10. Jealousy and Soul Ties #2
His gaze stayed fixed on me.
“Nikolai—”
“I mean it.” My voice gave up halfway through. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
His breath blew past his teeth in a rough shudder, and then he dragged my mouth to his.
There was nothing gentle about it. It was urgent and hungry, the kiss of someone who’d been starving and was finally handed the feast. His hands dragged down to my waist and hips, anchoring me against him so tightly there wasn’t an inch of air left between us.
A quiet sound escaped my throat, and he swallowed it whole.
“Bed,” he breathed against my lips, his voice tight. “Now.”
I let him guide me backward until the back of my knees hit the mattress. I fell back onto the duvet, pulling him down with me. The sudden weight of him, the pure heat pressing me into the sheets, felt like coming home.
He leaned over me, silver hair falling across his forehead, his chest heaving as he looked down into my eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low and raspy. “Nikolai, are you completely sure?”
I reached up, tangled my fingers in his hair, and pulled his face back down to mine.
His hands found the hem of my shirt, and I froze.
His fingers paused, curling into the cotton, waiting for me to raise my arms. My body turned to stone, every muscle locking tight as the familiar surge of shame washed over me.
He noticed immediately. Zhenya never missed a thing.
“Nikolai?” He quieted down.
“What is it?”
I shook my head, unable to put words to the panic. How could I explain that beneath the thin fabric lay a record of every dark night I’d survived? Every time I had unravelled so completely that physical pain was the only thing capable of tethering me back to reality—
“Hey.” He let go of my shirt and reached for my face, his palm warm against my cheek. He angled my head up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” I choked out. “You’ll see—”
“See what?”
I shut my eyes tight. “The marks. All of them. They’re everywhere, Zhenya. My chest, my arms… I’m covered in them.”
Neither of us said a word.
I braced for him to pull back—to realize what he was taking on, to understand that I was damaged in ways soft words couldn’t fix.
Instead, his lips touched my forehead.
“Let me see,” he murmured.
“No.”
“Nikolai.”
“Please. Don’t make me.”
He stepped back just enough to look at me, his gaze steady and patient as he waited for me to open my eyes. When I finally did, there was no disgust in his expression. No pity, either.
“I am not going to judge you,” he said calmly. “I’m not afraid of this, and I’m certainly not going to stop wanting you because of things that happened long before I came into your life.”
“You don’t get it—”
“Then explain it to me.” He took my hands, pressing a quiet kiss to my knuckles. “Let me see all of you.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but the quiet authority in his voice gave me something to anchor onto.
I lifted my arms.
He drew the shirt up inch by inch, as if uncovering something fragile. The cool room air hit my bare skin, and a shiver ran through me.
The fabric came off completely and dropped to the floor. I sat there exposed, every mark carved into my skin laid bare under the soft light.
Unable to look at him, I fixed my gaze on the wall, my teeth clicked together as I waited for the flinch—for the careful, measured words meant to hide his discomfort.
Five seconds passed. Then ten.
Featherlight fingers traced the long, pale line running along my right forearm.
I jerked back.
“Sorry,” he breathed, catching himself. “I should have asked.”
“It’s fine. I know how awful it looks.”
His hand stopped.
“Look at me.” It wasn’t a request. “Look at me, Nikolai.”
I forced my eyes back to his.
I expected recoil; instead, I found an aching grief. He wasn’t looking at a mess—he was looking at the boy who had been left alone in the dark with no other way out.
“Nikolai.” His voice faltered for a second. “You are not ugly. These—” his fingers brushed a mark near my shoulder “—are not something to hide. They’re proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Proof that you made it through.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to the skin near my collarbone. “Proof that you fought your way back.” He kissed another mark along my ribs. “Proof that you’re still sitting right here in front of me.”
I held my breath, unable to move as he traced every single line across my chest with his mouth.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he murmured against my skin.
I shook my head.
“I see a survivor.” His lips found the faint white line above my hip. “Someone who got lost in his own head and found his way home. Again and again.”
“Zhenya—”
“Someone who refused to be erased.” He cupped my face once more, forcing me to hold his gaze. “You used the only tools you had to stay alive.”
A ragged breath broke from my chest, tears finally spilling over my lashes.
“You actually get it,” I whispered.
“Of course I do.” His thumb brushed the moisture from my cheek. “You aren’t broken, Nikolai. You’re still here. And these—” his tone turned fierce, almost reverent “—are just the map of every time you chose to stay.”
I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
It was frantic and messy, tears slipping between our lips, but he pulled me in like he needed the air just as much as I did. His arms wrapped around my waist, drawing my bare skin flat against his chest, holding me close enough that I couldn’t tell where my heartbeat ended and his began.
His mouth settled over mine again, the edge taken off his movements. Slower now. Less like he was trying to prove something and more like he was just taking his time.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my lips. “Do you know that?”
I couldn’t answer. I just shook my head, keeping my face pressed into his palm as his thumb traced the line of my jaw. I reached up, my hands catching the heavy muscle of his shoulders, needing the anchor. “Zhenya—”
“Let me,” he said, resting his forehead against mine for a brief second.
I nodded.
He didn’t rush. His mouth moved down—my cheek, the turn of my neck, the hollow at my collarbone. It felt methodical, like he was learning the shape of me. When his lips brushed over my chest, he paused.
“May I?”
I swallowed hard, the back of my throat dry. “Yes.”
His tongue trailed slowly across my skin, tracing the pale line of a scar. A shudder ran clear through me, and a quiet sound escaped my throat before I could catch it.
“Tell me what you feel,” he mouthed, his breath hot against my skin.
“Safe,” I whispered into the quiet room. “I feel safe.”
He lifted his head for a second, his dark blue eyes catching the dim light, before leaning back down. His mouth moved lower—across my chest, over my stomach, lingering on the sensitive skin right below my navel. Heat followed everywhere he touched, spreading heavy through my veins.
By the time he worked his way down to my hips, my whole body was trembling, my thighs tense. He didn’t jump ahead. He pressed a slow kiss to the sharp point of my hipbone, then the inside of my thigh, taking his time.
“Zhenya,” I rasped out, my hands tightening on the sheets. “Please—”
“Please what?”
“I need—” I couldn’t get the rest of it out.
He looked up at me, his face completely open in a way I’d never seen before. “Tell me what you need, Nikolai.”
“You,” I breathed. “Inside me. Please.”
His jaw set, his eyes darkening. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He reached over to the nightstand, his fingers closing around a small bottle of lube he must have set out earlier. The realization that he’d actually planned for this made my chest ache in a completely different way.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, coating his fingers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
“I know.” I reached up, my fingers brushing his temple. “I trust you.”
Then his hand moved between my legs. The first press was careful—just the tip of one finger circling the entrance, testing the tension.
A sharp breath caught in my throat.
“Okay?” he asked, watching me closely.
“Yes. More.”
He pushed in slowly. The sensation was full and strange, making my muscles pull tight for a second, but I kept my eyes on his face. I watched the way he tracked every tiny change in my expression.
“Breathe,” he reminded me softly. “Just breathe through it.”
I dragged air into my lungs and forced myself to loosen up. As I uncurled, he pushed deeper, his finger angling slightly—
My hips jerked off the mattress. “Oh—”
A slow, quiet smile touched his lips. “There?”
“Yes.”
He added a second finger, slowly working the tension out of me. A groan scraped up my throat, and his face gave him away—the tight mask dropping just enough to show how hard he was holding back. He dropped his head, resting his forehead against mine, his breath coming faster now.