Chapter 18 #2
I drag my hands upward, fingertips brushing over the ridges of his ribs, feeling every part of his body tense beneath my touch.
His breath catches sharply when my thumbs brush over his nipples.
His whole body jolts, a shudder running through him, before a broken moan slips past his lips.
A grin ghosts over my mouth, and I press a teasing kiss to his throat, close enough for him to feel the shape of my smirk, before whispering,
“You like that?”
He nods, shaky, biting down hard on his bottom lip. The sight only makes me hungrier. I pinch lightly, rolling the sensitive buds between my fingers, and his head tips back in surrender. His hips buck helplessly, grinding into me, desperate and unthinking.
I tighten my grip on his waist, taking control, guiding the rhythm of his movements.
Each slow, deliberate grind of his bulge against mine drags a pulse of white-hot pleasure through me.
And fuck, his sounds. Those soft, breathy moans, slipping out of him like secrets, like he doesn’t even know he’s making them. They drive me insane.
His fingers tremble where they clutch at my shoulders. Part of him is still unsure and hesitant. But his body… his body already knows what it wants. It’s begging for me with every roll of his hips, every stuttering breath, every desperate sound.
“A–Alex,” he gasps, voice cracking on my name. “Please…”
The sound of him pleading, voice trembling, my name spilling from his lips, coils hot and dark in my gut.
Possessive. Primal. I want more. I want him writhing under me, crying out for me, until there’s no question who he belongs to.
I shift beneath him and grind up hard into him, the choked gasp he gives nearly undoes me.
“Please, what, krasivy?” I murmur against his throat, savoring the shudder that runs through him.
“I…I don’t know,” he stammers, breathless, voice breaking.
I hum low against his skin, and he jolts when my tongue flicks over his nipple.
His moan turns high, almost a whimper, as his fingers tangle hard in my hair.
His body trembles above me, so responsive, so alive.
I suck lightly at first, then harder, teasing, tormenting, while my fingers roll the other.
He’s shaking now, every sound spilling from him raw, unfiltered.
“I think…” he pants, voice barely a whisper, broken and needy. “I think I’m going to—”
My hands grip his waist harder, holding him down against me, making him feel every inch of me as I rasp, dark and coaxing, “yeah…come for me, baby.”
He whimpers, his body trembling violently, hips rolling with desperate rhythm. His breath comes in short, shattered gasps, and then he breaks.
A strangled cry tears from his throat as he comes undone in my lap. His body arches, shuddering hard, head tipping back, lashes fluttering. His mouth falls open, perfect lips parted in a silent gasp, his cheeks flushed deep crimson.
It’s devastatingly beautiful. Watching him unravel like this, falling apart in my arms. It nearly drags me over with him.
I hold him through it, murmuring low, grounding, until the tremors start to fade. His breathing is ragged, shallow, his body loose and spent. When it’s over, he slumps against me, burying his face in my neck like he wants to disappear there.
He’s shaking, not with fear, but from the sheer intensity of release. I smooth a hand down his back, slow, steady strokes, pressing a kiss into his hair.
“Shh,” I whisper against his temple. “I’ve got you.”
He exhales against my skin, warm and uneven, clinging like he’s afraid to let go.
***
Lucas trembles faintly in my arms as I carry him upstairs. His breathing is uneven, shallow against my neck, but he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t say a word. He just clings—like the ground might give out beneath him if he lets go.
In the bathroom, I set him down gently on the counter.
My hands linger at his waist, feeling how small he is under my touch.
Too small. Too fragile. His lips are parted, still swollen from my kiss, and for one long, brutal second, all I want to do is claim them again.
To drag my teeth across his jaw, leave another mark, another reminder of me stamped into his skin.
I’m still hard, throbbing, unsatisfied. My body wants. But my eyes catch on his expression.
He swallows, throat bobbing, and he doesn’t meet my gaze.
“I can handle it from here,” he murmurs, voice so soft it almost disappears. His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles white.
I don’t move. I just watch him, letting the silence stretch until it’s nearly unbearable. He’s retreating. I can see it in the slope of his shoulders, in the way he won’t look at me. He’s building his walls back up, brick by brick, trying to keep me out.
I lean in anyway, lowering my voice, letting it slip into something quiet, almost dangerous.
“Are you sure?” I ask with a raised brow.
His breath stutters. For a second, I think he’ll break, that he’ll let me see what’s really going on in his head. But then he nods quickly, still avoiding me.
“Yeah. Just… give me a minute.”
My jaw tightens. Every instinct in me screams not to leave him like this. Not when I just had him in my arms, unraveling. Not when I’ve seen how beautiful he looks when he lets go, when he’s mine. But I don’t push. I force myself to step back, to let him breathe.
“Wear whatever you want from the closet,” I tell him, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods again. But there’s something in the way his lips part, like he wants to say something else, something he can’t get past his throat. I wait. Nothing comes, so I leave. The second the door closes behind me, I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.
Fuck.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees.
I’m not one to get nervous. I don’t lose control.
But Lucas—he does something to me. He makes me restless in ways I can’t name.
My mind keeps replaying the way he felt against me, the way his voice cracked when he moaned my name.
But the way his eyes look now is hesitant, unsure, like he’s terrified of what this could mean.
The sound of the bathroom door unlocking snaps me out of my thoughts.
And he steps out.
He’s wearing my clothes—an oversized white shirt that swallows his frame and black sweatpants that are too loose on him.
His hair falls into his eyes, bare feet soundless on the floor.
He hesitates in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself, and he doesn’t look at me, not fully.
But his posture says everything—the awkwardness, the uncertainty.
“Come here, Lucas,” I say, not taking my eye away from him.
He breathes in sharply, throat bobbing as he swallows. Then, slowly, he moves forward. Each step measured, careful, until he’s standing right in front of me.
Silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels… charged. His cheeks are pink, his lashes lowered, his fingers twisting together at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Are you hungry?” My voice is quieter than I expect, softer.
He shakes his head, glances down, then up again—meeting my gaze for the first time since the bathroom. His voice is small but certain when he says,
“I just feel… sleepy.”
I nod, reaching for him. My fingers circle his wrist, gentle but firm, and I tug him toward me. He lets out a soft gasp as I ease him onto the bed, his body yielding under my touch. But he doesn’t resist.
The mattress dips as he settles beside me, curling in instinctively, his head resting close to my chest. He feels so small like this, folded into me, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my shirt. Without thinking, I slide an arm around him, holding him against me.
“Then sleep,” I murmur.
His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then he exhales shakily instead.
Almost like he’s letting go. His eyes flutter shut, and I drag my fingers idly through his hair, tracing the soft curls, grounding myself in the feel of him.
Within minutes, his breathing evens out, steady and calm.
He loves this—sleep, food, the simple comforts. I notice it every day. The way his entire being softens when he allows himself these small moments of peace.
I stay awake, listening to his breaths. My chest rises with them, slow and steady, as if my body is in sync with his.
He stirs after a while, shifting closer in his sleep, pressing into me.
His nose brushes against my collarbone, his hand spreading across my chest like he’s claiming me in his dreams.
Something deep inside me flutters at that. He trusts me enough to sleep like this. To give me his weight, his quiet vulnerability. He looks so peaceful like this, and it does something dangerous to me because I want to protect this. Protect him.
I don’t move. I don’t even breathe too deeply, afraid of disturbing him.
Then my phone vibrates on the nightstand.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again. Reluctantly, I ease out from under him, careful, painfully careful not to wake him. He stirs, frowns in his sleep, but doesn’t open his eyes as I stand.
The name on the screen flashes. Ashley.
I exhale sharply and step out of the bedroom before answering.
“What is it, Ashley?”
“Are you busy, Mr. Petrov?” Her voice is calm as always.
“No.”
“You need to know something.”
I press my hand over my face, walking downstairs, already bracing myself. “Go on.”
“It’s about Lucas.”
I pause. “What about him?”
“He was harassed at work yesterday.”
A slow, cold rage seeps into my blood. I grip the phone.
“By who?”
“A coworker. He’s been bothering Lucas for a while now. I don’t have the full story, but from what Megan, his other coworker, told me, it’s been going on for months.”
“Did the bastard touch him?” My mind flashes back to earlier—my mouth on Lucas’s skin, my hands on him. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t seemed hurt. Not in that way.
“No,” Ashley answers, steady as ever. “Not physically. But allegedly, he broke Lucas’s phone.”
My brow furrows. I scan the living room and spot his bag slouched near the couch. Moving quickly, I unzip it and dig through until my fingers close around the device.
The screen is shattered. Completely useless.
Ashley continues, her voice low.
“Megan said it’s not about physical harm. This Jeremy… he talks shit. About how robotic and deaf Lucas is. He mocks his mutism.”
I close my eyes. For a moment, I let the silence weigh heavily, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. That kind of harassment doesn’t leave bruises. It doesn’t bleed. But it cuts deeper, eating away at someone piece by piece until there’s nothing left.
And Lucas—sweet, stubborn Lucas—never said a word.
“Give me everything you have on this man, Ashley. I need his full details within the hour. If you can’t track him, send his name to Maksim.”
“Yes, sir.”