Chapter 16 Micah
SIXTEEN
MICAH
I can’t sleep.
I’m lying safe and sound near Ilya, the sound of his quiet snoring filling the room, and I should be able to rest. I’m exhausted from our conversation, but at the same time…
Don’t let him erase you.
I can’t stop thinking about Adam. I can’t stop thinking about what I have with Adam—or more accurately, what I don’t have with Adam.
What I could have with Ilya.
A rational part of my mind tells me that Adam started off this way, too. So did Charles. Both of them showed their true colors before long, and it’s all so new with Ilya that there’s plenty of time for him to change, too.
But Ilya has been honest with me from the start.
I’ve seen his darkness, heard his story, and he’s worked so hard not to lash out at me. It’s real in a way that what I had with Adam and Charles never was.
I carefully slide out of bed, pausing when it seems like Ilya is going to wake up. He doesn’t, and I grab my phone before heading to the spare room. I close and lock the door behind me, my heart pounding against my ribs as I tap the screen of my phone to call Adam.
He answers on the third ring, sounding half-asleep. “Micah?”
I think I’m going to vomit.
“I’m not doing it,” I whisper to him.
“Not doing what?” His voice is sharp, all traces of sleep obliterated from it.
“Any of it. I… I’m staying with Ilya,” I tell him, gathering every bit of strength I can possibly cling to.
“You called me in the middle of the night to tell me something this stupid?” Adam asks. “Are you drunk? High?”
I wish I was. It would make this easier.
I think about how caring he’d sounded at the aquarium.
I think about how at odds it is with this entire situation. He should care more about me, right? He should be more worried that I’m going to get caught and what would happen if I did.
You deserve a man who makes you cry?
God, I’ve cried so much with Adam.
More than the fleeting moments of joy, I have cried so much and been mocked for those tears.
“No,” I say, staring at the closed door. Ilya is right through there, down the hall, and when I get off the phone, I can go to him. He won’t make me feel stupid for crying. He’ll take care of me. “I’m not doing it, Adam.”
“Stop talking nonsense,” Adam says. “He’s a fucking gangster. A Russian gangster. Just because he knows how to sweet talk you doesn’t mean he likes you.”
“You don’t like me either,” I mutter.
If he did, he wouldn’t have sent me into an impossible situation. He wouldn’t be risking my life.
He wouldn’t have done the things he has to me.
He doesn’t love me.
He can’t love me.
“What are you talking about?” Adam’s voice goes softer. “Babe, of course I like you. I love you. I’m the one who protects you from all the trouble you always get yourself into. Like right now.”
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat.
When I was talking to Ilya, it had all seemed so clear, but now that Adam is talking to me, it feels fuzzier. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe…
But then I think of all the times Adam’s lashed out at me. I think of all the times he’s diminished what little I have to call my own.
I think, too, about the fact that he isn’t protecting me by sending me into this situation.
“I’m not doing it anymore,” I repeat.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, fighting off a wave of nausea.
“Of course you are,” Adam counters. “You’re tired and sleep deprived right now. Are you scared? Is he doing something to you?”
Nothing I don’t want.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? I want everything Ilya is doing for me, to me, and I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to inform on Ilya. I don’t want to betray him, and it isn’t because I’m scared of what he’ll do to me.
I’m more afraid that he’ll be disappointed in me, which is somehow worse than violence.
I’m used to violence, after all.
“I mean it,” I say, trying to ignore the trembling in my voice. “I—” I don’t know what to say to make him understand that this is what I want.
It doesn’t matter, though. He won’t accept it, no matter what I say.
I say it anyway. “I’m sorry. But we’re through.”
“We aren’t,” Adam snaps. “God. You get one dicking from the mobster and you think he loves you? Babe, I’m this close to getting the info we need to take him down. We’ll clean up at least one shit corner of this city.”
No, I’m this close to getting the information he needs to take Ilya down.
And it makes me feel sick.
I know, objectively, that Ilya has done terrible things to people. I know he’s not a good person.
But neither is Adam.
“He doesn’t love me,” I say quietly. “But he doesn’t have to. I really am sorry.”
Before he can say anything else, I hang up.
He immediately tries to call me back, but with shaking hands, I turn the phone off and toss it onto the bed.
I did it.
I broke it off with Adam.
I don’t have to tell him anything else about Ilya.
I don’t have to go back to a lonely house, ignored and hidden from the world.
Oh, Ilya may not be announcing to anyone that we’re… involved, but he doesn’t lock me away, either.
Ilya.
I need him now more than ever, and I stumble toward the door. It takes me a few tries to unlock it, and I use the wall to keep myself upright as I head back toward the master bedroom.
Ilya’s still asleep when I crawl back into bed with him, but he wakes up as soon as I press against him. He raises his arm to pull me close against him.
“Mishka?” he murmurs. “Is something wrong?”
I hesitate. It’s not like I can tell him the truth, not in full. “I told Adam it’s over. Completely over. I…” I shudder hard. “I don’t know if I did the right thing.”
Ilya’s eyes widen, then he kisses my forehead. “Oh, Mishka. Good for you. You are brave.”
If I’m brave, why do I feel so wounded and afraid?
I bite my bottom lip. “He’s not happy about it,” I say slowly. “He might… try to cause trouble for you.”
“Let him,” Ilya says. “I’m not afraid of some pig.” He grins at me. “He is bully, but bullies crumble when you fight back.”
Adam will fight back.
He’ll find a way to let Ilya know I’ve been giving Adam information.
And when he does, my perfect, safe bubble will be popped.
Where will I go? What will I do?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m not going back to Adam.
Maybe this will be the last night I have like this, peaceful and happy with Ilya. If it is, I need to take advantage of it. I need one more memory to tuck away and use to fuel me, to remind me that for a little while, I did have something good.
“Will you…” I trail off, unsure of how to ask for what I need. “I need a distraction, Ilya.”
Ilya nods and sits up. He pulls me into his lap and kisses me gently, like he does care, like this isn’t just for show.
“Do you want gentle, Mishka? Or you want I should use the flogger?” Ilya asks.
I search his expression, looking for signs of frustration or impatience, but all I can see is a strange earnestness. He wants to help me.
I think, for the first time, that this is real.
I blew it.
“The flogger,” I whisper.
Ilya nods. He kisses me again, more dominant than before. It reminds me of our first kiss in the bar, the kiss Adam had told me to take—the kiss I’d wanted, even before I truly knew Ilya.
“Undress,” Ilya orders as he releases me.
I reluctantly pull away from him to obey, slipping out of my pajama pants and underwear and setting them aside. I lick my lips, watching him as he gets out of bed.
If this is the last thing I have with Ilya, I want it to be something that leaves marks on my skin.
Maybe he won’t abandon you. Maybe he’ll understand.
The hopeful thought breaks through the haze, and I can’t help the abrupt, desperate need for it to be true.
Ilya turns on both bedside lamps, then picks up the flogger. He’d never packed it away, so it’s been on the dresser, promising the lovely sting, every single time I entered the room.
“How many?” Ilya asks as he trails the tails of the flogger over my ass.
I take in a deep breath, lifting my ass to invite more of the sensation. “Twenty?” I venture. It seems like a reasonable number, enough for me to feel it and remember, but not too many. Ilya doesn’t hit particularly hard, and he takes his time. “Maybe more.”
“All right. Twenty.” Ilya bends down to kiss the small of my back. “Count for me, Mishka.”
I nod, resting my forehead against the pillows and relaxing my body.
The first blow is barely a brush against my skin. “One,” I say.
I’m embarrassed by how much I appreciate it, because Adam always talked about the fake kinksters, the ones who like the show but not the actual pain.
But this isn’t about the pain or even discomfort. For all that I want Ilya to mark me, I want to feel good, too.
“Two,” I say as the second one lands on my ass with more force. Not much, but enough to get my attention, and the third is the same.
He alternates where the tails land on my ass, but he starts to criss-cross them by the time he reaches the fifth. I groan, my body lax between each strike.
“You look good, Mishka,” Ilya says. “Your skin is turning red. Very pretty.”
I don’t deserve his praise. I don’t deserve his kindness.
I’m selfish enough to take it anyway.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking several deep breaths in between strokes. The leather feels so good against my skin, the sting of it leaving lasting pleasure.
When he continues, it’s with varied strokes — some harder, some softer, but all feeling so intimate and good.
And when I gasp out, “twenty,” it doesn’t feel like I’m utterly destroyed. I’m not shaking and hurting and glad that it’s over.
I’m happy.
Ilya sets the flogger down and trails light fingers over the welts. “Your sounds make me aroused, Mishka. Such lovely cries. Melodic, like your music.”
I should tell him the truth.
It would ruin the moment. It would potentially make him throw me out now instead of later.
But I should tell him.
I don’t.
“Then take me,” I whisper, torn between joy and sadness. “Please.”
“Yes.” Ilya places the flogger down beside me. The leather is soft, despite how new it is. I don’t even want to wonder about how much it cost.
Ilya reaches for the lube—and a condom.
I don’t want him to wear a condom. I want to take him bare.
Adam never uses condoms.
I can’t risk it. It’s not fair to Ilya.
So I just imagine that he’s taking me that way, with nothing between us at all.
Maybe one day…
Except there won’t be a “one day.”
I roll over onto my back and spread my legs. “Like this?” I ask, uncertain. Maybe he won’t want to look at me while he fucks me.
But I want to see him. I want to see the pleasure in his expression as he takes me, as he comes undone before my eyes.
Ilya smiles at me. “Yes.” He pours lube onto my hole, then gets his fingers inside me to loosen me up.
I want to protest that I don’t need it.
I do, though.
I don’t like taking anyone unprepared. I want to be loose and open and ready for it.
He takes his time, and I squirm as he works me open.
I’m losing my mind with pleasure from the way he massages my prostate on every other slow thrust of his fingers by the time he rolls the condom on and poises himself at my slick hole.
I won’t last long, but Ilya doesn’t seem to care as long as I’m enjoying myself along the way.
“Beautiful Mishka,” Ilya says as he slowly enters me. “You make me feel twenty years younger.”
I huff out a laugh that turns into a moan as he keeps sinking into me, filling me inch by inch. “If you were actually twenty years younger, I’d never be able to keep up with you.”
Ilya fucks me slow and hard. Every press against the welts from the flogging is a sharp reminder of the pain—and the care—Ilya has given me.
“You would,” Ilya says. “You would take me just as easily. You have taken everything I give.”
“I love everything you give,” I tell him, not meaning to say the words but finding them escaping me regardless. “It’s always so…” My words stutter when his cock hits my prostate, and I have a hard time finding them again. “Perfect. So perfect.”
Ilya groans and bends forward. I reach up to wrap my arms around his shoulders, and as he leans closer, I kiss him. This position is awkward even for me, and it must be worse for him, but he doesn’t complain.
“Mishka, Mishka,” Ilya murmurs against my lips. “You’re first. The first.”
“The first what?” I ask, not pulling away from him.
I never want to pull away from him.
I never want any distance between us at all.
“First person I ever wanted to be with,” Ilya answers. “I slept with other men. But it was cold, hard, fast. I never wanted to see them again.”
Something flutters in my stomach, and I kiss him again. “I want to be with you too,” I say, and I hope he remembers that.
There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to ruin the intimacy of the moment.
Later.
I’ll tell him later…
Assuming there is a later.
Ilya reaches down to wrap his hand around my cock. I shudder at the sensation, his firm grip moving in time with his thrusts. I hook my leg around his waist so I can keep him close, and I desperately squeeze my ass to give him as much pleasure as he’s giving me.
This is complete heaven.
“Mishka, Mishka,” Ilya murmurs. “You must come. I can’t last.”
I won’t either.
Pleasure ramps up, building and building, and feeling him move inside of me as he strokes my cock is my undoing. I cry out, spilling into his hand as my entire body goes rigid, and it feels like only seconds pass before his thrusts stutter and stop.
I wish I could feel him flooding into me.
“Ilya,” I whisper, leaning up for another kiss.
He obliges me. His beard is soft against my chin, and I love that sensation, I love how different it is from every other man I’ve kissed. I never thought I’d enjoy the sensation of a beard against my skin.
He nibbles on my lower lip before his tongue plunges into my mouth. I open for him, letting him explore, letting him taste, until he finally withdraws.
Panting, I look up at him. Adam had always made me feel like kissing me was a chore, but this? This makes me feel like I’m flying.
“You’re so good,” I murmur, dazed. “Ilya…”
I want to tell him the truth — right here, right now, before Adam has a chance to ruin everything for me.
But I can’t bring myself to do it while the afterglow — the aftershine — is still so bright.
Instead, I let Ilya kiss me again and again, and I pretend that everything is fine.
For a little while longer, it can be.
It’s perfect.