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All we did was talk while I touched myself. That’s not sex. And I don’t owe Misha any explanations.
That doesn’t seem like any of Misha’s business, even as he brushes his lips softly against my own before he pulls away.
“Do you want me to tell him?“ he says, whispering in my ear as he does.
A shiver goes down my spine as his tongue swirls over the shell of my ear. “What?“ I ask, my voice trembling.
“Do you want me to tell him, Trine?“ he asks in a growl. “Do you want me to tell Rei just how much you wanted this, how it felt when you climbed on my lap and let me fuck you?“
I shake my head. “That seems unnecessarily mean,“ I say.
“Not if you let him have a turn, and I assume that’s something you’re interested in,“ he replies. “And trust me, if he’s not a fool, he’s interested.“
I laugh, turning to look at him. “Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow,“ I say. “I still…fuck, I still have to think about how to approach my mom and just the thought of it scares the shit out of me.“
He nods, pulling away from me as he sits down heavily beside me, his arm draped around my shoulders. “You’ll be alright,“ he says.
I shake my head. “Are you sure, Misha?“ I ask. “Because I’m freaking the fuck out right now. Whenever I think about what’s going to happen with my mom, I just…it feels like the only thing I can feel is fear.“
He sighs then curls his thumb under my chin so he can tilt my face up. I look into his dark hazel eyes as he speaks. “Yes, I’m sure you’re going to be okay.“
“How can you know?“
“Because we’ll be there with you,“ he says. “Because, no matter what happens, we’ll protect you.“
Maybe I’m being foolish, but I believe him.
TRINE
Misha sleeps in my bed.
I don’t kick him out because I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep at all if I don’t have someone holding me close, anchoring me to reality. I know I shouldn’t be using him like that, but when I ask him to stay, he just nods.
He doesn’t ask me for an explanation.
Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him, his body heat keeping me warm through the night. I press my ass against his cock as I feel him harden against me, but we both end up falling asleep. I can smell his scent, the masculine trace of something dark and oaky I’m not able to immediately identify.
It’s easy to get lost in it; it’s pleasant and masculine in a way that makes me feel safe. But when I open my eyes, he’s not there. My pillow is soaked under my face, my eyes watery and my vision blurry even when I try to blink away the tears.
I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand but the numbers melt into puddles of neon in front of my eyes, droplets of bright red blood sliding down the cheap wooden furniture. The drawer has been left open an inch and I can see the edge of a blue bible covered by neon red slime.
I blink, but when I open my eyes, the liquid still pools in the drawer and on the floor next to the bed and my mouth dries.
Shifting my body, I try to wake Misha up, but he remains undisturbed next to me. Then his scent changes, and it turns into something darker, smoldering, smoky enough to feel it swirling into my lungs until it chokes me and my eyes fill with tears when I realize I can’t cough.
I close them, trying desperately to fight the tears welling up in them, but it isn’t working. When I open my eyes, Misha looks different. Black lines swirl over his muscular arms, but they coil up to his throat, ending at his pulse. His face is hazy, dimmed by the layer of the tears in my eyes, but his coloring is different.
He doesn’t have hazel eyes or dark cropped hair. His eyes are green–quartz green, almost light enough to be crystal–and his hair looks red. My stomach churns as I try to reach out to him, but my arm doesn’t move. My body is pinned down by an invisible force, something much bigger and stronger than me holding me down and taking my breath away.
“It’s okay,“ the man from my dreams says. He’s back, he’sback, and I want to scream but prying my lips open feels like it would tear my skin apart so I don’t no matter how much I want to. He traces the outline of my cheek with an ice-cold finger as he speaks again, his voice warm and deep. It feels like it wraps itself around my veins, through my bones, snapping all my tendons to attention. “I know you don’t want to think tonight. I’m here to help. I’m not going to let you think, not if you don’t want to.“
Wait. Stop.
I think it, but he does stop, his finger stilling over my cheek. “Just give yourself to it, Trine,“ he says. “You just want to fuck and forget all about what’s happening tomorrow, right?“
I want to say yes, but I say nothing. He slides his hand down the side of my neck, down my ribs, until his icy fingers are wrapped tightly around my thigh and he’s pulling my legs around his own.
I want to gasp when I feel how hard he is against me. He thrusts his hips against me and I feel pleasure spreading from my abdomen to the tips of my fingers. This man knows exactly how to use my body. There’s a vague understanding in my gut that this is wrong, that I shouldn’t want this nearly as much as I do, but all I can think about is the overwhelming desire taking over my body.
