11. Astor #2
“You get off on this, don’t you?” I need to get him on a different topic.
“Maybe a little.” He laughs, lighting up his mismatched eyes.
“So is this what you do? Make a game of trying to sleep with straight men? Do you do this to lesbians too?”
His body reacts viscerally. “Fuck no. I’m never attracted to straight men. And I love lesbians as friends. I’m not an asshole.”
I lift my brows in disbelief. “Then what do you call what you’re doing?”
“Not believing a lair. I know when someone is into me.” His lips skim my jaw, and my entire body shivers, like it’s calling me a liar with him.
More reason to hate myself, like I need another.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Am I?” He lightly sucks on my skin.
I try to bite back my groan but fail miserably.
“And I’m going to keep not believing you as long as you make those sounds, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” He glances up before moving his lips to my neck.
“Because it’s weird.”
“Weird to like what I see?”
“Weird for a man to call another man it.” The hitch of my voice made it hard for even me to take my words seriously.
“I’ll say what I feel. Weird or fucking not, who cares?” His fingers crawl under the hem of my coat, thumb rubbing over my bare hip.
“I have social expectations to adhere to.”
He has no idea what it’s like.
“Why?” He lifts his face from my throat, pressing us chest to chest. “Are you some secret duke and expected to marry your kind? Or is that just the family linage?”
It’s like a punch to the gut, entirely too close to home, and I need to be so much more careful.
“Not quite, but my family wouldn’t approve. I told you about my family line.” I can’t have him digging deeper. “You don’t have any family pressure?”
“Not like that. My mom isn’t religious, and she doesn’t care about that kind of stuff.
I’d have to be in to some red pill type shit to get disowned, and even then she’d probably find some reprogramming therapy before she’d just let me raw dog life that way…
” he trails off. “Don’t judge. It’s how she shows love. ”
I laugh, in spite of myself. “I’m not judging. It sounds nice actually.”
“It is nice. For the most part.” He returns his lips to my neck. “So what has you stalking me, baby?”
“I told you—” I exhale sharply as he bites my throat. “Ouch.”
“And I told you not to bullshit me.” His tongue traces the marks he left.
“It’s not stalking.” I clench my teeth, swallowing another groan. “I walked by the building. I wasn’t looking in the windows. Not that it would be possible without completely exposing what I’m doing? Can you imagine the attention I’d draw attempting it? With a ladder or something of the like?”
“You’re just not being creative enough.” He nips again, and I knock my head into the tree, refusing to give him the reaction he wants.
Why do I not hate this? What is wrong with me?
“Are you saying you know better ways to stalk?” I realize how stupid my words are as soon as they leave my mouth. “I guess you would know after showing up in my bedroom.”
He hums against my skin, and I can feel his infuriating smile. “What? Are you wearing a wire? I’m not admitting to anything.”
My insides burn under his assault, and I find myself pressing against him, wanting more. Who the fuck am I?
“I don’t need you to confess you were in my room. I witnessed it.”
“Are you asking me to return?”
“No…” My stomach sinks, but I don’t want to deny him outright and have him pull back again. “I haven’t seen you at all. Did you give up on rowing?”
“You told me to leave. I did what you asked.” His fingers crawl up my side, skimming my ribs.
I shiver, barely stopping myself from making more sounds. “I meant my room.”
“Are you saying you want me to keep spending time with you?” He smiles against my skin.
“If you don’t want to…”
“Can’t say it, can you?” He harshly grabs my jaw, tilting my face up before sucking on my pulse point. “Say you want to see me again.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Not stalking me?” he growls over my skin, and I cannot help the full-body tremble that rolls through me. “You saw me by chance.” He sounds hurt.
“Not stalking, but here.” I reaffirm. I can’t give him too much. I don’t need him going through my window again.
“I’ll take it.” He bites my chin and then hovers his lips over mine. “Put your hands on me.”
Fear fills every one of my senses, thick and tar-like, forcing anything good out. It’s so deep in my lungs I don’t know how to breathe around it. “Anyone could see us.”
He grabs my hand, wrapping it around his waist. “Who the fuck is going to recognize you? It’s dark.” While he has a point, he doesn’t know who I am. All it takes is one photo. One person noticing.
“I told you. My family has expectations, and they are very traditional.” I curl my fingers into his sweater like clinging to it might keep me upright.
“Their opinion can’t be that important. You have to live your own life.” He holds my gaze, like he can see into my soul…and maybe he can. He reads me better than any person I’ve ever met.
“It’s more complicated than that.” I part my lips, almost wishing he’d kiss me and get it over with.
“It’s not that complicated. You want it.” He flicks his tongue into my lip.
“Rurik…”
“Fuck. You’re killing me.” He presses his forehead into mine but still doesn’t kiss me.
“You like me saying your name that much?” I rub my nose over his, not even realizing what I’m doing until it happens.
He freezes then smiles. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”
“Agonizing, actually. You’re so free.” I wish it were a joke.
“You can be, too. You have to admit you want it.” His breath scorches my lips.
“I don’t know how to do that.” Torn between what I know I should do and what I must do, there is no room left anywhere to even consider what I want.
“And yet you’re so close.” He takes my other hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing my palm before forcing it lower. “It’s easy, I’ll show you.” He guides my fingers to skim down his abs, leading me right to his cock.
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “You’re going to go there before you’ve even kissed me?”
“I kissed you. You threw me off.” He works our hands between us, barely giving them any space.
“And you think that’s a better place to start?”
Rurik freezes, cocking his head to the side like he’s having some internal conversation with himself. “Are you saying you want to kiss me, Ash?”
My fake name on his lips feels entirely wrong, but I can’t tell him my real one.
“I’m saying this seems out of order.” I’m breathless. I’ve looked a king in the eyes and told him no and not had my voice sound so weak.
“You do like order, don’t you? I figured a straight guy wouldn’t want my tongue in his mouth since you reacted so poorly to just our lips touching.” He’s considering me and I almost cave under the scrutiny.
“I imagine a straight guy wouldn’t want his hand on your dick either, but you’re directing mine there.” My defenses are crumbling.
“So you’re saying you want to kiss me?” He’s hopeful, and I shouldn’t find it endearing.
I don’t like him.
“Better than leading with dicks.” I don’t know what I’m saying, but I just can’t let it go there. The fear crawling up my throat is too much to bear.
“Weird logic, but no take backs.” He crashes his mouth to mine, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, giving me a full taste of him.
I fist a hand in his sweater, not sure if I want him to keep going or to stop. He makes me forget every single principle I have for myself and want to beg for the pleasure.
He keeps kissing me and I fucking groan, twisting my tongue with his.
It’s zero to one hundred with him. There’s no in between. He treats life like a wrecking ball.
Fuck, why does he taste so good? He tastes like everything I’ve run from my entire existence. All the demons and chaos and pleasure rolled into one stupid man, and an American one at that.
I shouldn’t want this. Wanting it feels like betraying myself.
I must be the one losing my mind because it’s not fair for anyone to feel this goddamn good. He grabs my neck, getting more aggressive, and I should hate it. I should hate anything that’s at all similar to my past, but I don’t. I can’t lie to myself about this. I like the way Rurik kisses me.
My insides buzz with the high of him. He wraps his other hand around the back of my neck, completely caging my face against his.
He’s the embodiment of everything I can’t have.
Can’t be. The freedom and lawlessness of a life where he gets to make his own choices in stark contrast to my life where they’ve all been made for me.
There isn’t a way to just let him into my life without handing over the keys for him to wreck it. And I know if I let him, he will take over all of it and leave any semblance of order I cling to obliterated.
Can I afford to let him?
But can I afford to not?