22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The primal urge to connect raged in response. He played dirty. He’d come to know all the ways I liked to have sex, all the positions he could get me to climax in, and I loved him for his thoroughness. Having him grind against my core was bested only by his mouth.
I moaned. “Don’t stop.”
When I wiggled underneath him, one of his hands cupped my ass, securing me against his hardness. The delicious friction caused my judgment to drift away with the tide.
“Please.” I gripped his ass and wrapped my legs around him, the movement of his hips, even with our clothes as a barrier, driving me wild. “Don’t stop.” His lips sought mine, and our tongues tangled as he thrust against me. “I want you.”
“Here? Now?”
Sometimes desire spiked like this—so hot, so quick, so intense—I wanted to come quickly and never wanted the pleasure to end. “Yes. Yes.”
He slipped down his swim shorts, tugged my bottoms to the side, and slid inside me with a groan.
“You feel so good.” The words were in Russian, but he’d said them enough the last few months that I’d eventually asked for a translation.
The only Russian words I now knew were dirty and sexual.
The rawness in his voice when he used them, as though he couldn’t control himself, wasn’t capable of holding the words back, only added to their intimacy.
Each word was a note to a song only he could play.
Tomorrow would be a whirlwind of wedding activity, and then I was leaving the next morning on the first flight off the island. Pasha would stay behind, keep doing his job. The time we had left together was so short.
I bit his shoulder to keep the words I wanted to say from tumbling out.
Instead of dwelling on what could never be, I should turn off my mind and let my body lead the way.
Our time together was coming to an end, and tears flooded my vision.
Would I ever find another man who made me feel like this?
A tear broke the dam, sliding down my cheek.
“Alyssa?” His voice was gruff, full of concern.
When I met his gaze, I dug my nails into his ass to keep him close. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
A guttural sound rumbled out of him. Our bodies brushed together with increasing intensity, so close to detonating my body. When my orgasm struck, he swallowed my cries and picked up his pace, spilling himself inside me.
For a moment, while we were locked together at the height of intimacy, I wished I hadn’t been so diligent with birth control. A silly thought, perhaps, but it had been coming with more regularity—the sharp desire for more.
Beside us, his phone buzzed on the table. He sighed deeply, pressing his forehead to mine. “They know not to call unless it’s an emergency.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered. My chest was heavy, full of emotions I didn’t want to analyze. We hadn’t talked about the future beyond the tour. What if he could never love anyone again the way he’d loved Zoya? I didn’t know if I could be okay with being second best, the runner-up who won by default.
While he talked on the phone and got dressed, I gathered my things, a weight settling that I wasn’t sure what to do with .
“I’ll meet you back at our rooms later tonight?” he asked, closing his phone and tucking it into his pocket.
“Yeah. Sounds good.” I nodded, my heart contracting. We had just over twenty-four hours left together, and a spike of resentment struck that he was being called away for work. If I didn’t feel second best to Zoya, I might very well end up feeling second best to Mia.
God, what was wrong with me? When did I become such a mess over a man? I ran my hands down my face and offered him a smile. “I’ll see you then.”
He scanned my expression and then framed my cheeks with his hands and kissed me tenderly. “Walk back with me?”
“Sure.” I threw on the rest of my clothes and shoved my towel into my beach bag.
As we started down the beach toward the resort, Pasha took my hand and squeezed it, and I squeezed back. From inside my bag, my phone buzzed. I dropped Pasha’s hand to dig it out from the bottom. On the home screen was a message from my sister.
“Everything okay? You look surprised.”
“Yeah—I…” I smiled and hitched my bag higher onto my shoulder.
“Let me carry that.” He held out his hand for my bulky beach bag.
I passed it to him and opened my phone. “My sister sent me a message. She’s outside my house. She left Kevin and needs a place to crash.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s great. He’s awful. But I’m still shocked. They have been fighting a lot lately, but that’s nothing new.”
“You’ll get to spend some time with her before going back on tour? ”
“I guess so. I was hoping to see her.” I texted Olivia where I’d hidden my spare key so she could get into the house. My sister had an old key, one from before I had the locks changed. “I’m weirdly proud of her.”
Pasha’s arm circled me, tugging me to his side, and his lips grazed my temple. “You’re a good sister.”
“I try. She doesn’t always make it easy. But family is important, right?” His brow creased, and I winced at what I’d said.
He talked to his family, but they didn’t seem particularly close.
I wasn’t going to judge. My parents weren’t a big part of my life.
Not that I understood any of the conversations he had with his family.
Listening to him speak Russian on the phone fired my desire, giving me an adrenaline rush. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“S’okay. You’re right. Family is important. I should call my sister or my parents.” He gave me a wry smile. “Mia, Tyler, and Victoria make me miss them less. I should be a better son, a better brother.”
“I’m sure they understand.” His connection to Mia and her family was one of the reasons I wasn’t sure the two of us would ever work out long-term.
As much as I wanted to, ached to be with him, he had a job, a place in the world, and I did too.
Right now, those places were in sync, but two days from now, we’d be miles apart.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”
We were at the entrance to the hotel, and Pasha’s phone rang again in his pocket. He kissed my cheek one more time, passed me the bag, opened his phone, and headed for the wedding location. What was the crisis this time?
In my hotel room, restless energy ate at me. Olivia hadn’t texted me back any details about Kevin—not that I needed them. At least my sister was out from under his thumb.
The bigger issue, the one I couldn’t seem to shake, was the urge to tell Pasha I loved him.
Loved him . The realization had been building for weeks, on the cusp of spilling out so many times I’d lost count, but I was too afraid he wouldn’t say it back, couldn’t.
What if he did, though? What if, by some impossibility, he was able to love me in return?
He’d branded my soul so deep I didn’t think another man would ever be enough. He’d felt that depth of love for Zoya.
People didn’t get two shots at a love so all-consuming.
This was my one shot, and I didn’t want to leave Bellerive without telling him what he’d come to mean.
Letting those words leave my lips, the possibility of seeing his face soften with regret because he didn’t return my love, was too much for me to bear.
He’d try to let me down easy. Make me feel better. Assure me he cared .
So how?
A text message after I left would be too impersonal, wouldn’t it? What about an email in a few days? No. That’d be like telling him in person. He’d feel obligated to reply, and if he didn’t love me in return, I didn’t want any response.
My gaze landed on the notepad next to the bed. A letter . I could plant the letter in his bag somewhere he’d find once I was gone.
Even if, by some miracle, he loved me, our work situations complicated our relationship, maybe made it impossible to pursue.
We might stumble at the first hurdle. But if I never told him, never made myself vulnerable, I’d never know.
I needed to be sure. I’d never move past him unless I was sure there was no hope.
I sank into the chair behind the desk, paper and pen in hand. Gathering my thoughts, I began to write.