Chapter 11 Micah #3
We’re going to wake the neighbors.
But for once, I don’t even care.
Each thrust elicits another cry from me, and I tremble as I feel myself careening closer and closer to climax despite the lack of touch to my cock.
I think he is, too; his thrusts get more erratic, and his hands move to grip my hips as he moves within me.
When my orgasm hits me, I’m not surprised, exactly, but the force of it is startling. I revel in it, and my only regret is that I won’t be able to feel him spilling into me.
I whimper as my oversensitive cock rubs against the bed, and he lets out a harsh cry of his own as he stills inside of me.
I imagine the flood of his cum in my ass, filling me, and I take in a deep, shaky breath.
If only.
It’s only when he relaxes that I collapse down onto the bed completely, spent.
Ilya pulls out. I close my eyes and ready myself for the command to clean myself up, but Ilya leans forward to kiss my shoulder. “One second, Mishka. I’ll dispose of condom and grab towels.”
I’m used to being the one who does that.
I nod, though. If he wants to keep flattering me and spoiling me, why not let him?
He gets up and vanishes into the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth—and completely naked. I blush when I see his fully nude body, the soft hairs covering so much of it.
I’ve managed to roll over in his absence, avoiding the wet spot on the bed. “Sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I made a mess on your sheets.”
Ilya laughs. “I think I made it, by bringing you so much pleasure.” He lies down next to me and begins gently cleaning my cock and hole. “You enjoyed that?”
“Very much so,” I say, breathing out slowly. I’m starting to come back to reality, which is unwelcome, so I cuddle up close to him and close my eyes. “Do… Do you think you could hold me for a little while?” My voice is so small, so uncertain, and I hate myself for asking.
But in the wake of the flogging, of the sex, I need it.
“Yes.” Ilya pulls me into his arms, kissing my forehead. “You were so beautiful, Mishka. I was afraid to hurt you, but it felt good. So controlled. I took this ugly thing inside myself and gave you what you needed.”
I nod, exhaling slowly. He isn’t going to get angry with me. He enjoyed that as much as I did. “You did,” I agree. “It… It was perfect.”
Ilya taps his fingers along my arm. We lie together like that, and I drink up his warmth, his quiet approval.
“We need blankets,” Ilya murmurs. “If we are going to sleep.”
I nod again. “We do,” I say, but I don’t move to try to get under the covers.
Ilya sighs, but he pulls away from me to pull the blankets over us. As soon as he’s lying down again, I slot myself against his side.
I need him.
The thought of being alone right now makes me want to cry.
Ilya turns so he can face me. He traces the line of my lips. “You are amazing. It is rare for me, to meet someone like you,” Ilya says. “Your music went straight into my soul, Mishka. Not just your music. Your eyes. Your lips. Your beautiful voice.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
How can I betray this man?
“I’m not what you think I am,” I whisper. “I’m not innocent. I’ve done things, too.”
Maybe dealing drugs doesn’t put me on the same level that he’s on, but I’m not free of sin. I know what happened to the addicts who didn’t come around anymore.
Jail, if they were lucky.
If not…
I didn’t force them to take drugs.
It was their choice.
I just made it easier.
But sometimes, no matter how hard I try to tell myself that they brought it onto themselves, I have a hard time not feeling guilty about being an active participant in their self-destruction.
I shudder when Ilya runs his knuckles along my jaw.
“What have you done, Mishka? I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you think,” Ilya whispers as he looks me in the eyes.
I look away.
It doesn’t matter what he’s involved in or what he has done.
These are my own personal demons.
For some reason that doesn’t make sense to me, I don’t want him to see me in that light.
If I’m going to get him to trust me, though, I need to give him something. I have to make him see me as a potential ally. “I hurt people,” I tell him after several long moments.
People who’d made their own decisions.
But I’d still hurt them.
Ilya’s smile doesn’t lessen, but his eyes get sadder. “It’s the way of the world. Even children hurt others.” He pulls me even closer to himself and kisses my jaw gently.
My heart pounds against my ribs. This is it. This is when I can try to get something out of him. This is what I’ve been working up to.
“Have you?” I whisper.
Ilya closes his eyes and takes a long breath. “I hurt my mother when I didn’t help her. I hurt my sister when I didn’t believe her. I hurt my colleagues and subordinates.” He clutches my hips. “I went to prison in Russia. There was much pain there.”
“What… What did you do?” I ask, and it’s my turn to brush my lips against his cheek. “I won’t think badly of you, Ilya.”
I need to know.
I need him to tell me.
I need something to tell Adam.
“I was convicted of…” Ilya says a Russian word. “It means I beat a man. I broke his leg. He could only walk with limp after that.”
My heart thunders in my ears. “Why?” I ask him.
That’s the most important question, isn’t it?
What crimes had the man committed to earn a beating like that? Or had it been nothing at all, and Ilya really is the violent gangster Adam says he is?
“Because his face made me angry.” Ilya lets out a dark, bitter laugh. “If he had been a different man, I wouldn’t have gone to jail. But he was my father. He had connections. And if I did not go to prison, he would have killed me.”
So much violence, passed from generation to generation.
I wonder if Adam’s father had hurt him, too.
“I’m sorry,” I say, cupping his cheek before kissing his lips. “But he hurt your mother.”
His father had deserved what was coming to him.
Would Adam?
“Yes. That is why his face made me angry.” Ilya shakes his head. “But we shouldn’t spoil the, the, aftershine with talk of my father.”
I smile. I don’t want to correct him. I like aftershine, and I like that it’s something that belongs to the two of us.
But then my smile falters because nothing belongs to us.
There is no us.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I agree, even though I want to push for more. This isn’t the time, though, something I’m all too aware of. I kiss him again.
Several quiet moments pass. I’m surprised at how comfortable it is. Usually when it’s quiet, that means something is wrong. It doesn’t feel that way with Ilya.
“Mishka, do you want to play your cello in my restaurant?” Ilya asks.
I startle, drawing back to look at him. “What? Why?” I reply, my good mood stuttering. Is Ilya taunting me? Why would he do that?
“Because I think everybody should get to hear your music.” Ilya strokes my hair. “In a concert hall would be better, but for now, I can only offer my restaurant.”
A concert hall. That’s never going to happen.
“I’d only drive your patrons away,” I protest. “My playing is awful. No matter how much I practice, it doesn’t help.”
Cats in heat, Adam had said.
“They will leave more reviews about the good atmosphere. They will say it was so romantic, they had best date of their lives.” Ilya smiles at me. “It will make them want to come back.”
“But I’m not good enough,” I say, feeling dizzy despite lying on the bed next to him. “And I don’t know any Russian music.”
Ilya scoffs. “Neither do most guests. They will appreciate classics. Chopin, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart…” He wrinkles his nose. “Always the Germans.”
“I think Mozart was Austrian,” I say. “And Chopin was Polish.”
Ilya smiles widely. “You see? You know much about music. And you know Tchaikovsky, yes? He was Russian.”
“Well, yes…” I say, trailing off. Those had been what I’d learned in the early days, the pieces that had been woven into my training. “But in front of people? Adam said—”
He doesn’t want to hear about what Adam said, but he has to know, doesn’t he?
“Maybe that night at the bar was a fluke,” I say softly. “Maybe I really am that bad.”
“You are not that bad,” Ilya says sternly. “You are good. Play at my restaurant, and you will see. Many people will appreciate you.”
I don’t believe him, but there’s a large part of me that yearns to. I want to believe that the applause at the bar was real, that they genuinely appreciated my performance.
I want to do this.
Adam’s words are insistent in my mind, but I want it.
“I can try,” I say quietly. “But I’ll only start with one piece. If they don’t like it, I can stop.”
“They will like it,” Ilya assures me. He kisses me again. “I look forward to hearing you play.”
“You’ll be there?” I ask, not sure whether I want him to be or not. If he’s there, I might have to see the disappointment on his face. Or it could be the opposite.
I could see his pride.
I don’t deserve that, but I want it anyway.
“Of course.” Ilya yawns widely. “But I think, it is time for us to sleep.”
“Okay.” I lay my head against his chest, so I’m directly above his heart.
I fall asleep to that gentle thud of his heartbeat, wishing it could beat for me forever.