My restraint snapped, and I started to move, fucking into him at a pace that sent his body sliding across the bed. Our skin slapped together. Our moans became one. Sweat slid down the veins in my neck, and my thighs burned.
Licking my palm, I grabbed his sticky cock, jacking him in time with my thrusts.
“Come for me, baby.”
He pushed back in desperation, chasing his pleasure with wild abandon. Body seizing, he gasped as ropes of come dribbled over my knuckles and covered the sheets beneath him.
He went boneless then, wiggling against my cock with a sated, drugged out smile. My balls pulled tight, and I slapped a hand on his back as I drove into him, working myself deep as the hot rush of my release flooded him.
A frantic hand shot outward, searching for mine. I tangled our fingers together and pressed a kiss to each one. Lifting his cheek, his eyes sought mine. They were hazy with desire.
“Don’t leave,” he rasped. “Not yet.”
Folding my body over his, I held him tight to my chest and shifted just enough that we laid on our sides. His curls tickled my skin when he laid his head on my arm. My cock had started to soften, but I shoved deep, tangling our legs together.
“I love you too,” he whispered. “In the most obsessive, soul filling way.”
“Ah, Solnyshko.”
“What does that mean?”
I smiled. “Little sun.”
“You… you really do think I’m a sun.”
“I think you’re the whole goddamn sky, and everywhere I look, I can only ever see you.”
ChapterThirteen
Ivan
My boy fought a war he was begging to yield to, one that kept him on the cusp of broken and brave. He got lost sometimes…pretending to be okay.
“Solnyshko.”
He looked up at me through lowered lashes, tongue between his lips in a display of concentration.
“You doing okay?” I asked him.
“Better now.”
The couch dipped when he shifted, and he wiggled his hips until he was comfortable. I grunted when he planted his ass firmly on my stomach. The marker he held was a deep purple, and he tapped it once against his cheek before pressing it to the tip of my skin. It was cold as it moved, but I didn’t fucking mind.
“Can I color your grandma’s cross? Or is that too personal?”
“You color whatever you want, baby. Nothing is too personal for you.”
He smiled and slipped the purple marker behind his ear, searching the couch cushions for another. The markers were scattered everywhere, on the floor and across the carpet. He’d stuffed some in his pockets and instructed me to hold others. My boy clearly had his favorites, and it always came back to a particular shade of blue.
A sound of triumph blew past his lips when he found what he was looking for, and then he shoved his elbow in my gut, trying to reach the cross on my bicep.
“Sorry, Papa,” he mumbled, but it was only an afterthought.
It was intense—his focus.
His mind had screamed for an escape, and the second he uncapped that first marker, all his attention honed in on what laid in front of him.
Me.
