22. Astor
TWENTY-TWO
ASTOR
Ican’t face him. I know what he wants me to do, and I can’t.
But the idea of turning him down again feels unbearable.
So I can’t do it. Not and deal with the puzzle and my father, and my godfather, and everything else going on in my life.
I’m unraveling at both ends, and can’t add another crisis to it.
I sleep like shit. In and out of dreams, waiting for him to break through the thing. And then I have another bad episode of paralysis and give up on sleep entirely. I flip on a dim lamp and go back to the puzzle.
I’m exhausted by the time I drag myself to row. I don’t allow myself to look for him. The last time I kicked him out, he stopped coming, and it’s for the best.
“Good morning, baby.”
I jump out of my skin and nearly drop my scull. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
He glances around, confusion washing over his face. “Did you get body snatched, baby boy?”
“No!” I press my hand into my chest, trying to calm my heart.
“Are you sure? Because I row with you every morning.” He sets his shell in the water, then looks at me pointedly. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” There’s an edge to his words as if he’s daring me to press it.
“Because—never mind.” I set mine in the water and get in.
Maybe he’s learned some boundaries and is willing to accept what I allow without disappearing. I might also be able to admit the company in the morning is nice. It’s easy to listen to his chatter. My routine has accepted him, and it feels good. A feeling I’m not used to.
He’s probably the first person outside my family I’ve ever been comfortable with.
“What has you smiling?” He keeps up with me now. It’s impressive so soon.
“How can you row and chatter?”
“I have a very skilled mouth. You should know that.” He grins, showing off his teeth.
“It means you’re not working hard enough. You should be out of breath.” I look too hard at him to point out what he’s not doing, but catch the sweat dripping down his neck and nearly miss my stroke.
He notices, because of course he does. “You okay over there?”
“Yes.” I turn away quickly before he sees the color on my cheeks as well.
“If you say so, baby boy.”
We finish up and are putting our sculls away like normal, and then he’s in my way.
I barely keep myself from running into him. “What?”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment, looking at my lips.
“Rurik.”
“It’s like you want me to suck your dick right here.”
“I do not.” I sigh and move to step around him, but he blocks me. “What?” I ask again.
“You were looking at me a lot today.”
“I did nothing of the sort.” The heat creeps up my neck again. I hope he can’t see it.
“You did. You fucked up your perfect stroke once.” He noticed?
My cheeks pink. How the fuck does he see through me? “You’re delusional.”
“I told you, I’m not. My mom had me tested.” He smiles and grabs my face, kissing me hard before I can stop him. I try to fight it, but his tongue parts my lips, and I give over to the kiss.
Fuck.
I hate that I like it.
That it feels good.
I slip a hand around the back of his neck to give myself something to hold onto so I don’t utterly lose myself.
He groans into my mouth, hard body pressing against me.
He’s dripping with sweat, and I don’t hate it.
I like how much bigger than me he is, surprising myself again.
I thought I wouldn’t like to feel helpless with another person, but with him it’s somehow okay.
My blood sings when he kisses me like he does, with all the chaos in the universe sparking through him and from him to me. It’s a type of being alive that has no right to exist. Pure happiness like a drug.
One I’m not allowed to have. The realization makes reality slam back into my brain. We’re out in the open where anyone could see us.
I attempt to shove him back. “Rurik!”
“Yes, baby?”
“You can’t just kiss me in public like that.” I remove his hands from me and straighten my clothes.
His smile doesn’t diminish. “Okay.” I’m shocked he agrees, but then he goes on: “I’ll save it for your dick later.”
“Rurik.” I grind my teeth, ignoring all the blood rushing below my belt.
He doesn’t do me the courtesy of ignoring it, reaching out to cup my cock. “You’re only making me harder and want to fuck you more by saying my name.”
“What do you want me to call you if not by your name?”
“You could try ‘baby,’ but that will probably do the same thing, so maybe…Ru?”
I narrow my eyes because this feels like a trap. “I don’t believe you.”
He leans in and ghosts his lips over mine. “Have a good morning, baby. I’ll see you later.”
I don’t see him again, but I feel him. He’s haunting my day as I work my way through the puzzle, chasing clues. Is he pretending to give me space? What is his angle here?
I check the lock on the window before I get in bed. But once I’m lying there, I know it’s unlocked. I get up and check it again. It’s locked. I force myself back to bed and lay there awake. Why is the idea of locking him out worse than that stalker crawling in?
I hate my fucking brain.
I get up but won’t let myself go to the window. I can’t give in to my stupid brain. I just want to check if he’s out there on the sill. Maybe he didn’t realize last night I locked it.
He did. I know he did.
There is no reason to check the window again.
I pace in front of the window, my own memory playing tricks on me. I see myself locking it. But I’m nearly half sure I made that up. My feet keep trying to lead me back to the damn window. To look for him. To check the lock. To check that I’m even in America.
I can’t take the screaming in my brain any longer and check the lock again.
It’s locked.
I pressed my fingers into the metal, forcing the muscle memory. “It’s locked, you moron.”
Hitting my palm into my forehead repeatedly because maybe the pain will convince my brain to stop gaslighting me against the memory.
But lying there, my mind still won’t quit, so I reach over and rummage through my night table for meds.
I pop two of them into my mouth and swallow dry.
I hate taking them because they’ll make me sluggish tomorrow, but it’s a better alternative than checking the window all night.
I stir sometime later, hit in the chest with familiar panic.
No, please no. I can’t deal with it tonight.
Can I just have one night of sleep?
I can’t get my eyes open. I listen for the jiggle of the door handle, frantically trying to get my vision at least. I’m on edge unable to move, waiting for it to appear.
I try again to open my eyes but they remain closed.
I’m hyper aware of every sound, fear eating away at my insides.
I exist in limbo knowing what’s coming but unable to move forward or back.
I hate my body and my brain.
Why can’t I just be fucking normal?
The floor creaks. It’s here.
I brace myself for the disgusting feel of it.
But it doesn’t come. Soft fingers skim over my face.
“I think you’re having a nightmare again.” Rurik wraps an arm around me, yanking me into his arms.
I’m able to ground myself in his touch, getting my fucking body to work again. I suck in a breath and cling to him, knowing I’m sending all the wrong signals by doing so, but after being frozen in my body for God knows how long, I can’t resist the comfort.
“That’s better,” he murmurs against the back of my neck while stroking his fingers just under the hem of my shirt. “Relax. I’m here.”
Slowly, it comes back to me, and I lean into him, taking the relief. I gulp down a few breaths, cementing myself into reality. Once I get my panic under control, I try to make sense of where I am and what is happening. I part my lips to speak, but my mouth is so dry, it takes me a minute.
“You’re okay.” He presses his lips just under my hairline. “Did you have a bad dream?”
I don’t trust my voice so I just turn my face into his chest. He squeezes me tighter and I realize I’m shaking. I hate being this fucking vulnerable in front of him.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.” He rubs his nose through my hair, tightening his arm around me.
The care is unmistakable, and my body leaves the panic behind faster than I believed possible.
He so easily broke me from the sleep paralysis.
Why the fuck does he have this effect on me?
How did he notice? How did he get in the window? Did he hear something? What could I have fucking said unknowingly in my sleep? Another wave of panic hits me.
“Don’t do that. I’m here with you.”
I can’t stop it. My lungs constrict, and my chest won’t expand to get enough oxygen. He’s pulling away, and I grip his arm, unable to say it but needing him to stay. But quickly he sits and pulls me into his lap, wrapping both arms around me.
“Can you feel me?”
I manage a nod.
“Good. Breathe with me, okay? Try to match yours to mine.”
He keeps his tight squeeze of me and counts his breathing. I can’t think of anything but breathing anyway. We’re like this for a long time. Just breathing while he whispers numbers into my temple.
“You’re doing so good.” He presses a kiss to my skin.
My chest warms and I close my eyes, taking the comfort I didn’t know I needed.
As soon as my breathing evens out, the thoughts come back.
I know I locked the window.
“Don’t go back into it.” He closes his hand around my throat and tilts my face up to his. “If breathing doesn’t get you to stop thinking, I’m going to fuck you out of it.” He parts my lips, and I don’t fight the assault of his tongue.
“How do you know that won’t make it worse?” I snark.
“Because I know how good I am with my dick.” He laughs into my mouth, then bites my lip.
I kiss him harder, taking out all the leftover emotion on his mouth.
Fuck him for being able to do this.
Fuck him for helping.
Fuck him for feeling so fucking good and making me doubt everything I thought I knew.
And fuck his stupid mouth that I want on my cock again.
As if he can read my mind, his hand pushes between us, gripping me through my sleep clothes. “So nice and hard for me, baby.”
“I’m always erect when I wake up,” I lie so he won’t take it personally.