Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Lauren
Watching Alexei with his father was a revelation. He was so gentle with him. Patient and kind. It would be easy to get frustrated, but my husband was a decent man.
I shouldn’t compare, but I tried to imagine Thad providing that level of comfort to anyone.
He didn’t speak to his parents much, though I had chatted with his mom on the phone, and I found her to be warm and generous.
Thad thought his parents were middle-class Midwesterners with “boomer thinking.” Because I had such a strange relationship with my own father, I hadn’t interrogated Thad’s with his family further.
But I saw now that his attitude toward them spoke volumes.
As far as I could tell they hadn’t done anything wrong, other than offend him with their normalcy.
He still wasn’t picking up—I had tried one more time after dinner—and while I was tempted to head over to his apartment, I was also dog tired. And at this point, I was incapable of saying nice things.
Alexei came downstairs into the living room, where I was finishing my wine.
“How is he?”
“I’ve given him his sedative. He should have a restful night.”
“He has problems sleeping?”
“He used to be a night owl, but a couple of times he’s left the house after dark and frightened the hell out of me. He gets a better night’s sleep this way and I don’t have to worry about him so much.” He sat on the sofa beside me. “Thanks for today.”
“Uh, thank you. You painted a wall, made me mac n’ cheese, and provided hot water. My hero.”
“And you worked on the puzzle with him.”
“Hey, I love puzzles. That was a fun one.” And it took my mind off my problems, though not the one sitting before me. I had a feeling that if I stayed any longer, the problem would only magnify. “I should call an Uber.”
Before he could respond, I headed into the hallway and picked up my overnight bag—where had that come from? It was such a loaded term, and the last thing I needed was anything to be loaded. Clarity was the goal here.
I pivoted and there he was, close enough to touch but mostly close enough to feel. As usual, energy zipped along the electric current that connected us. I dropped the bag, wrapped my arms around him, and tilted my head up.
“This doesn’t mean anything.” And then I kissed him. A meaningless, insignificant kiss, no better than what I would dispense to a stranger. A rando on New Year’s Eve. A soldier in Times Square on the day peace broke out.
But I hadn’t reckoned on how he would respond, the hunger in it, because when he kissed me back, I was gone.
His whisper was urgent and absolutely heart-rending. “Stay with me, Lauren. We both need this.”
The rightness of that thrilled through me.
I had never needed sex or even hands-on comfort, but with Alexei, the opposite was the case.
Always had been. I had needed him years ago, and while he had disappointed me, I wanted to believe that his life was too complicated then to make things work between us. Not that anything was simpler now.
But he was right about this: we both needed it. I could say it didn’t mean anything, but it would be a lie.
And he knew it.
Yet I was determined to maintain some control in a world where everything was spinning and spiraling. I could give him comfort and take back a modicum of power for myself.
I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his zipper down. Under my searching fingertips, I felt him swell, strength and sensuality in one hot, perfect package.
“Lauren,” he gutted out. “You don’t have to …” What I didn’t have to do was lost on an erotic hiss as I curled my palm inside and cupped his erection, straining for freedom.
Call me the cock liberator.
I wrapped my hand around him more tightly, moving up and down his shaft.
“Tell me what you like.”
“Your touch. Your taste.” He kissed me, licking into my mouth, exploring with his tongue.
“I mean this.” I picked up the leaking pre-cum at the crown, used it to ease my way from root to tip.
“You do it, I like it.”
So I did it. Fell to my knees and assessed the beauty before me. Thick, veined, powerful, and all mine. My husband was a very fine man.
The salty taste of him coated my tongue as I sucked on the crown, then inched my way down, taking him in more and more with each stroke.
He cupped the back of my neck and held me still, his fingers gripping my hair and pulling just enough.
Enough to feel his power yet assure me I was in charge. Of his pleasure. Of my own.
The deeper I sucked him, the wetter I got and the stronger the urge to touch myself.
To travel this journey with him. I slipped my hand inside my sweats, and that first touch …
Oh, we both felt it. My moan vibrated around his cock, and when I looked up, I found his eyes locked on me, urging me on as I sucked and fingered, determined to make him lose so I could win.
I so needed a win.
His neck muscles contorted, his powerful chest strained with the effort not to lose control. I wanted to feel that victory all over me. I released him with a pop, then unzipped my sweatshirt jacket, revealing a pretty blue, lace-trimmed bra that showcased my tits perfectly.
Continuing to stroke his cock, I peered up through the veil of my lashes and said, “Come on me, husband.”
The first splash of heat landed in my cleavage. The next was a creamy spurt across the swells of my breasts. By the time he was done, I was a splotchy canvas painted with the evidence of his desire.
Still on my knees, one hand inside my sweats, I met his feral gaze.
“What do you think you are doing?” he gutted out.
“Finishing the job,” I murmured as my hand continued to stroke between my thighs. I was close, and the sight of him, looming over me like a ravenous wolf was giving me all I needed to get there.
It seemed Alexei Nazarov had other ideas.
Within seconds, he had me on my back in the hallway and had yanked my sweats to my ankles.
“Show me, zhena.”
“What?” I whispered.
“Everything I have missed.”
Trust him to bring emotions into it. As much as I wanted to ignore those pesky feelings, I was with him on that score. I wanted to feel everything. I wanted to remove the barriers I’d erected to keep him at bay, starting with the heart beating between my thighs.
I widened my legs. The throb in my aching pussy was almost painful now.
He ran his hands down the inside of my thighs until his thumbs found my sensitive flesh and separated it, making me squirm.
“Hurry,” I whispered.
The bastard went slower. Searching with his fingers, swirling my wetness around, staying clear of where I needed him most. Impatient, I stroked my clit. Never send a man to do a woman’s job.
He pushed my hand aside and replaced it with his tongue, then a suckle of the swollen bundle of nerves. I came immediately, moaning loudly, arching my back and pushing up into his mouth as he continued to lick and suck and feast.
Finally, he relented and lay down beside me, one hand in a possessive clamp over my breast. As we both panted to catch our breath, he used his wicked index finger to draw patterns on my skin above my bra cup.
“Are you …” I looked down, trying to make it out. “Drawing hockey sticks in your cum on my tits?”
“Hockey sticks and …” he finished with a flourish. “A heart.”
“So romantic.”
“I could be, if you’d let me.” He leaned up on one elbow and arrowed that blue-eyed charm my way.
“Not sure I’d survive, Alexei.” I hated how the words sounded on my lips. How the hurt of before still found a way to surface from the depths.
“I want to take care of you, Lauren, and not just when you have the stomach flu or a burst pipe.”
I wanted that, too. I needed it. But I’d let him in before and trust was a finite resource.
Rather than deal with it, I sat up, conscious of the drying gunk on my skin. “Right now, you can take care of me by washing this off.”
He frowned. “But I have marked you, Silver Eyes. You should never want to shower again.”
Humor from the Russian? It was confirmed when the corner of his lips tipped up.
Gently, he redressed me, then stood and pulled on his jeans. He extended his hand. “Shower, then more orgasms. I have fifteen years to make up for.”