Page 31 of Hold the Line

I try to answer, but his grip on my cheeks is still firm, pressing in just enough to keep my mouth open and my words slurred. “To pith you off,” I manage, the words coming out messy and ridiculous around the piercing and his fingers. Heat floods my face. I sound like an idiot, but I refuse to back down.

Viktor’s eyes darken. “Tongue out,” he says suddenly, the command quiet but absolute.

I blink at him, stunned for a second. When I don’t immediately obey, his gaze shifts from my mouth up to my eyes, one eyebrow slowly raising in that silent, expectant way that always makes me feel like a misbehaving kid. I roll my eyes hard but stick my tongue out anyway, the silver barbell glinting under the apartment light like a fucking confession.

Viktor stares at it, thumb still pressing into my cheek as he keeps my face tilted exactly where he wants it. “I thought losing you was for the best,” he says, eyes still fixed on my tongue. “I thought I was protecting you.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “And then you go and prove me wrong.”

I’m very close to squirming under his intense stare, the combination of his hand on my face, his confession still hanging in the air, and the way he’s looking at the piercing like it both infuriates and ruins him making it impossible to stay still. My heart is racing, anger and something hotter twisting together in my chest as I stand there with my tongue out like an idiot, waiting for whatever comes next.

I can’t take it anymore. I jerk my head back hard, pulling out of his grip, and stumble a step away from him. My back hits the wall near the door as I try to catch my breath.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!” I snap, my voice cracking with frustration and hurt. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Viktor! You don’t get to kiss me like I’m yours and then disappear for a month and a half thinking you’re protecting me. That’s not how this works! You don’t get to push me away and then show up here acting like you know what I need better than I do!”

The words pour out of me in a rush, defensive and angry, but underneath it all is the raw ache I’ve been carrying since Vancouver. Viktor’s eyes flash with something dark and conflicted, and he steps closer. “I was trying—” he starts.

“Trying to what?” I cut him off, pushing off the wall to meet him halfway, jabbing a finger into his chest. “To ruin us before we even had a chance? Because congratulations, it almost worked! I’ve been a fucking mess, and you’ve been hiding behind your fear like it’s some noble sacrifice. Newsflash, big guy—it just hurts both of us!”

We go back and forth like that, voices rising and falling in the small apartment, years of tension and silence finally exploding between us. Every word feels like it’s tearing something open. Until Viktor snaps.

In one brutal movement, both of his hands are on me—one gripping the back of my neck, the other cupping my jaw hard. He yanks me forward and kisses me like he’s starving for it, like he’s been dying for months. The kiss is rough, possessive, and so intense my entire body lights up like a live wire. I whimper into his mouth, the sound broken and needy, my eyes rolling back in pure overwhelming pleasure as the silver barbell on my tongue clicks against his teeth. Heat floods through me so fast I feel dizzy, my hands fisting desperately in his shirt as I melt against him.

The kiss breaks for a single gasping second, just long enough for me to suck in a shaky breath, my lips already swollen and tingling. Viktor’s forehead presses against mine, his breathing ragged, and then he growls something filthy in Russian, low and guttural, right against my mouth. I don’t catch every word, but I understand enough—something about my tongue, the piercing, how it looks, how it’s going to feel. The raw hunger in his voice sends heat exploding down my spine.

Before I can even process it, he’s on me again.

Viktor kisses me harder this time, completely losing the careful, restrained control he’s clung to for four fucking years. Both of his hands grip me possessively—one still wrapped around the back of my neck, the other sliding down to my jaw and throat as he tilts my head exactly how he wants it. His mouth is demanding, devouring, tongue sliding against mine and deliberately flicking over the silver barbell like he’s testing it, claiming it, like the piercing is driving him insane. The groan that rumbles out of his chest vibrates through me, deep and broken, and I whimper again, louder this time as I press closer.

I wait for it. Even as pleasure lights up every nerve in my body, even as he kisses me like he’s trying to crawl inside my skin, I wait for the words I’ve heard before. I can’t. We shouldn’t. That familiar wall slamming back into place.

Instead, Viktor backs me up against the nearest wall with a heavy thud, his massive body pinning me there as the kiss turns even more desperate, more violent, more everything. His hand tightens around my throat just enough to make my head spin in the best way, and all I can do is melt, clinging to him like he might disappear again. My tongue piercing clicks against his teeth and he growls again, the sound pure need, like the sight and feel of it has shattered whatever was left of his restraint.

Viktor breaks the kiss with a harsh breath, only to drag his mouth down the side of my neck, teeth scraping over my skin before he bites down hard enough to make me gasp. He sucks marks into my throat, possessive and relentless, like he’s trying to leave proof that I’m his after years of pretending I wasn’t. My head falls back against the wall with a dull thud, a broken moan slipping out of me as heat floods every inch of my body.

“Let’s go home,” he growls against my neck, his lips brushing over the fresh hickey he just left.

The words send another shiver through me, but I’m still so fucking angry, still so raw. I moan again as he sucks another mark lower, my hands gripping his shoulders tight. “You… think… one kiss is going to bring me home,” I manage between gasps, tilting my head further to give him more space even while my mouth keeps running, “so you can… fuck… so you can ignore me again?”

Viktor growls, deep and dangerous in his chest, and suddenly his hands are under my thighs. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, pinning me against his body as he starts walking. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and I cling to him as he carries me through the apartment toward the guest room where I’ve been crashing for the past week and a half. He kicks the door shut behind us with a solid thud, the sound final and loud in the quiet space, then drops me onto the bed.

I bounce once on the mattress, panting hard as I look up at him. Viktor towers over me, his eyes completely feral with years of pent-up want and frustration. His dark gaze rakes over my body—bare chest, low-slung sweats, the fresh marks blooming on my neck—and something in me tightens with pure need. I’m so turned on it hurts, my cock straining against the thin fabric, every nerve screaming for him after so long of nothing but silence and aching.

“Fine,” Viktor says. “Let’s break the pattern, pretty birdie.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, breathless. “You’re going to fuck me senseless and not run tomorrow morning like last time?” I need to hear him say it. I need to know this isn’t going to end the same way it did before.

Viktor smirks. Actually smirks—that rare, dangerous little curve of his mouth that makes my brain go fuzzy. Without a word, he reaches down and grabs my ankle, yanking me sharply to the edge of the bed. I slide across the sheets with a surprised sound, heart slamming against my ribs. His fingers hook into the waistband of my sweats, and in one smooth motion he pulls them down and off, leaving me completely bare under his stare.

“Exactly like that,” his eyes rake over me, hungry and unfiltered for the first time in years.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath, the word barely out before my arm shoots out on pure instinct. My fingers fist in the front of Viktor’s shirt and I yank him down hard, pulling all that massive weight on top of me. He comes willingly, crashing down between my spread legs as I wrap them tight around his waist, ankles locking behind his back like I’m afraid he might disappear again if I don’t hold on. My mouth finds his instantly, kissing him messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, the piercing clicking against his teeth as I pour every bit of frustration and need into it.

I'm already shoving at his shirt, tugging it up his back with impatient tugs. “You better not fucking run this time,” I gasp against his lips between kisses, biting at his bottom lip hard enough to make him growl. “I swear to God, Petrov, if you disappear again after this I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.” My fingers drag the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him as my palms slide over all that warm, scarred skin I’ve been dying to touch for years. I arch up into him, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his pants, moaning into his mouth as my legs squeeze tighter around him. “Don’t you dare hold back. Not anymore.”

“God, you talk so much,” Viktor groans against my mouth. He doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds wrecked. Fond. Like he’s finally letting himself enjoy the chaos that is me.

I open my mouth to fire something back, but then one of his big hands slides between us, fingers slick with spit as he starts opening me up — so careful it makes my breath hitch. Two thick fingers press inside me at once, stretching me open with that patient precision he uses on the ice, like he’s memorizing every reaction. A broken moan tears out of me as I arch into his touch, legs tightening around his waist.

At the same time, he leans down closer, his lips brushing my ear, and starts speaking in Russian. “I’m not running. Not this time, magpie. I can’t anymore.”