Which was ridiculous, because the truth was he didn’t have to sneak anywhere or fight for anything. I was already his. Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly his. The man could sit on his ass and do nothing and I’d still crawl back to him.
Still… I wouldn’t mind seeing him sweat a little.
We pulled up to the corner near campus and the car rolled to a stop.
“Well,” I said with a playful smirk, reaching for the door handle, “it was nice doing business with you.”
“Malaya, shut up,” he muttered.
Before I could turn the handle, his hand slid to the back of my neck drawing me in with deliberate control. His mouth met mine in a deep, unhurried kiss that stole the breath from my lungs. It started slow, almost teasing, his lips soft yet commanding as they moved against mine. Then the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding languidly into my mouth, stroking mine with slow, sensual strokes that sent liquid heat pooling low in my belly. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world and every intention of savoring me—sucking gently on my lower lip, tilting his head to take me deeper, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. God… and this man is afraid of breaking me?
I was still trying to catch my breath when I turned toward the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Give me your phone.”
I blinked at him. “Why?”
He took it, tapped quickly, then handed it back. “My number. Save it under some boring name, obviously.”
I stared down at the number he’d added and saved it as “Katya”.
He looked serious now. “If you ever need me, any time, day or night—you call. Understood?”
His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary—steady, unreadable, the kind of look that promised consequences for anyone who made that call necessary.
My throat tightened. I nodded.
Imade it through the last class of the day on autopilot. My body felt different. My mind couldn’t focus. All I could think about was his mouth, his hands, the way he felt inside me.
I wasn’t a virgin anymore.
That thought wouldn’t leave me alone. Louder than the professor’s lecture, louder than the scraping of pens, louder than my own heartbeat. I hadn’t just had sex. I’d given it to him—him—not to some fumbling boy chasing release, but to someone who made me feel everything.
I kept shifting in my seat, still sore, still dizzy with it. Like my entire body had been rewired. Everything felt more sensitive, more awake—like he’d flicked on a switch inside me I didn’t know existed. I could still feel the stretch of him, the way hefilled me, the burn and the pleasure colliding so violently I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
I didn’t even bleed.That surprised me. I’d always been told the first time hurts. That it’s awkward, messy. That you bleed. But I hadn’t. Maybe because I was so aroused. Because I wanted it. Because he actually knew what the fuck he was doing.
God, he knew what he was doing. So. Damn. Well.
The thought made me bite my lip.
I remembered Valeria once telling me about her first time—both of them drunk, fifteen, in some gross friend’s apartment with her idiot ex-boyfriend. He’d thrown up halfway through, then tried to keep going like nothing happened. I remember thinking it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever heard. She’d brushed it off with a laugh, like it was some teenage badge of honor we were all meant to earn. Said that’s just how it is for girls.
Valeria never shut up about sex. Her hookups, her one-night stands, the guys who treated foreplay like a favor and climax like a finish line. She used to roll her eyes and tell me that most men didn’t give a damn if the girl got off. They’d get what they came for, pull out, and pass out like they’d done something noble.“They don’t care if you come,” she’d say, “They care if you scream loud enough to boost their ego.”
But I was with Maksym and he wasn’t like any of those men.
That wasn’t just sex. That was something else entirely. It felt like he’d crossed a line with me, and I’d crossed one right back. Every kiss, every thrust, every time he whispered my name against my neck—it was like he was rewriting everything I thought I knew.
He didn’t tear me apart, even though I would’ve let him. Instead, he was gentle—achingly so. I don’t think he even realized how patient he was, how much tenderness bled through his touch. He doesn’t see himself the way I do.He wearsconfidence like a mask, brute strength like a warning sign, but underneath, he’s so damn hard on himself. I kept thinking—I want to know him. All of him. Every scar, every secret, every shadow. I only hoped he would let me.
By the time class ended, I was still dazed, glowing, and completely ruined—in the best way.
And I had to go back home like nothing happened.
14
Milk and Blood
