Chapter 15 #2
His hard cock presses against my chest. He reaches down, gathers what’s left on my stomach, and smears it over his cock. Starts jerking himself, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
“You taste incredible, zaychik. I’m never getting enough of this.”
He groans, eyes shut tight. Hot spurts of cum hit my chest, then my neck. His forehead drops against mine. He stays hovering over me, careful not to press against my injuries.
He walks off and returns with a warm washcloth. Cleans me first, careful and thorough, fingers brushing over the bruises like he’s checking them. Then he cleans himself quickly and climbs into bed.
We eventually end up curled together with our feet tangled, my head resting on his chest while his arms wrap around me. I listen to his heartbeat, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothes me enough that I’m about to drift off to sleep.
“You know you can’t just shut me up with an orgasm every time I get mad at you,” I mutter. “What does zaychik mean by the way?”
He presses his lips against my forehead. “Little bunny.”
Oh.
There’s something about how gentle he is with me that’s making me remember what it felt like before David taught me that kindness comes with a price.
He’s awakening this fragile, terrifying hope that maybe someone can want to take care of me without wanting to destroy me.
The feeling spreads warmth through my chest, and I’m not sure if I should trust it or run from it.
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” I admit quietly against his skin.
He hums. “You are small, soft, and mine.”
I keep smiling like an idiot against his chest. God, he’s solid. The muscle underneath my cheek makes me want to just melt into him.
“Did you like the bike?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “I just … I’m not used to people buying me things. It’s a lot. But thank you.”
His hand moves through my hair. “You don’t like gifts?”
“It’s not that. It’s just …” I struggle to find the words. “Nobody’s ever just given me something like that before. Without expecting anything back.”
“I don’t expect anything back.”
“I know. That’s what makes it weird.” I huff out a laugh against his skin. “Good weird, though.”
He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s working through it in his head. I shift topics before he can ask more questions. “Will you tell me something? I like hearing your voice. Tell me something about your family.”
“My older brother Yulian has this ancient hoodie he’s weirdly attached to.
Uses it as a pillow, holds it when he’s stressed.
He came at me once for touching it, so I threw him through a window.
Shattered the whole thing. Still don’t know what that’s about, but I’m saving that information for the right moment. ”
A smile tugs at my lips, then his words register. “Wait, what do you mean saving that information? For what?”
“It’s ammunition for blackmail,” he murmurs.
“Mikhail and Daniil used to steal our weed when they were teenagers. They’d sneak out to the roof and smoke, thinking they were clever.
I could smell it from my room the whole time.
Yulian blamed me and Lev for months. I let him.
That one’s for the next time Mikhail pisses me off. ”
It sounds exhausting having so many brothers. I was definitely made to be an only child. I’ve never been in a position where I needed blackmail material on anyone, but I have to admit, it sounds kind of fun.
“Are you close with all your brothers?”
“Da, I guess. We clash constantly. Too many big personalities in one family. Yulian runs his mouth, Mikhail gets physical and follows Daniil around like a lost puppy, Lev tries to control everything, and I just want everyone to shut up. Someone’s always angry at someone else.”
“Your family sounds intense.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he says, and I can hear the dry amusement in his voice.
“What about your mom?”
“She’s tough. Keeps everyone in line, my father included. No one else can do that.” His voice warms slightly. “She throws these big parties for all our birthdays and hosts fancy brunches with wives from other families that work under us.”
Right. I definitely don’t need more details about international crime family networks.
“Tell me something about yourself from when you were younger. I want to know more about you.”
I go rigid against him. Panic rushes through my brain, scrambling for something to say. That I was the loser in high school everyone picked on, the nerd who studied instead of going to parties because nobody invited me anyway?
“I was the captain of the math team,” I say and then immediately wince. Of all the things I could’ve said, that’s what came out.
“Math team?”
“Um, yeah. We had these competitions against other schools, and we always won. Thanks to me, actually.” I’m making this worse. “I was really good at calculus and probability problems. Could solve them faster than anyone else.”
He’s quiet for a second, and I can feel my face burning. Great. Now he knows I’m a complete nerd.
“That’s impressive.”
I blink. “Really?”
“You were the best at something. Led a team to victory. That takes skill.”
“It was just math competitions. Not exactly cool.”
“Who gives a shit about cool? You were good at it.”
The way he says it, so matter-of-fact, like being captain of the math team is actually something worth mentioning instead of the social death sentence it was in high school, makes something warm settle in my chest.
“Thanks,” I mutter against his skin. “Though I’m pretty sure that makes me the least interesting person you’ve ever met.”
“You’re not boring, Kelly.”
“I literally just told you my biggest achievement in high school was solving math problems.”
“You accomplished something real. I dropped out and went straight into the family business. What you did actually matters.”
I nod against his skin. The rise and fall of his chest should calm me, but instead I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something that’s going to swallow me whole.
I’m so scared. Of waking up one day and him realizing I’m not worth the effort. That all this was just borrowed time, something he’ll grow tired of when he sees what I really am underneath. That I’m pathetic.
I’ve spent so long being someone’s mistake that I don’t know how to be someone’s choice.
Don’t know how to believe I could be. And when he leaves, not if, when, because people like me don’t get to keep people like him, I’ll still be here.
Still broken. Still the person nobody stayed for.
And this time it’ll hurt worse because for a little while, I let myself believe it could be different.
I press my face harder into his chest, breathing him in, trying to memorize the way his arms feel around me.
The warmth. The safety. All of it. Because soon this will just be another thing I had and lost, and I need to remember what it felt like to be held like I mattered, even if it was only for a moment.