Chapter 51 #2
“Okay,” I mutter, slipping my hand back. He’s still staring, like he’s waiting for something. “Um… is there something you… want to talk about?”
He blinks, then chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Fuck, dude… you’re beautiful.” He rambles, “Like, stupidly good-looking. I don’t even know what to say.”
Jesus. What am I supposed to do with that? My stomach flips, and I give him a weak, confused smile.
“Uh… thanks? I guess?”
He laughs, and the tension eases. It even drags a small chuckle out of me.
“Sorry, I just…” He exhales sharply, like he’s about to dive underwater.
“Look, I’ve been into you for a while. I know it’s stupid to just blurt it out like this, but—would you maybe grab a coffee with me sometime?
Or brunch? Whatever you’d be comfortable with.
I just… want to talk. To get to know you.
” His words spill out in a rush, tumbling over each other.
“Fuck, I’m straight or at least I thought I was, but ever since I saw you, I’ve been completely starstruck.”
I freeze. Mouth half-open. Okay, that wasn’t what I was expecting.
“I get that it’s a surprise,” he rushes on, clearly panicking at my silence. “I shouldn’t have just dumped that on you, I—”
“I have a boyfriend,” I say, interrupting him gently. Trying to save him from spiraling further
Kevin’s face falls. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I just… I thought the rumors about you and Maksim Petrov were some kind of fluke.”
“I’m not with Maksim,” I say quickly, shaking my head.
His brows knit together, confused. “Then…?”
I swallow, nervous heat climbing up my neck.
“I’m with his older brother. Alexander.”
For a moment, Kevin just stares at me. His eyes widen, his mouth opens, closes, opens again—like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s just heard. Before he can say anything, I take a step back, eager to escape the weight of his gaze.
“It was nice meeting you, Kevin,” I manage, forcing a small, polite “But I do have a boyfriend. I… I hope you figure things out about yourself… in a way that’s good for you.”
I don’t wait for his response. I turn before my awkwardness can strangle me any further.
***
I know it’s him before I even open my eyes.
His scent is already there, cutting through the haze of sleep, dragging me awake.
Then comes the weight of his arm, strong and warm, wrapping around my waist, tugging me back into the solid heat of his chest. His breath ghosts my skin before his lips press into my neck—slow, deliberate, like he knows exactly how much it undoes me.
The kiss burns, soft and punishing all at once, and my body betrays me with a violent shiver. He must feel it, because he hums against my skin.
“You’re awake then,” he murmurs, voice rough, dark, too close.
His hand slides up my stomach to the top button of my silk shirt.
I hold my breath as he undoes it—only one—and drags the fabric off my shoulder.
My teeth catch my lip hard, my eyes squeezing shut as his mouth follows, kissing down the curve of my shoulder.
Every press of his lips feels like he’s reclaiming me piece by piece, and it makes my toes curl, my cock straining already.
Ten days. Ten fucking days without him. It’s the longest we’ve gone without touching, and I feel like I might lose my mind if I can’t have him tonight.
“You didn’t take off your hearing aids,” he whispers against my skin, the words punctuated with another slow kiss.
“I… fell asleep… watching reels,” I manage, though it comes out broken, shredded with need.
His teeth graze my neck, then he bites down gently. My breath stutters. His tongue soothes the sting, leaving me gasping.
“Mm,” he hums, voice low, vibrating into me. His hand trails back down, mapping my stomach until his fingers toy with my navel. “fuck, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I whisper.
And I need him to know it, need him to feel it—so I turn, slipping out of his hold and pushing gently until he lies back.
He doesn’t resist. He lets me climb over him, straddling his waist, my knees braced against the mattress, then I settle down on his crotch, grinding over the hard length straining against his briefs and suit pants.
The sound he makes, a half growl, half groan, goes straight through me.
He’s still half dressed from work: A dark vest snug over his torso, his tie loose, sleeves rolled up.
A Vacheron Constantin watch gleams on his wrist, the muscles under his shirt stretching with each breath.
He looks devastating like this, too sharp and too powerful, like something pulled out of a fever dream.
But he isn’t a dream. He’s mine. Here. Now.
When our eyes meet, my breath falters. I bite my lip and roll my hips against him, harder this time. His groan rips out, raw and unguarded, and his hands fly to my waist, holding me still.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes darkening, already glazed with need. “You wanna ride my cock that bad?”
Heat floods my face, but I nod.
“I do. But…” I hesitate, my voice shy but steady. My eyes flick to his, and I can’t hold the weight of his gaze for too long. “I want to do something first.”
His lips curl into a beautiful smirk, but it falters the second I grind back against the hard length pressing into me.
“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing—but there’s a sharp edge to it, a warning.
“I want you to lie here and let me do what I want.” My eyes meet his again, this time without backing down. “Just… for tonight”
His brows rise, curious, but what flashes in his eyes isn’t mockery, it’s something darker. Something that says he’s impressed, even turned on. His fingers tighten at my waist, like he’s restraining himself from flipping me over and wrecking me the way he usually does.
Because that’s Alex. My Alex.
I’m not the type to take control—I never have been.
I love it when he dominates me, when he pushes me to take everything he gives without mercy.
I love how he calls me his perfect pillow princess and tells me I’m a good boy while he fucks me so deep I forget my own name.
He never treats me like glass. Even after he found out about my past, he didn’t start walking on eggshells with me, didn’t turn soft or hesitant.
He’s still the same intense, rough, devastatingly passionate man who ruins me every time.
And fuck me, I love him for it. I love the way he takes me, the way he won’t fuck me from behind unless there’s a mirror so he can watch my face.
I love his dominance, his hunger, the way he devours me whole.
And tonight, I want to show him that I can do something for him, too.
“What is it you think you’re going to do to me, hm?” he rasps, his grip bruising now, his self-control fraying.
“You’ll see,” I whisper, my voice trembling but my resolve firm.
I reach for his vest, unbuttoning it slowly, savoring the way his chest rises and falls under my touch. He watches me like a predator, but he doesn’t stop me. I slip the vest off his broad shoulders and toss it aside, then crash my lips against his.
He groans into my mouth, and it’s the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
The vibration runs through me, straight to my cock, making me moan softly against him.
The kiss is filthy—needy, desperate, tongues colliding, like we’re starving for each other.
His mouth is addictive, and I never want to let him go.
My fingers tug at the knot of his tie, loosening it as he sucks on my bottom lip, making me roll my hips against him helplessly.
“Fuck…” I breathe against his mouth, before devouring his lips again like I can’t get enough. I drag his tie free, tossing it aside, then move on to his shirt. One by one, I undo them, my chest heaving, but I don’t strip it off. I want him halfway dressed, undone, and beautiful.
My palm spreads across his chest, over the sculpted muscles and down to his abs, tracing the hard lines that make my mouth water. He’s unreal—ripped, powerful, every inch of him built to dominate, to own me. Fuck I can’t get used to him.
I break the kiss with a sharp breath, panting against his lips. If I don’t stop now, I’ll drown in him before I can show him what I want.
My lips trail down, brushing his jaw before pressing kisses along the strong line of his neck.
The moment my mouth touches there, he mutters a sharp, low “fuck,” his voice frayed, like he’s hanging on by a thread.
His hands leave my waist, gripping my ass hard, the squeeze desperate and begging for patience he doesn’t have.
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
I suck at his neck, licking and tasting his skin, dragging my teeth lightly over him. He’s warm and salt-sweet, and when I move higher, nibbling at his earlobe, his hips jerk upward into me. I moan at the solid press of him beneath me, thick and hard, and I swear I could lose my mind right there.
I keep going, greedy, kissing back down, sucking, nibbling at his throat, determined to leave my marks — to brand him the way he always brands me.
“Lucas…” he growls, my name breaking out of him in warning, his voice already fraying with need.
It only drives me harder.
I move lower, kissing across his chest, squeezing his pecs in my palms, the firm weight of them sending heat spiraling down my spine.
When my lips brush across his nipple, I shudder, my cock twitching, precome spilling hot in my shorts. Fuck, why haven’t I done this before? Why has it only ever been me unraveling beneath his touch?
My tongue flicks over his nipple again as I squeeze the other, and the sound he makes is a deep, guttural groan that has me aching and throbbing. I kiss and suck, nibbling until I’m drunk on him, until I know he’ll wear my marks for days.
“Lucas… fuck. Stop.” His voice is guttural, warning me again. But I don’t stop.