Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Anastasia
The sunset bleeds a thin ribbon of scarlet across the horizon as we settle into the gazebo, Chinese takeout containers scattered between us. Garlic, ginger, and night air mingle—sharp, earthy, perfect.
“I still can’t believe I did that,” I say, shaking my head.
“What? Liking bacon maple ice cream?” Nyxx grins. “Or performing without a safety net?”
“Both,” I admit, laughing.
“You didn’t just play,” he says, voice softening. “You felt. That’s the difference.”
A warm glow spreads through me, and it’s not just from the spicy noodles. “It felt… liberating. Like I was finally playing for myself, not for anyone else’s expectations.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” Nyxx nods, his expression softening. “You found your voice today, Anastasia. Your real one.”
We eat without speaking for a while, the chirping crickets and rustling leaves providing a soothing backdrop. As twilight deepens, the air grows cooler, and I find myself unconsciously scooting my chair closer to Nyxx.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture, setting aside my empty container.
Nyxx leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Shoot.”
“Your eyes…” I begin, then hesitate. “I mean, they’re beautiful, unique, compelling, but I was wondering…”
A shadow passes over his face, and for a moment, I curse myself for being foolish enough to bring it up. But then he takes a deep breath and meets my gaze.
“They’re the reason my old man left,” he says quietly.
My heart clenches, and my palm unconsciously touches my throat. “What?”
Nyxx runs a hand through his wild hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of discomfort. “Yeah. Turns out dear old dad was superstitious. Thought my eyes were a sign of the devil or some bullshit.”
“But that’s… that’s ridiculous! That’s like something from the 1800s,” I sputter, outraged on his behalf.
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Tell me about it. He stuck around for ten years, always looking at me accusingly, like I was some kind of freak, like I was born this way just to spite him. Then one day, he just… left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
My breath catches. The hand holding my fork tightens until it shakes. “You were just a kid,” I manage.
He turns his hand to lace our fingers, a sad smile playing at his lips. “It was rough. I don’t think I handed in a single school assignment for the rest of the year. Mom told me later that she pulled some strings and played the pity card to get me advanced to the next grade.”
He looks into the darkness as though he’s reliving some of that pain. I feel guilty for having brought it up.
“But you know what? It made me who I am. If people were gonna stare, I figured I’d give them something worth staring at.”
Suddenly, so much about Nyxx makes sense—his rebellious attitude, his need to stand out, even his larger-than-life stage name. “So… you changed your name because of that?”
He nods. “Nathan died the day my father left. Changing my name the day I turned eighteen was just another way to cut all ties with him. Night’s my mom’s maiden name. She’s terrific. The last thing I wanted to do was cut ties with her.”
The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty of his words, tugs at something deep inside me. I realize that what he’s sharing is more than just a story—it’s a piece of his soul.
“Thank you,” I whisper, “for telling me… for trusting me with a glimpse of who you are when the stage lights go down.”
All the affection that’s been building and swirling inside me since shortly after we met bursts inside me like fireworks.
This man isn’t my nemesis, someone to trade barbs with or have as a dinner companion.
We’re connected now, and frankly, he’s yet to share a part of himself that I don’t like and respect.
Nyxx’s thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, sending shivers all the way to my neck. “Thanks for listening. And for not looking at me like I’m a freak.”
“Never,” I say firmly. “Your eyes are part of what makes you… you. And I…” I trail off, suddenly aware of how physically close we’ve gotten.
Nyxx’s gaze intensifies, those mesmerizing eyes searching mine. “You what, Anastasia?”
My heart races as I gather my courage. “I… I’m sorry I asked you to call me Anastasia. It was my attempt at enforcing a boundary. You were an easy target for my first attempt at assertiveness. Frankly,” I sigh, “I liked it so much better when you called me Ana. It makes me feel like… you like me.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Ana,” he says softly, and my name has never sounded so beautiful on anyone else’s lips. It eases under my skin and swirls inside my belly like a warm caress. “I more than like you.”
The air between us crackles with expectation. Nyxx leans in, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his breath close enough to warm my skin.
Unable to find my voice, I nod.
His lips meet mine, soft and tentative at first. It’s nothing like I imagined—and I’ve imagined kissing Nyxx a lot over the last few days.
It’s better. His mouth is warm, scented faintly of the spices from our dinner.
His lips brush against mine, whisper-soft, as though I’m a fawn he doesn’t want to frighten with too swift a movement.
He releases a soft, “Mmm,” then nudges the tip of my nose with his. He pulls back enough to gaze into my eyes. The look he gives me feels as though it’s penetrating my soul.
How strange that the wild child of rock and roll is treating me like I might vanish if he moves too fast. Instead of overthinking, I do what he’s been teaching me all week—follow instinct.
I initiate the next kiss, shockingly, it’s bolder than his as I press my lips to his in a soft smacking noise, then suck that pouty bottom lip into my mouth.
Just this little intimacy sets me so off balance that my lids slam shut and I grip his muscular shoulders, holding on to keep from spiraling into the night sky.
Perhaps it’s how hard I’m clutching him, or the ferocity of my mouth on his, but his tender, tentative kisses turn passionate from one heartbeat to the next. His tongue claims my mouth like it’s already his.
The kiss deepens. His hand slides into my hair, guiding me, angling me, drawing me closer. His stubble grazes my skin, and I gasp against his mouth. He answers with a rough exhale that tastes like heat and promise.
In my past, kisses have been polite, silent affairs, but this is Nyxx Night. I should have known this kiss, like everything else about him, wouldn’t be mundane.
He’s devouring me, letting me hear little sighs and hums of appreciation.
I melt into him, my fingers moving from his shoulders to slide through his hair.
The world narrows to just this moment—the feel of Nyxx’s lips moving against mine, the solid warmth of his body, the mingled scents of sandalwood and forest air.
It’s as though I just dropped into this body from another dimension.
I’ve never felt like this, never been kissed like this—so tenderly, yet with a fierce passion that leaves no doubt about his desire.
Did I seriously ask if he liked me? The word’s laughable now, flimsy and small compared to this fire.
His rough stubble grazes my cheek when he withdraws to grab a shaky breath. Is he as affected by this kiss as I am? I lean back in, slip my hand to his nape, pull him closer, and brush his lips with mine.
“Ana.” It’s all he says before he plucks my bottom lip with his teeth, then licks it. Sweet and soft and full of fire.
He makes a satisfied little noise that vibrates against my tongue, and then we kiss with the fervor and excitement of people who’ve discovered a new continent.
I’m drowning in his spicy taste and the now-familiar scent of him.
His hands roam my back as though he wants to memorize every inch of me and never let me go.
This isn’t just a kiss. It’s an exploration, an exchange.
There was something about him laying himself open to me, telling me about his deepest wound, that intensified our bond.
It’s as though every second we’ve spent together since the moment we met was in service to this.
This moment of letting down our guards, opening ourselves to each other at a deeper level.
Somehow, without breaking the kiss, he eases us out of our chairs and steps with me to the wooden bench that rings the gazebo’s interior edge.
The wrought-iron chairs would have been barriers; this space lets us move, breathe, tangle.
I end up half in his lap, one knee braced beside his hip, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as if learning an instrument by touch alone.
It’s heaven being in his arms. When I twist just a few inches, my nipples brush his chest. Sparks flare from their tips straight to my core.
I’ve never wanted like this before. Lusted like this before. Clutching his nape tighter, it’s me who delves into his mouth, me who controls the kiss. Who is this Anastasia? This bold woman who reveals her passion to a man she barely knows?
It’s the woman who, without preparation, played to strangers in the town square today. The new Ana, who is becoming something different, better, freer.
Without second-guessing myself, I straddle his hips, settle lower onto him, and grind against the hard ridge inside his jeans. Some distant Anastasia is watching, mouth open, eyes wide, aghast at my brazen, lusty need. Fuck her!
Hands planted on his shoulders, mouths fused in a kiss that feels like the center of the universe, I ride him. Pleasure ignites everywhere at once; my clit’s in charge now, mind hijacked and body compliant.Moans break free. I never dreamed release could feel like this—but I was wrong.
“Nyxx!” I doubt he could understand what I’m trying to say.
That word couldn’t possibly tell him that I’ve never found this part of myself before, never reached these heights with another person before, that I’m excited and terrified and couldn’t stop even if we were interrupted by the police right now.
His hands grip my ass cheeks and he helps me, pressing me harder against him as he whispers filth in my ear.
“You feel that rhythm? That’s us, baby—your body keeping time with mine. Don’t stop. Play me, Ana. Play me until I break.”
I arch against him, finding a new layer of ecstasy with this new angle.
“Oh, princess, if you could see yourself right now, skin almost silver in the moonlight. Fuck!”
I’m not the only one getting close to coming. He’s panting hard and fast, his breaths matching mine. He’s riding me from below as I ride him from above.
My need rises and swirls and then catches, hitting me like a thunderbolt as I come. I’ve never given myself permission to make noise before, even alone in my room, but I let loose with a cry of passion, and then rolling moans that reflect every up and down and brilliant spasm of my muscles.
My lids are jammed closed, so tight I see spots.
It’s disorienting and delightful as I simply ride this orgasm like the wildest rollercoaster ride until Nyxx barks his pleasure, his hips stuttering against me as he comes.
True to his nature, he’s loud and unrestrained as he grunts with each desperate pulse.
I open my eyes in time to see him take his release. The intimacy of catching him at the height of his bliss makes me feel even more tender toward him.
Both spent, our foreheads touch and we gasp together in the moonlight, sharing each other’s breath.
He laughs. It’s deep and genuine.
“I haven’t come in my jeans since I was in the back seat of a car with my high school sweetheart. What the fuck have you done to me, princess?”
He kisses me, dozens of them, letting them land wherever it’s convenient: lips, cheeks, eyelids, forehead, down the column of my neck.
I nudge my lips toward his ear, not wanting any furry woodland creatures to hear, and not wanting Nyxx to see my face.
“I never came with a man before,” I admit, feeling shame for the first time tonight.
He’s probably shocked. It’s not something I’m proud of.
But he doesn’t make fun of me. Instead, he maneuvers me so he can see my face.
No, I think he did that so I can see his face when he says, “Oh, princess, if you can come like that with our clothes on, just imagine how it will be when nothing’s between us. ”