Chapter 11
Kelly
Afeatherlight touch moving up and down my arm jolts me awake.
I was so out of it last night after barely sleeping for days. After what happened with … no, I’m not doing this today. My body still aches, but that’s probably my fault anyway for not getting out of the way fast enough.
It all crashes back to me now.
The break-in. Alexei standing there in my apartment like it was completely normal.
Okay, not breaking in, according to him, because apparently, if you make a copy of someone’s key without asking, it doesn’t count as breaking and entering.
Something’s seriously wrong with me because I keep letting this man rewrite reality, and I don’t even try to stop him. Maybe I just attract people who think they can do whatever they want with me.
At least he’s not like David; Alexei’s different.
I should care more that he’s probably been watching me since that night at the clinic.
Weirdly, I don’t because deep down I know he won’t hurt me.
His fingers keep dragging up and down my arm in slow, steady strokes. The effect it has on me though? That’s a different story entirely. When his eyes meet mine, I feel pinned in place under his stare. He is so attractive it’s ridiculous.
He ditched his leather jacket and black hoodie last night, and now he is only in some sort of white thermal shirt that clings to every line of his abs. The fact that he stayed the night and let me sleep curled up against him is weirdly sweet in a way I can’t explain.
He frowns like he’s thinking really hard about something.
“Why is your name Kelly?”
I can’t. I actually can’t with this guy.
That’s what he chooses to say first thing in the morning?
I roll my eyes. “Ultrasound screwed up the gender. My parents didn’t bother with a blood test, and they’d already promised my Irish grandmother they’d name the baby after her.
So … Kelly. Then I showed up a boy, and they’d already bought all these pink clothes, so yeah, I’m wearing pink in every baby picture until I was a year old. ”
He shrugs. “My cousin’s name is Makarov. After the gun.”
I snort. “You’re kidding.”
He doesn’t blink or show any sign he’s joking. Oh my god, he’s not kidding.
I start laughing, then immediately choke on it and wheeze from the pain.
“Being named Kelly Francis was literal hell in high school. There was this one guy. He’d shove my head down toilets, hold me under until I couldn’t breathe.
Called me faggot every chance he got. Once, he beat me so bad I couldn’t see out of my left eye for a week.
Told everyone I got jumped while walking home. They all believed him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brent Cole Lawson. He used to hit on my friend Camilla too, made her super uncomfortable.”
He hums thoughtfully.
“Wait, why do you keep asking me for names of people?”
“No reason.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I thought this was a Russian quirk the first time.
Cultural thing, needing names specifically.
But this is the second time he’s asked, and it’s clicking into place now.
Jesus Christ. I’ve been helping him make a list, haven’t I?
No more names from me. Ever. I don’t really have words for him.
He’s not what you expect when you first meet him.
His hand comes to a stop at the top of my shoulder. I catch him glancing down at my mouth again, then he licks his own lips. I swallow hard.
He really needs to stop doing that. He doesn’t actually want to kiss me, not really. Right?
I think even staying in bed with me like this is probably a huge deal for him. It doesn’t stop my body’s reaction though.
The towel’s gone, and I’m wrapped around him like a koala. Naked.
He glances down. Heat rushes up my neck, flooding straight into my face.
“Sorry,” I blurt, voice coming out way too high. “I’ll get dressed.”
His hand trails higher, from my shoulder up to my chin, tilting my face toward his.
Goosebumps break out across my skin. I can’t breathe properly. He licks his lips again and leans in closer, stopping right in front of my face with his breath warm against my mouth. His dark eyes search mine, and I nod.
Maybe too fast, but fuck it, I’ve been waiting for this.
His lips press against mine. The kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before it turns desperate. He cups my face, thumb dragging along my jaw as he pulls me in, while collaring my nape.
His lips part and his tongue pushes into my mouth, hungry and demanding.
I open for him without thinking, let him in, and the feeling of it makes my brain shut off completely.
His tongue slides against mine, slick and hot, coaxing sounds out of me I didn’t plan on making.
He groans into my mouth, and I feel it everywhere.
His hand tightens on my nape, fingers digging in.
The kiss gets messier, wetter. We’re both past the point of restraint.
My dick throbs, going from half-hard to fully hard in seconds. I shift and feel him pressed against me, thick and hard through his jeans.
Heat floods my face, my throat, everywhere.
I push myself up, ribs screaming in protest, and swing my leg over to straddle him. His hands drop to my waist immediately, one hand squeezing hard, the other sliding down to grab my ass and pull me against him.
Our cocks grind together through his denim, and I gasp into his mouth.
The friction is rough, not enough. He does it again, and I can’t breathe, can’t think past the feeling of him hard underneath me.
I pull back just enough to see him. His lips are swollen and wet, his eyes locked on mine, pupils blown so wide they’re almost black.
“Is this okay?”
“Da.”
He grips my hair and yanks me down, then kisses me harder—mouth open, tongue pushing deep inside my mouth, flicking against mine. My body presses against him, and his hand spreads wide across my lower back.
I drag my tongue down his jaw to his throat and start kissing, sucking hard enough to bruise.
I want to mark him everywhere, claim him the way he’s claimed me.
My tongue flicks against his neck, and I bite down, then pull back and look.
There’s already red blooming between the edges of his tattoos.
I lick over it and suck onto his skin, and he twitches under me.
“You are injured. Let me take care of you.”
My breath catches. I manage a nod.
His fingers press into my shoulders and push me down against the bed, then he climbs over me. He doesn’t put weight where I’m hurt. He leans down and starts kissing along my neck, slow and careful at first, but deeper the lower he goes.
His mouth finds my chest, tongue circling one nipple before moving to the other.
He bites soft, but enough to make me jolt, and then he trails down, lips trailing over my stomach.
He slides his hands under my ass, gripping and shifting me until I’m flat on my back, spread out. My cock’s leaking already. My breathing stutters, too fast. He looks up once, eyes dark, then his tongue drags across his lips like he’s still deciding how to start.
His hand wraps around the base of me, and then his mouth is there. Just the tip—warm, wet, uncertain. I gasp, hips twitching.
“Alexei, more, please,” I choke out, already a mess.
He doesn’t move right away. Just licks at the head, slow and clumsy, trying different angles. His tongue circles me once, then again, a little harder this time. He pulls back, glances at me, then goes in deeper, takes a little more, then stops like he’s testing how much he can handle.
God, he’s never done this with a man before. I can tell from the way he’s experimenting, testing. I’m his first. Every movement feels deliberate, curious. He’s figuring it out while I’m falling apart under him.
I slide my hands into his hair on instinct, and then he sinks down and takes me deeper. His lips stretch around me, and I can feel the tight heat of his throat, the way his jaw moves when he pulls back and licks over the tip again before taking me in all over.
“So good,” I whisper, biting down on my lip to keep the sound in.
His head starts moving faster, deeper. His tongue presses along the underside every time he pulls back, and when he sinks down again, one of his hands slides lower and starts playing with my balls. The other stays wrapped tight around the base of my cock, keeping me right where he wants me.
The heat starts building too fast. My balls pull tight, and I feel the ache of it shoot through me like a warning.
“Mmh,” I gasp, hips twitching. “I’m gonna come soon.”
He doesn’t stop, just hums around my cock. That’s all it takes—that hmm.
My whole body tenses. And I let go.
My eyes slam shut, and I feel myself spill into his mouth, pulse after pulse, thick and hot and way too much. It’s been so long. He stays right there. Swallows and lets me come all the way down his throat.
When he finally pulls off, he licks along the tip once more before wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Then he sucks it into his mouth, not wasting a single drop.
“Fuck, zaychik,” he murmurs. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I don’t even know what it means.
Leather scrapes through belt loops. He pushes his jeans down, his boxers too, and his cock falls free.
He’s uncut, thick, leaking pre-cum from the tip.
My mouth waters. I’ve never seen anyone uncut before.
I’ve never wanted anything more. The sight of him makes my chest tighten.
When he takes his shirt off, I gasp. He looks unreal.
Every muscle on him is carved out, abs sharp as hell, the kind of stomach only seen in movies.
Six-pack, clear as day. At the clinic, I was too focused on the wound to really look. Now, I can’t look away.
My gaze drags lower and catches on the spot I stitched up, the skin still healing.
He holds his hand open in front of my face. “Spit.”