CHAPTER TEN #3
“Alright, so how do you know that I'm the one for you?”
Sergei tilts his head with curiosity. “Did the experience not live up to your expectations?”
“No!” I say much louder than I need to. “I mean, yes, it did. Absolutely.” I take a deep breath, trying to refocus. “It was...better than I would expect. That's why I'm kind of in shock.”
“Then what's the problem?”
I have no idea what to say. Because I can't think of a legitimate problem. Maybe I'm falling victim to the age-old misogynistic double standard that I try so hard to reject. But whatever it is, I'm not going to ruin this.
“It’s just…” I look him up and down through slitted eyes, “you’re really good at all of this.”
“Barrett,” he levels his gaze, catching me off-guard by using my real name, “I said I’ve never had sex, not that I’ve never made a woman come.”
Touché.
“But how did you know how to do all of that?” I’m getting wet just thinking about it.
He stares back at me blankly. “Because I asked you. And you told me what to do.”
Well, I'll be damned.
Now it's my turn to stare back at him blankly. I just thought he got off on me telling him what to do. And I guess, technically, he does.
“I answer all of your questions and you still don’t believe me,” he points out.
“It's not that, it's just...”
Yes, it is.
“Because of that dickwad that disrespected you?” he finishes my sentence again.
Disrespected me.
Sergei is so definitive and decisive. He doesn't mince words and he doesn't second guess them. He also took the initiative to delete all those texts when I couldn't even stomach the thought of reading them. He's the only one who knows what they said.
“Yeah,” I murmur slowly. My eyes wander out the window, to the snow-covered hillside before drifting back to his icy blue gaze.
“Caleb mirrored my beliefs until he couldn’t keep the mask on anymore.
The guy I dated before him pretended to be drunk so he could make a pass at one of my friends.
And the one before that suddenly disappeared when he found out I don’t have prescribing capabilities.
” Rehashing the character flaws of my last three relationships in this perfect place also makes me want to vomit.
“If someone deceives you about who they are, they take away your consent in the relationship.
You can't make an informed decision whether you even want to be there.”
“I don't waste time,” Sergei says, still resolute as ever. “I realize that it’s your job to ask questions. It's highly likely you're analyzing my words, trying to decide whether I'm being truthful.”
“I don't want to analyze you, Sergei. You're probably the only person I've never wanted to analyze because I hope you’re showing me who you really are.
I want to know everything about you, but only because you want to tell me.
And not all at once. I like that you're mysterious, and quiet, and you look like your eyes could punch a hole through the wall.
It feels like you're safe and dangerous all at the same time.”
“I don't know how to be anything other than how I am when I'm with you.”
I crack a smile. “Are you saying I'm your baseline now?” He’s so serious, and I can’t help but temper this moment with some humor.
“I told you already,” he smiles back, “you’re my entire world now, Printsessa.”
I can’t argue with him. Well, I could, but I don’t want to. I want to let go of all my past experiences, suspicions, jaded assumptions, and preconceived notions and, for once, allow myself to bask in the extreme and raw emotion of Sergei’s words.
Just for a little while.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask. “I assume it means princess.”
“I don’t think you see yourself as one, but I do. And not the gawdy Disney kind.”
“Alright, so what kind am I?”
Sergei looks me up at down with his expression that I can never tell whether is curiosity or judgement. “A moth.”
“A moth? A moth princess?” What the hell kind of compliment is that? Not that I want to fall into some cliché archetype, but I’m not sure how to interpret a moth. A fuzzy butterfly? The annoying bug flitting around his head until I’m finally fried by a bug zapper?
“Yes. The kind with the skull on its back.”
“Wait…” I pause, narrowing my eyes. “Like the ones in Silence of the Lambs? When you look at me, you think about serial killers?”
“I told you. Therapists can’t be serial killers.”
“Anyone can be a serial killer,” I counter, “but I’ve still never murdered anyone.”
Sergei stares back at me, his expression unchanging.
Oh god, did I just say that?
I want to crawl under the sofa. But eventually, his face softens with amusement.
“You’re too easy,” he says with a half-smile.
Oh, really?
Gingerly, I rise from my chair and step around the corner of the table.
Sergei watches as I gently place my hands on his bare chest and carefully lift my leg over his.
He lets me settle onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, over the massive tattoo on his back, and pressing my face into the curve of his neck.
He closes his arms around me, enveloping me in the most achingly intense embrace I’ve ever felt.
“Moths are delicate, but also intelligent and fearless and resilient,” he explains.
“They mimic other animals, like bees, to deter predators, like when you stood between Brett and protected her from Garrison. I’ve been accused of having impossibly high standards, but when I heard about you, it was clear that they still weren’t high enough.
And because of that, my respect for you is above all else. And that is why you’re a moth.”
Everything else melts away at the feeling of his fingers running up and down my body and I don’t care what’s outside anymore or what troubles are waiting for me back home. I can feel his heart, and it’s beating hard enough for me, too.
It's simple. If Sergei wants to do or not do something, it's because he decides it, and no one else. Even if he’s just a biological mutant whose hormones didn’t hijack his brain at puberty, his rigidity—pun absolutely intended—is the sexiest thing I've ever experienced.
That, and his hair. I don’t care if he notices my deep breaths and how I’m inhaling the intoxicating scent of whatever he uses to make it so luxurious.
Does it make me seem slightly obsessive?
Possibly. Then again, I suppose I’m in the right place.
After a few minutes of soaking in the safety and warmth of his silence, I bring myself back down to earth and pull away, eyeing him deviously.
“There's something I want to do with you, but I don't know if it’ll meet your standards.”
“How could it not?”
I bite my lip, unable to hide my smile as I climb off his lap and take his hand. He rises from the chair and lets me lead him into the living room.
I motion to the middle of the sectional. “Sit down.”
Sergei sinks down onto the cushions, watching me with curiosity. Through the wall of windows, I see it’s started snowing again, turning the house into a backward snow globe.
“How close is your nearest neighbor?” I ask, scanning the vast landscape of snow-covered pines as far as the eye can see, which isn’t far, given the brush and granite boulders jutting out of the mountainside.
“At least a mile.”
Perfect.
I grab the bottom of his thermal and pull it over my head, rendering myself completely naked.
Sergei’s eyes gravitate to my chest, slightly more open than they were before as he takes a long breath.
He must really be all about the tits. Not that I mind.
I'm counting down the seconds until I can feel his mouth on them again.
He's expecting me to climb on top of him, scale him like a redwood just so I can soak myself in his sap. But I have something else in mind.
I do crawl onto his lap, tipping his head back and kissing him slowly, and with an intensity that makes heat bloom between my thighs.
“Are you mine, too, Sergei?” I murmur, feeling him get harder with each rock of my hips.
He palms my ass with one hand, grinding against me. “Forever,” he rumbles, gripping the back of my neck with the other.
A tremor runs through my stomach like a wave of iron butterflies.
I don’t mind this fantasy, locked in this picturesque house on a mountain with the blonde leviathan—the beautiful blonde leviathan.
Maybe I even want to stay a while. But when he says forever, I feel something other than the carnal desire for him to fuck me until I forget my name. It feels raw, and deep…and real.
Sergei kisses me, biting my lip as he pulls away. “Just show me what you like, Printsessa.”
My body caves at the pleading words coming from such an intimidating body. His lips brush against mine as he tries to draw me in again and then immediately fall to my chest. He moves over my breasts, latching onto my nipple, sucking and tonguing it ravenously.
Carefully, I twist away from his grasp, rotating on his lap until I’m facing the windows, which might as well be a majestic photo spread on some bougie travel blog.
But the solitude mixed with the exposure make for an intoxicating combination that immediately starts to seep down my thighs.
I shift to one side, lifting one arm over his head and raising up so that I'm squatting over his lap.
“Take out your cock,” I command. “I need you nice and hard.”
Sergei hesitates, looking me up and down with his mouth still slightly ajar.
“Is this too brazen?” I tease. “Are you afraid of who will see you fucking me in the window?”
“Who would see?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
I lean in, brushing my nose along the scruff of his cheek. “All the monsters in the woods,” I whisper in his ear. “The werewolves that don't exist. Maybe a few Sasquatches.”
“They'll have to fight me for you,” he rumbles back, palming my breast and pulling me against his shoulder.