Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Laurel
Things are great between Leonid and me. So great that sometimes I pinch myself, wondering if this is real or if I dreamed the whole thing up.
He treats me like I’m something precious, like a queen. Even though he’s possessive as hell and domineering in ways that should probably scare me, he listens. Actually listens. When I talk, he stops whatever he’s doing, gives me his full attention, and addresses every concern I raise.
He hates that we have to keep this a secret. I can tell. He doesn’t hide his displeasure, but he backs off when I remind him what’s at stake.
I’m not even sure what “this” is. Are we dating now? Are we just fucking? It feels deeper than sex, deeper than anything I’ve ever had. But I keep telling myself not to get ahead of myself, guard my heart. Because you can’t build expectations on something that’s never been defined out loud.
But then he does things that make it impossible to stay detached.
Ever since that first night when he opened my fridge and found it practically empty, he’s taken it upon himself to make sure I’m fed. Groceries arrive at my door every week, fresh produce, proteins, snacks, and even little treats like the dark chocolate I mentioned liking once in passing.
He orders meals to the school when he knows I’ve forgotten lunch. No one has ever paid attention to me the way he does.
Growing up, I watched my mom cycle through toxic men, my stepfather worst of all. He used her, hurt her, hurt us. I learned early that love came with fists and shouting and walking on eggshells.
Then Jasper, my ex in Philadelphia, was no better. Controlling, violent. The night he backhanded me across the face was the night I finally left, packed my bag, and moved to New York to start over.
I swore off dating after that. Swore I was like my mom, doomed to pick men who hurt me. So I stayed single. But Leonid is nothing like them.
Leonid’s intense, yes. Possessive, absolutely. But he’s never once raised a hand to hurt me. Never belittled me. Never made me feel small. When I speak, he listens. When I’m tired, he pulls me into his lap and lets me fall asleep against his chest without expecting anything in return.
I hear the knock at almost exactly midnight, right on cue, and a smile curls my lips before I can stop it.
For the last two weeks, Leonid has shown up at my door like clockwork at this hour. It’s become our unspoken ritual: him appearing in the dark, me waiting. Tonight, though, I’m not naked under the robe like usual. I’m wearing the new red lace bra and panties I bought last weekend.
The robe hangs open as I walk to the door. I don’t bother tying it. I want him to see.
I open the door.
He steps inside without a word, eyes immediately darkening as they rake over me, down the open robe, over the red lace, back up to my face.
He’s in a black button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie and jacket gone. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing the strong column of his throat and the edge of a tattoo.
“Fuck,” he swears in Russian, low, guttural, the accent thickening the way it always does when he’s turned on. I love that sound. It’s the only time his polished, almost-American cadence cracks, and the real him slips through.
He kicks the door shut behind him and pulls me against his body in one rough motion.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls against my ear, voice already rough with want.
I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers sliding into the short hair at his nape.
“Oh, that would be a shame,” I murmur, lips brushing his jaw. “I’d have to find another man who could match the standard you’ve set.”
His whole body goes rigid. The next second, I’m pinned against the door, his hand around my throat, not choking, just firm enough to make my pulse jump under his palm. His other hand braces beside my head, caging me in.
“You think there’s another man who could touch you and live?” he says, voice dangerously rough.
I swallow against his grip, thighs pressing together. “I don’t know,” I whisper, teasing. “Maybe I should test the theory.”
His fingers tighten. “Careful, solnyshko. Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to remind you who you belong to.”
I smile, slow, defiant. “Maybe I want reminding.”
He slams his mouth down on mine, fierce, claiming, tongue thrusting deep like he’s trying to devour me. I kiss him back just as hard, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
But tonight I have other plans. I break the kiss, breathless, and push against his chest.
It’s laughable, my hands against that solid wall of muscle, but he humors me. He steps back half a pace, eyes narrowed, amused and predatory.
“Sit,” I say, pointing at the couch.
His smirk is slow. “You’re forgetting who’s in charge here.”
I bite my lower lip, the way I know drives him insane.
His jaw flexes, and he sits.
I stand between his spread thighs. I smile up at him, voice soft but teasing. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His gaze devours me, hungry, possessive, barely leashed.
My heart slams against my ribs. I’ve done this before with Jasper, and he always complained that I “sucked at it” (pun not intended, I’m sure).
What if Leonid hates it too? What if I’m bad at this and he—
“Baby.”
His voice cuts through the spiral, pulling me back. He’s watching me with that steady gray gaze, brows slightly furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
I bite my lip, nerves twisting tighter, then slowly sink to my knees between his spread thighs. He widens his legs immediately, making room, hands resting loosely on his knees like he’s giving me all the control.
I reach for his zipper, fingers trembling. He catches my wrists gently, thumbs stroking the insides of my pulse points.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly.
I shake my head, meeting his eyes. “I want to. Unless… you don’t want me to.”
He groans, low, rough, almost pained. “I want nothing more than to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” His smirk flashes. “Well… almost nothing. Having your pussy wrapped around it is still number one.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of me. The knot in my chest loosens just a little.
He tilts his head, studying me. “Have you ever given a blowjob before?”
I nod, cheeks heating. “Yeah. But… I’m scared you won’t like it.”
He exhales through his nose, expression softening. “Solnyshko, anything you do to me is enjoyable. You could breathe on my dick, and I’d probably come.”
I raise an eyebrow, teasing despite the nerves. “Anything?”
He chuckles. “Don’t get cocky. Now take it out and suck it.”
The command is playful but edged with heat. My hands feel steadier now. I unzip his trousers, tug them down with his briefs, and his cock springs free, the flushed head already glistening with pre-cum.
I wrap my fingers around the base and swipe my tongue across the tip, tasting salt and him.
He hisses through his teeth. “Fuck.”
That sound bolsters me. I open my mouth wider and take him in, slow at first, lips stretching around his girth, tongue flattening along the underside. He’s big, bigger than I’m used to, and my jaw aches almost immediately, but the way he groans my name makes it worth it.
“Laurel…” His hand slides into my hair, fingers flexing like he’s fighting for control.
I bob my head, sucking harder, swirling my tongue around the head on every upstroke. His thighs tense under my palms. His breathing turns ragged.
“Good girl,” he rasps. “Just like that. Fuck—your mouth.”
The praise goes straight to my core. I’m wet, aching, thighs pressing together as I take him deeper. My free hand cups his balls, rolling them, and he curses in Russian, hips jerking once before he reins himself in.
I feel powerful. Wanted. Sexy.
He starts guiding me, with gentle pressure on the back of my head, encouraging me to take more. I relax my throat as best I can, breathing through my nose, tears pricking my eyes when he hits the back. He groans louder, and I feel him thicken against my tongue.
“Fuck—stop,” he warns, voice strained. “I’m gonna come.”
I don’t stop.
I suck harder, hollow my cheeks, take him as deep as I can. His control snaps. His hand tightens in my hair, and he thrusts once, twice, then comes with a guttural groan, hot spurts flooding my mouth. I swallow greedily, but some escapes, spilling down my chin.
My body jerks, and pleasure crashes through me without warning. I come, thighs shaking, a muffled moan vibrating around his cock.
His thumb gathers the last trace of cum from my lower lip, then presses it back into my mouth. I close my lips around it instinctively, sucking gently, swirling my tongue. His eyes darken instantly.
“Did you just get off sucking me?” he asks, voice low and rough, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where some of his release had spilled.
I nod, cheeks burning, still tasting him on my tongue. “Yeah.”
“Such a naughty girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with approval.
Before I can respond, he lifts me, strong hands under my thighs, and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. My knees sink into the couch cushions on either side of his hips.
His mouth crashes against mine. I thought he might be grossed out by the taste of himself on my tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care at all. If anything, it makes him kiss me harder, deeper, tongue stroking mine like he’s trying to devour every last trace.
His hands are already tearing at my bra in one impatient tug. The panties follow. He growls against my lips.
“I’ll buy you more later. A dozen. A hundred. Whatever you want.”
I almost laugh at how needy he sounds, but he’s lifting my hips, lining himself up, and slamming into me in one brutal thrust. I cry out, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders.
He fucks me into the couch, every stroke driving me deeper into the cushions until the world narrows to the stretch of him inside me, the slap of skin, the wet sounds of my arousal, his low groans against my throat.
I come again, shattering, clenching around him so hard he curses in Russian. He follows right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a guttural sound that vibrates through both of us.
After we finally catch our breath, he carries me to the bathroom. We shower together, then collapse onto my bed.
“How’s Alexei?” I ask, head on his chest.
Leonid exhales, fingers tracing idle patterns on my hip. “He was already in bed when I left. Kept asking for one more bedtime story. Then another. Then another.” A small, almost fond smile tugs at his mouth. “I think I read half the book twice.”
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “That’s good. Really good.”
He looks down at me, eyes softer than usual. “How is he in class lately?”
I think for a second. “He still doesn’t like relating to the other students much. Keeps to himself. But he’s not as aggressive as he used to be. He’s… opening up. Slowly. We just have to give him time.”
Leonid nods, expression thoughtful. “Time,” he repeats quietly.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Fine. Two, then.”
He chuckles. “Shoot.”
I hesitate, tracing the edge of a faint scar on his shoulder with my fingertip. “Why do you hold back when we’re having sex?”
His body goes still beneath me for a beat. Then he exhales, rough. “Baby, I just fucked you so hard you melted into the damn couch.”
“Yeah.” I prop my chin on his chest so I can meet his eyes. “But I still feel like you’re… reining it in. That night in Paris, you said you liked it rough. I told you I didn’t want to be handled like porcelain. Yet I feel like you are.”
He groans. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Challenge me.”
He holds my gaze for a moment. “What are your plans for Saturday?”
I trace lazy circles on his chest. “Nothing much. Brunch with Tasha in the afternoon.”
“I meant the evening.”
I tilt my head up to look at him. “No plans. Probably binge-watching reruns of my favorite shows. Why?”
He holds my gaze, unflinching. “I’d like to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“A club.”
The way he says it tells me there’s more. My stomach does a slow flip. “What kind of club?”
He’s still holding my gaze. “A sex club.”
I sit up so fast the sheets pool around my waist. “What? Like… an orgy?”
He almost laughs, sitting up with me. “No. It’s different. Exclusive. Private. A new one just opened downtown. I was invited, and I’d like to take you.”
Jealousy flares hot and sudden in my chest. “Do you always get invited to places like that?”
He studies me for a beat, then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me close. His lips brush mine. “Yeah.”
The word stings more than it should. I open my mouth to say something, but he kisses me, swallowing whatever protest was forming.
When he pulls back, his thumb strokes along my jaw. “That doesn’t mean I always went. And no, I’ve never attended one with a woman before.”
My jealousy eases.
He kisses me again, harder this time, then rolls out of bed and starts getting dressed. I watch him dress. I hate this part. Him leaving.
He comes back to the bed, leans down, and kisses me. I almost cry out for him to stay. My bed already feels too empty without him in it. But I don’t say it. I can’t. He has to go home to Alexei. And I can’t spend the night at his place.
He pulls back, brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Think about it. You don’t have to say yes. I’ll see myself out. Lock up behind me.”
“Goodnight, solnyshko.”
I listen to his footsteps retreat down the hall, the front door opening and closing.
Silence settles.
I lie there staring at the ceiling. A sex club.
The idea circles in my mind. I asked for a challenge, but not this. I don’t know if I’m ready for that wild side.