Chapter 6 Sera #2
His mouth lifts at one corner, his expression lightening. “I agree, and since I’m out of a job for a while, I might need you to entertain me.”
His words send a host of explicit thoughts through my mind, and my core tingles. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice where my newly dirty mind has gone.
“Might pick up a hobby. Got any good ones you’d like to share?”
“Hobby?” I arch a brow. “Like what?”
He shrugs. “Knitting? Pilates? Something peaceful.”
I snort. “I’m not sure you’d fit on a reformer machine.”
“Hmm.” He pretends to think. “I’ll have to think some more about it then.” His eyes darken slightly as they drop to my chest, and I remember I hadn’t bothered with a bra after my shower, and my brief fantasies mean my pebbled nipples are clearly on display. “Unless you have some ideas?”
Heat flushes up my body, and I sway toward him, but he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around again. “In the meantime… Do you have anything to drink? It’s been a long night”
“Uh… yeah. Probably.” I turn toward the kitchen, flicking the light switch out of habit.
The overhead light washes over everything, illuminating the room. I can feel the energy shift as his body goes rigid.
“What?”
His eyes trace the side of my face before traveling lower. “Your throat.” His voice drops lower. “Can you breathe okay?”
My brows slam together. “What do you mean?”
He steps closer, and the heat of his chest radiates through the narrow space between us. “Your voice is raspy. And the bruises. Do you need a doctor? He might have damaged your windpipe.”
The sound he makes isn’t quite a growl but definitely in the same family. “And your jaw…” His gaze cuts there, to the bruised fingerprints on my throat, and then back to my cheek. “Little Warrior, you’ve got to take care of your battle wounds if you’re going to fight another day.”
I shouldn’t like him calling me that. It’s dumb, but I like that he’s not acting like I’m going to fall apart. Yeah, I’m hurt, but I’m still standing.
“It’s sore,” I admit. “But I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He opens my cabinet without asking, searching. “Did you take anything?”
“No.”
The next cabinet he opens has my glasses, and he pulls two out. “Where do you keep your medicine?”
“Liev—” But he’s found a bottle of anti-inflammatories and is already shaking two into his hand and reaching to fill the glasses he found with water before thrusting one of them at me.
I take it reflexively to keep from being splashed. I’m speechless when I feel his thumb tug my lower lip down and he places the pills on my tongue.
“Swallow.”
I’m on fire.
There’s no other description. It’s as if two years of sexual desert is now a flooded oasis, and everything he does and says is turning me on.
“What about ice?”
I stare at him as if he’s switched languages.
“Seraphina,” he says, exasperation making my name rumble from his lips.
“What?” I croak, because I honestly don’t know what he’s asking, too stunned by my body’s behavior.
He stalks to my freezer, muttering something in Russian under his breath, and grabs a bag of frozen peas. Then, his callused palm clamps around mine, and I don’t breathe as he leads me toward the sofa.
His weight dips the cushion when he lowers himself beside me, his thigh a solid line of heat next to mine. He’s too big for my furniture, for this apartment. Broad shoulders, heavy with muscle, stretch the fabric of the Henley every time he moves.
Liev nudges me to turn my face toward him and presses the cold bag to my cheek with impossibly gentle fingers, brushing my hair out of the way with the knuckles of his other hand.
My eyes flutter shut before I can stop them. The cold stings and then numbs the skin underneath. But the rest of me is electric. Hyperaware. Every nerve is awake. I open my eyes and find him watching me, his expression unreadable.
“What?” I whisper.
He swallows, his throat moving, and the warm, rich scent of him fills my nose. He’s so close. The light from the kitchen reaches into this room, and I can see the tiny scar beneath his bottom lip, the heavy dark shadow of stubble along his jaw.
If he doesn’t say something, I might do something absolutely humiliating. Like pounce on him.
But he just looks at me like he’s trying to see through to my soul.
My pulse stutters, and I lean in, unable to resist the pull.
This is what I wanted tonight, right?
His eyes flick to my mouth. Heat flashes across his face, and his eyelids grow heavy, but it doesn’t scare me like it did with Colby. I just want more.
And then his fingers move, the bag forgotten on the floor in front of us. He trails rough fingertips feather-light from my cheekbone down the line of my jaw and over my pulse until he reaches my shoulder.
I freeze. The sensation is different than before. Because the skin grafted there is different.
I am different.
My body jerks to a stop like someone hit an internal brake when I realize that the shoulder of my T-shirt has slipped and all of my scars are on display. He’s touching them.
Desire shrivels, curling inward, and a sick feeling fills my stomach, warring with the fire in my cheeks. I jerk backward.
“What happened?” he murmurs.
The words gut me.
It’s what everyone who sees them asks.
The reason I keep them hidden… I don’t want to talk about it. To share my colossal failure in judgment.
We’re so close, I know he can see everything, every ugly detail of my ruined body—the pale glossy patches on my collarbone and shoulder, the uneven texture, the faint raised edges where the graft is.
My lungs seize, and I try to duck my head, but his fingers tighten where his hand spans the side of my neck, his thumb firm against my pulse. It’s not painful, but it’s unyielding as he holds me exactly where he wants me.
My fight response flares to the surface, but before I can strike out, before I can eviscerate him with my words, his voice breaks the silence.
“No.” His voice drops to something dark and low. “Don’t hide from me.”
“Fuck you! It’s none of your business,” I snap.
His jaw flexes, but Liev doesn’t loosen his grip. His other hand lifts, and he lightly traces one of the pale patches near my jawline.
I can’t look at his face. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking when he looks at me.
“Battle scars,” he says firmly, “don’t need to be hidden.”
It’s too much. My emotions are too raw as I try to pull back again. But his palms slide to cradle the side of my head, and my body betrays me with a tiny tremor.
He leans in just a fraction, his breath brushing my temple. A shiver climbs my spine, and my breasts turn heavy. He angles his head back, and finally I meet his gaze.
The raw intensity in his eyes traps me. My breath comes shallow, unsteady and my thoughts scatter. For a split second I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me. The air between us tightens, thins to breaking.
My lashes flutter.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
And—
He stops.
The hands fall from my face, and he clears his throat roughly before pushing to his feet, not bothering to hide how he adjusts the impressive bulge that is now at my eye level.
“I should go.”
I swallow against the pinch in my throat. I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay.
I want him to touch me.
“Oh.”
Real smooth, Sera.
With a controlled motion, he bends and picks up the bag of peas and sets it on the coffee table before moving for the door.
I get to my feet, needy words hovering on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to ask.
Before it wouldn’t have been a problem. I was confident in myself. In how I looked. In who I was.
Not anymore.
He gestures to the bag by the door. “Your clothes?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak in case I make myself look any more pathetic. He slings the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”
I force a smile, trying to cover the awkwardness. It’s obvious I’m willing… and his body seems to be, too. So why is he leaving?
“You’re turning out to be a handy guy to have around,” I tease, not wanting to end the night like this.
He grins. “I am, aren’t I?” The door cracks open.
“I should get your number.”
He lifts a brow, and I curse the heat rising in my cheeks again.
“In case we need to communicate or something about…”
Liev chuckles and holds out his hand. I hurry to retrieve my phone and unlock it. He types for a minute with a smirk. Suspicious, I glance down and see that he’s added himself to my contacts as “best friend”.
“Best friend?”
“Definitely.” He laughs, and my body eases a little. “I’m going to be bored. I need friends.”
“I’m not sure if that feels like a threat or a promise.”
He grins. “I’ll give you time to decide.
“So… friends?” I ignore the disappointment in my stomach.
“Friends.” A devilish smile crosses his face, and he lifts a hand to flip me off. “Night, Seraphina.”
“Night,” I smirk, lifting my middle finger back at him. Even after the door closes, I hear his laughter all the way down the hall.