“Things are different now,” I insist. “I’m not a teenager anymore. I have some leverage.”
“What leverage?”
“He wants me to follow in his footsteps. Take over the family business.” I stroke my thumb across his cheekbone, catching a tear that’s escaped despite his efforts. “He needs me. That gives me power.”
His breath hitches. “Alex—”
“Solnyshko,” I whisper, the Russian endearment falling from my lips naturally.Sunshine. My eyes lock with his, watching how his pupils dilate at the word. “It’s about time you understood. I’m not letting you disappear again.”
Before he can argue, I close the remaining distance between us, pressing my lips to his. Unlike our first kiss outside his apartment building, this one is gentle. Tender, even. My hands cradle his face like he’s something precious, something that might break if I’m not careful.
For a heartbeat, he’s stiff against me, resistant. Then something in him melts, and he’s kissing me back with a soft sound that goes straight to my core. His hands come up to grip my forearms, not pushing away but holding on, like he needs an anchor.
I pull back just enough to see his face. Tears track down his cheeks, and I drag my lips across them, tasting salt. “Vincent,” I breathe against his skin, kissing the trails of moisture.
“What are you doing?” he asks, but the words lack heat, coming out breathless instead.
I press him harder against the sink, my body flush against his. “Taking care of you,” I murmur, continuing to kiss his wet cheeks, his temples, the corner of his mouth.
“Alex, we can’t—” he starts, but I cut him off with another kiss.
His protest dies against my lips, turning into a soft moan as my tongue slides against his. The sound shoots straight through me, setting every nerve ending on fire. His hands move from my arms to my shoulders, then to my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
I pull back just enough to look at him, pleased to see his earlier panic replaced by a different kind of breathlessness. Hispupils are blown wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. No longer afraid—now he’s wanting. I can work with wanting.
“Better?” I ask.
He swallows, nodding once. “Alex, we shouldn’t—”
I silence him with my mouth again, kissing him like I’ve wanted to since I saw him on that stage. His body responds instantly, arching into mine. My hands slide down his sides, gripping his hips, pulling him closer until I can feel his hardness against mine. The friction draws a groan from me.
His hands slide up my chest, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer even as he argues. “Alex, our parents are right down the hall.”
I rotate my hips, grinding against him, and his words dissolve into a gasp. “Do you care?” I ask, dragging my lips down his throat. “Because I don’t.”
“We’restepbrothers,” he utters while his body betrays him, pressing forward to increase the delicious friction between us. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
My hand slides between us, palming the hard bulge in his pants. His head falls back, exposing his throat. I take advantage, nipping at the sensitive skin there, careful not to leave marks.
“We shouldn’t,” I agree, even as my fingers work at the button of his pants. “But we’re going to anyway.”
His hands fall to my shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise as I slip my hand into his pants, finding him hot and hard and already leaking. The sound he makes when I wrap my fingers around him is half-whimper, half-moan, and I swallow it with another kiss.
“Quiet,” I warn against his lips. “They’ll hear us.”
Vincent bites his lip, nodding. His hands fumble at my waistband, returning the favor. When his fingers wrap aroundme, I hiss through clenched teeth, the pleasure almost too intense to bear.
“Fuck,” I growl, switching to Russian for the filthier words that follow. “You feel so good.”
I maneuver us until our erections press together, taking both in one hand. Vincent’s forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck as he struggles to stay quiet. The feeling of us together like this is better than any fantasy I’ve tried not to have about him over the years.
“Look at us,” I command, guiding his face toward one of the mirrored walls with my free hand.
He resists at first, then gives in. We turn our heads to the side, and the sight that greets us is debauched—his shirt partially unbuttoned, my hair a mess from his fingers, both of us flushed and breathing hard. My hand moves between us, stroking us together. The visual combined with the sensation is a heady mix.
“This is what I’ve wanted,” I confess. “Since I saw you on that stage. Since before.”
Vincent’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, vulnerability and hunger warring in his gaze. “Alex,” he whispers, and it’s nearly my undoing.
