43. Act Forty-Three
ACT FORTY-THREE
L iving with a guy is strange.
It’s not a sleepover, where you legitimately know you’ll return home after a brief weekend, back to your own shower, your own sink, your own bed. It’s been about a month, and I’ve just barely accepted that I share all of those with another person. A male person. A guy.
The causal nights—where I return from the gym, he returns from Amour—are the most interesting. There are no boozy 3 a.m. make-out sessions on these nights, no flirty drunk tendencies and my sloppy drunk movements.
It’s just…normal.
On the bed, I flip through One Last Kiss, Please for possibility the thirtieth time, the spine falling apart. My head is on Nikolai’s chest while he talks on the phone in Russian. Almost every night Sergei and Peter call, just to stay in touch with Nikolai, even if they can’t see each other in person.
I dog-ear one of my favorite pages, lines already marked with yellow highlighter. And then the book is suddenly swiped from my hands.
“Hey,” I say, watching Nikolai skim the page. His phone is shut off.
He’s reading your book, Thora.
My heart spasms, and I spring to action, straddling him to try and retrieve the paperback. “That’s mine…” I have no other defense besides this one. Lame.
He smiles that charming smile and tucks the book closer to his chest. “You intrigue me, myshka. Let me read.”
I gape. “You’re not a reader.”
He tilts his head. “And how do you know that?” He thinks he’s stumped me.
“Because…” Maybe he has stumped you, Thora.
His smile keeps growing, waiting for me to collect my words.
I scan the room and my evidence clicks. “Because there aren’t any books in this room, besides maybe one…” I squint at the desk. “… Sports Illustrated magazine, which is not a book.” His free time is usually spent in the company of family. Not with a trade paperback. I mean, I downloaded an iPhone game for him once as something to do, and his attention span lasted about thirty seconds. It was a good one too: Tiny Wings. But it ended with the phone thudding to the floor.
And me under Nikolai Kotova.
“You’re breathing heavy.”
I press my lips together. “No…I’m not.”
His gray eyes penetrate me. That’s not helping my cause. Then he returns to the vampire book, actually digesting the words. He stiffens some. “What is this?” he asks, looking genuinely curious as he turns another page.
“Okay, you’ve seen enough,” I say, leaning forward on his body to snatch it. He easily blocks my arm with his.
And he reads aloud, “ Her flesh slapped my flesh in the heat of the night, the noises heightening our blood thirst and my… ” He pauses and breaks into an even bigger smile.
“It’s not funny,” I say. “It’s a good book .”
“I can’t believe you’ve been reading this every night in bed.” He’s not judging, just surprised, I guess. Maybe he thought I was reading something more innocent. I’m really happy he doesn’t remember that I loaned this one to his little sister. I doubt he would approve.
He flips the page and reads, “ Her wetness glistened in the candlelight. ‘You taste so good, baby,’ I groaned, licking the softness of her... ” His brows rise at me.
My eyes have popped out of my face.
He rolls me over so that I’m underneath him, the weight of his body adding a hot pressure. I instinctively split my legs open, around him. Is this really happening?
With the paperback still opened in his hand, he reads, “ I grip her face as her lips wrap around my member. ” He gives me a confused look at the word member.
“Cock,” I say.
He tilts his head again, his intense gaze heating all of me. “I’ve never heard you say that word.”
“Really?” I think it all the time. “I…definitely said the word cocktail before.”
His lips keep rising, and he watches my ribcage jut in and out, just in a baggy shirt and fleece shorts while he’s in gray, thin cotton pants.
Then he reads, “ ‘Right there, baby. Good girl. ’ That turns you on, myshka.”
“Not always…” I admit. I swallow, lust swimming in his grays. “I like what you do.”
He leans down and kisses my neck, sucking. “And what do I do?” he whispers in my nape, before kissing again.
I let out a breathy noise at the sensitivity, my nerves sparking. I arch up into him. He has to clasp my waist to keep me still. “That,” I breathe.
Before I can float away with these sensations, he sits up, skimming another page with a devilish grin. His eyes flicker to me as he reads. “ I sank my fangs into her nape and pounded my erection between her curvy thighs. ”
I can’t control my staggered breathing. “I’ve never heard you say that word,” I tell him now. Erection.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back—I’m soaked. For sure. “Fangs?” His lips keep rising higher.
I shake my head. “Not that word…I mean, I actually…” I’ve never heard you say that either. I have no more oxygen to speak properly. He’s chasing me around the room, even if reality says I’m lying beneath him. It doesn’t feel that way.
“Thighs?” he says, more huskily, his hands running up the bareness of mine.
I tensely shake my head, my legs tightening around him, pulsing more intense.
“Erection.” He eye-fucks me.
I buck up, and a tight, low noise catches in his throat. He grips my hip again, and he keeps me still beneath him. I shut my eyes, his gaze basically drilling into me.
“Open your eyes, myshka.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m going to come…and you’re just speaking to me.” My eyes staying closed so this will last longer.
“But I haven’t even reached the best part.” His thumb caresses my cheek, daring me to look at him, to take a quick peek of his features.
It’s too tempting. And I’m too curious to stay in darkness. So I open one eye. And then two, half of his attention planted on the book, scanning a new part.
Nikolai meets my gaze. “ With her, and only with her, the dead in me is alive. ”
I highlighted that line. And underlined it. And starred it. Coming from his lips—it does more to me than all the others.
He says, “I love that quote.”
“Why?” I have to ask.
It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, staring off. I watch as his eyes seem to lighten with more and more clarity. And then he focuses back on me.
“I couldn’t explain, for the longest time, why I wanted you near me,” he says. “I knew I was attracted to you, but it was more than that. Your energy, your idealism and optimism—I missed those things, the places inside of me that made me feel more alive. And for years, I only sought them out on Saturday nights.”
Performing. During his after-show. His one time to let go and be free.
“And I realized,” he says lowly, “you are my Saturday nights. Being with you makes me come alive all over again.”
My heart thrums and soars at his proclamation. Even if I could speak, I’m not even sure how to express my feelings. He’s never said anything like this to me before.
Thankfully he leans closer, kissing me, not urging me to fill the silence with my voice. He sets the book aside, tugging me to his chest. As though we’re cuddling. His actions are all smooth and fluid like skilled choreography.
Nikolai drapes my leg over his waist. Then he tugs down his boxer-briefs, pulling aside my panties and shorts. He slides his hardness far into me, filling my need.
After many experiences with him, there’s no pain this time. Just pleasure.
I hold him tighter, my fingers gripping the longer hairs by his neck. He’s slow and sweet, powerful and deep. The fullness lights me on fire, and I relax into his body, into the way he has me protectively in his arms.
As he thrusts, his gaze meets mine again, those hypnotic, gunmetal skies.
And I don’t want to lose all these moments with him.
Not yet.