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Galina’s voice carries up from the foyer, and I close my Kindle and set it on the bed. I’m sure it’s Prisha coming to dig for more info on Alek and me, though I told her I’d fill her in tomorrow.
I managed to change into pajamas after lunch, but I doubt Prisha will care, so I quickly fix my messy bun and leave my bedroom.
Halfway down the stairs, I pause. It isn’t Prisha.
Alek is standing in the foyer with Galina, who looks positively starstruck. His eyes fall on my chest, and I realize I’m not wearing a bra—just a thin tank top.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I brought your bookbag,” he says, holding it up by the strap. “And your homework.”
“I thought Prisha had my bag?”
“Yes. She was more than happy to hand it over.”
Alek and I fall silent, our eyes devouring one another.
“Um, Mr. Kurochkin?” Galina asks. “Would you like tea?”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before turning to Galina, and he puts on a charming smile for her. He answers her in Russian, engaging her in polite conversation.
She beams and glances at me, throwing a wink in my direction as she heads off into the house.
Well, that’s interesting. Is she giving me permission to hang out with him upstairs? Not that I need it, but I guess it’s pretty cool of her.
Alek climbs the stairs to meet me in the middle. His thumb comes up to sweep my cheek, and the action is so tender it makes my heart flutter.
“You’ve been crying,” he says.
“Uh, yeah. Rough morning.”
His thumb comes down, tracing over my lips before grabbing my chin. “Are you going to give me the tour?”
“You want to see the house?”
“Well, there’s only one room I’m particularly interested in.”
With a smile, I grab his hand, leading him up the stairs and into my room. When he steps inside, his gaze sweeps the bed and the décor.
“This is it,” I say, closing the door behind him.
He sets my bookbag down on the floor beside my messy vanity, which has makeup, nail polish, and hair brushes sprawled across the surface. Pill bottles are scattered, including an almost-empty prescription for antidepressants I doubt I can refill here—not that they help.
Alek ignores the clutter and picks up the picture frame on display. “This is your mother?”
“Yeah.”
“You look more like her than your dad.” He gives me a wink and sets the photo down.
He rounds on me and prowls closer, backing me into the corner. He rests his arm on the wall above my head, while his other hand slides beneath my shirt. I gasp as his fingers brush against my stomach, weaving their way up to cup my breast.
He watches my reaction as he kneads my soft flesh. I’m burning from his touch, no doubt blushing like a virgin from his ministrations. Alek pinches my nipple, bringing it to a peak as my breath hitches.
Aleksandr Kurochkin is in my room, of all places, and all I can think about is him and me in my bed only feet away.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, and this simple action lights a match. The air shifts between us, turning hungrier, needier. Like we’ve been starved of one another.
He reaches down to hook his hands beneath my thighs, lifting me up against the wall. I snake my legs around him to anchor myself and dig my nails into his shoulders. And when Alek begins to grind his hips against me, his stiff rod presses into my heat through our clothes.
