Chapter Two #2
But no one has ever looked at me with soft hazel eyes and said I make them feel safe enough to share their loneliness.
I lift my hand instinctively, intending to cover my face, to hide whatever expression I’m making, but I stop halfway. Because I realize I haven’t been masking—not once since I walked into her shop tonight.
I’ve been looking at her openly. Letting her see. Letting myself feel. And I can’t remember the last time I did that with anyone.
I sit back slowly, eyes fixed on her.
“What?” she whispers, noticing the shift.
How do I tell her..?
That she’s stripping me open without trying.
That I don’t know how to protect myself from her softness.
That something inside me is waking up…something I thought I killed years ago.
Instead I say the only thing I can manage without losing control.
“Your skin looks as soft as a lepestok,” I say gently.
The words slip out before I can think.
“Lepestok?” she echoes.
“Petal.”
Her breath catches.
I inch closer, drawn by force greater than me. Maybe it’s those wide magical hazel eyes, staring at me with a heart wrenching innocence…or those luscious lips, parted slightly in oblivious anticipation…
But I suddenly can’t hold on to my control anymore.
I slide an arm around her waist, pull her close and claim her mouth. Slowly at first. Testing.
Her lips are soft, tentative…then hungry.
She presses closer, fingers curling into my shirt like she needs something solid to hold onto.
I deepen the kiss, tilting her chin up, and she melts so beautifully against me that my chest aches.
She tastes like sweetness and nerves and something impossibly pure.
When she breaks the kiss for breath, her lips are flushed, swollen, glistening. She looks dazed, like she’s trying to understand the gravity of what’s happening.
“I’ve never…” she whispers.
“It’s your first kiss?” I ask even though the answer is clearly written on her face.
She nods, her blush deepening. “Yes.”
My chest tightens with an emotion that’s hard to describe in the moment—an overwhelming tenderness that I’ve never felt before.
“Oh, my darling…” I brush my knuckles against her face. “You’re unreal.”
Her breath hitches and she leans into my touch. I guide her back gently, laying her down along the couch cushions. She follows easily, trusting, vulnerable, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say.
“Okay,” she breathes.
I press a soft kiss to her throat, letting my lips linger. She arches into me, a small, helpless sound slipping past her lips.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “So responsive.”
Her eyes flutter close.
I slide down the couch, slowly dragging my hand down her shoulder, over the curve of her breasts, and her stomach to her thighs.
“Viktor—” she breathes.
“Let me see you, my love,” I murmur, gently pushing her legs apart. She has on lacy white panties that almost undo me. I hook a finger into the band and pull them down slowly, watching her face, loving how her blush deepens and how her eyes dilate in anticipation.
“Natalya,” I whisper when, throwing the panties aside as I feast my eyes on her pink, moist folds. “You’re beautiful.”
Color floods her cheeks. She tries to close her legs but I apply gentle pressure.
“No hiding,” I say softly. “Not from me.”
I push her knees apart gently and lie down between her legs, then I lower my mouth to her, simply unable to resist the temptation.
She gasps, her hands flying to my hair. She tries to wiggle her legs close but I hold her in place, sliding my tongue over her clit, licking her with the barest touch. A soft moan escapes her, her hands tightening in my hair.
I pull away, place a kiss on her inner thigh and smile up at her. “You need to relax if you want to enjoy this, lepestok. Do you want me to stop?”
She shakes her head, her blush deepening. “N-no, I like it— it just feels…strange.”
“Not for long,” I say with a smirk then lower my mouth back to her, kissing her thighs until I feel her body relax beneath me. Then I close my mouth over her again, tasting her, teasing.
I slide my tongue past her slippery lips, pushing gently into her. She gasps, sighing when I pull back out and thrust again. I continue to tongue-fuck her, very slowly, the I speed up, adding more pressure.
“Damn, you’re so sweet,” I murmur, sucking gently on her clit.
She whimpers, her body tensing up and breaking into a sudden tremor.
I raise my head, watching her sweet face process her very first erection and the sight is so damn erotic that I can’t help but stroke my cock. I’m so damn hard and the sight of her wet virgin pussy isn’t helping matters. It takes everything in me not to drive my cock into her right now.
But I know she isn’t ready and that’s the only thing holding me back.
I spit into my hand and start to pump myself.
Hard and fast. She watches me, her eyes wide with awe and an unabashed lust that fuels my pleasure.
And before I know it, I’m tumbling over the edge, right onto her stomach.
And she’s right there…watching, looking at where I’ve marked her. Like she’s mine. I want her to be mine.
“That was…majestic. You were so beautiful.”
“What?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or curse. No one has ever called me beautiful—it probably never occurred to anyone.
But I can tell she’s dead serious.
“And you will be the death of me, lepestok,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
I help her sit up and she murmurs a soft thank you. She’s still a little breathless, her cheeks flushed, her lashes damp. She looks beautifully undone.
“Stay here,” I whisper.
She nods weakly.
I go to the kitchen, grab a warm towel, and return to her. I clean her gently, carefully. She watches me the whole time, eyes wide and soft, still floating somewhere between reality and bliss.
When I’m done, I cup her cheek. “You’re okay?”
She nods again. “Yes. More than okay.”
Her voice wobbles, and something in my chest cracks open. She tries to stand, but her knees give a little. Before she can fall, I scoop her into my arms. She lets out a tiny gasp and instinctively curls against my chest.
“Viktor—”
“Shh. I’ve got you.”
I carry her down the short hallway, into her bedroom. It smells like lavender and something distinctly her. I lay her on the bed and pull the covers up around her shoulders.
She looks small like this.
Soft.
Sleepy.
Completely surrendered.
I brush a piece of hair from her face, meaning to leave—because I should leave, because it would be smarter, safer, less complicated—but she reaches out and grabs my hand, her delicate fingers curling around mine. Her eyes are filled with a quiet plea.
“Stay,” she whispers.
It’s just one word.
A simple, yet dangerous request.
I should say no.
I should walk out, lock down whatever I’ve let slip tonight, and rebuild the walls I’ve carefully maintained for years.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
Her relief is immediate, like a breath she didn’t know she was holding. I strip down to my boxers, folding my clothes over the chair by her dresser. When I climb into bed beside her, she moves into me without hesitation, curling against my chest.
I pull her in, hold her close, feel the warmth of her breath against my throat. Within minutes, her breathing deepens. She falls asleep just like that, trusting me enough to drift off in my arms.
Trusting me.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, one hand stroking slowly down her spine. I should feel guilty. Or conflicted. Or cautious.
Instead…I feel calm.
Dangerously calm.
I think about what I’ve done.
I crossed a line.
I let myself get pulled in.
I let her see me.
All of me.
No mask.
I should be thinking about the consequences. I should be worried.
But I’m not.
Because for the first time since I was a child—before my mother died, before the world hardened into something sharp and unforgiving—I feel safe.
Not because the world is safe—it never will be for a man like me—but because she is.
Natalya is familiar with our world—she grew up in it. She won’t ask I questions. She won’t demand a life I can’t give. And more importantly…I don’t have to hide from her.
Not the darkness.
Not the quiet.
Not the depth of feeling I keep buried under everything else.
She accepts it—accepts me.
I tighten my arm around her sleeping form, pulling her closer, her softness fitting against every hard, broken corner inside me.
I press a slow, careful kiss to the top of her head.
“Lepestok,” I whisper into her hair, the word slipping from me with something like reverence.
She stirs but doesn’t wake, just burrows deeper into me. I let my eyes close, her warmth bleeding into the cold places I thought would never thaw again. And for the first time in years, I fall asleep feeling whole.
Content.
Wanted.
At peace.