering as her fingers find purchase. My own breath hitches in response, my body thrumming with need. On the screen, she’s oblivious, lost in her pleasure. It’s just her and her touch.
And me, always me. The shadows in the room hide me, but she senses my presence, even in sleep. She moves against her own hand as if it’s mine, as if she can feel me watching.
Her fingers quicken, her breath coming in harsh pants. Her thighs part further, offering herself up.
“Yes. God, yes!” she moans. Her skin flushes, her lips part, and her eyes squeeze shut as she peaks. “Aleksei!” the cry is rough. I feel her release like it’s my own, my name torn from her lips. It vibrates through me, and I close my eyes, letting the sound ripple through me.
Slowly, I open my eyes. She’s half sitting now, looking around her. I stiffen.
Blyad!
Can she sense me?
Don’t be ridiculous. Not possible.
Stella sinks back onto the bed, her brow furrowed. She lies still, chest rising and falling in the aftermath. Her hair fans across the pillow, dark against the silk, and her lips part slightly as she exhales.
It takes everything I have not to go to her. To walk through the manor, down the hallways, and into her room. To claim what she unknowingly offered in her sleep.
But the impulse unsettles me. It’s possessiveness taken too far, even for me. So, I step back from the screen, tearing myself away.
I shouldn’t have come here, to these cameras. I shouldn’t have given in to the need to watch her.
Because now, I know she dreams of me. I know that, on some level, she wants me, too. And that knowledge is a drug, a dangerous pull that I can’t ignore.
Run.
I need to run off this energy that doesn’t belong in me.
I walked away from my own wedding today. Turned a dozen dangerous men against me. And yet, what bothers me most is the sound of my name on her lips.
Already in my sweats and running shoes, I leave the room and head out of the building. I slide into an easy lope that takes me smoothly through the grounds of the estate. Away from the house. Away from her.
I cover the ground in long, earth-eating strides, focusing on pouring my frustration into each step.
It doesn’t work.
I push harder, legs burning as I sprint up the hill behind the mansion. The familiar path should clear my head, should exhaust me enough to sleep. But her voice echoes in my mind.
Aleksei.
That little hitch at the end as she came undone dreaming of me.
Blyad.
Even the night air feels charged, electric with possibility. With need.
My feet carry me down the slope, each impact jarring through my bones. The manor’s lights glow ahead, beckoning. The Right Wing — my domain — lies dark and still.
But the Left Wing…
I fix my eyes on a row of windows along one side of the sprawling building. Her rooms.
My stride falters. I slow, breath harsh in my lungs as I stare up at those windows. Is she sleeping? Dreaming again? Or…
The memory of her writhing body floods back — her soft moans, her fingers clutching. Heat courses through me, and I clench my fists.
This isn’t like me. I don’t fixate. Don’t obsess. Yet here I am, drawn to her. Irresistibly.
My feet carry me closer to the Left Wing. Each step feels inevitable, as if I’m being pulled by an invisible thread. The security cameras track my movement — I feel their electronic eyes on me, recording this moment of weakness.
The grass is damp beneath my shoes as I cross the lawn. I should turn back to my wing, to my cold bed and colder thoughts. But her window calls to me, and I’m powerless to resist. I head back to the building.
Just to check on her.
Yeah, right.
That’s what you’re doing, mudak.
I stop outside her door. I don’t need to go further. I can stay right here, and this never has to become more than a fleeting moment of weakness.
Until her scream cuts through the night, raw and primal. I freeze, my hand hovering over the handle.
Another cry follows — “Mom! Dad!” — and something inside me splinters.
The sound pierces my defenses, strips away years of careful control. My fingers curl around the handle before I can stop myself.
Turn back, pizda.
Now.
But her next cry hits me square in the chest. The terror in her voice — it reminds me of myself at 10, watching my mother vanish. Of finding her empty room, knowing she’d never return.
“Please, no…” Stella’s voice breaks on a sob.
My resolve crumbles. I push the door open, moving silently into her room.
What the fuck are you doing, dolboyob?
Moonlight spills across her bed, illuminating her thrashing shape. Her face twists in anguish, tears tracking down her cheeks. The sight hits me harder than I could expect.
She twists in the sheets, fighting invisible demons. “Don’t leave me…” The words tear from her throat, raw with grief.
My feet carry me to her bedside. I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t witness this private pain. But my hand reaches out. My fingers brush her shoulder. She flinches, curling tighter into herself. Another sob wracks her frame.
“Shh, zaychik …” The sound escapes me before I can catch it. “You’re safe.”
Her breathing hitches. I should leave. Now. Before she wakes. Before this moment of weakness fucks everything up.
But her hand finds mine in the darkness, gripping tight. The contact burns through me, melting what’s left of my resistance. When the sheet slides down her chest, there’s no doubt about what I’m going to do next.
I ease onto the bed, keeping my movements slow and controlled. Stella’s fingers tighten around mine, her breath catching. Even in sleep, her body recognizes me.
The mattress dips beneath my weight. She turns toward me, seeking warmth. My free hand traces her jaw, following the curve down to her throat. Her pulse flutters beneath my touch.
“ Zaychik …” The endearment slips out again. Her skin is silk under my fingertips, tempting me to explore further. I trace the line of her collarbone, memorizing each dip and hollow.
She sighs, pressing closer. She’s still in the clothing she arrived in. The thin fabric of her shirt does nothing to hide her curves. My hand slides lower, following the swell of her breast. Her nipple pebbles beneath my palm.
Her back arches, offering herself up. Even in sleep, she knows what she wants. What we both want.
I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t touch her like this. But her unconscious trust undoes me. The way she melts into my touch… It’s instinctive.
Her leg hooks over mine, drawing me closer. The heat of her pussy presses against my thigh. My control fractures.
I capture her mouth, swallowing her soft moan. Her lips part instantly, welcoming me. She tastes of mint and soft, needy woman.
Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging in as she pulls me closer. The pain grounds me, reminds me this is real.
I break the kiss to trace her jaw, her throat. She tilts her head back, offering more access. My teeth graze her pulse point, and she gasps.
“Aleksei…” My name falls from her lips again, but different this time. Awake. Aware.
I capture her mouth again, gentler this time. Her lips are soft, yielding. The lingering salt of tears mixes with her natural sweetness. My hand cradles her face, thumb brushing away the wetness on her cheeks.
She stirs beneath me, consciousness seeping in. Her breath catches as awareness floods her system. For a moment, she stiffens.
“Shh,” I murmur against her lips. “ Ya zdes’ . I’m here.”
Her body relaxes, melting into mine. Her fingers trail up my chest, exploring. Testing. When they tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, something inside me sparks.
Her mouth opens under mine and I trace her lower lip with my tongue, savoring her quiet gasp. When I delve inside, she meets me stroke for stroke.
The kiss deepens, grows hungrier. Her nails scrape my scalp, sensations rippling at the contact. My hand slides to her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm.
She pushes herself against me. The soft curves of her body fit perfectly against my harder planes. Her mound grinds against the hard line of my cock, and a growl builds in my chest. My usual iron control slips, need taking over.
Her fingers tug at my shirt, urgent and needy. I help her pull it off, tossing it aside. Her hands explore my chest, tracing the lines of my tattoos.
“Ohhh,” she sighs, following the path of a black raven with her fingertips.
I capture her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. Her skin is warm against my lips. I release her hand to slide my fingers under her top, skimming her ribs. She shudders but doesn’t stop me.