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“C-can you just— will you— will you hold me?”
He’s skeptical, or uncertain, or perhaps no longer interested now that he knows I want him like he wanted me a moment ago. I wait, wondering what’s going through his mind, and then he nods, pulling off his shirt.
“W-whoah, I d-didn’t ask to have sex with you!”
“Body heat is better felt with fewer clothes.”
“I think I’ll b-be f-fine.” I shiver, trying to get out the words quicker than he’s undressing, but it’s no use, he’s already in his boxers. He pulls at the hem of them and I jolt up to stop him, causing my head to spin and a shooting pain to roll down my spine. I cry out, eyes squeezing shut, and then he’s by my side, arms holding me securely as he lays me back down.
“Are you okay? Do you want ice?”
“I-I’m already freezing, Adrik.”
“Right.” He shakes his head like he’s beating himself up before crawling over me and sliding under the covers, pulling me close to him. The heat of his skin is incredible, warmer than the fire is making the room. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and it doesn’t stop, even after we’ve laid in the dark for several moments.
“Is your heart okay?” I twist around in his arms to face him, and then the chills rise when I remember how strange this is– our proximity. How odd it is to be held by someone, especially someone I was pretty sure I despised just a few hours ago. Hell, a few moments ago. I think I still hate him, but I want him. It’s almost like I have no choice but to touch him.
There’s a fear growing deep within me like a black hole, and it’s caused by the strange way we perfectly fit together. It frightens me, even more than the look in his eyes right now as we hover in a brief silence, arms around one another like this is normal. Like we have always been this way and we’re simply coming back together from a long separation. Now he seems so restrained, afraid to speak as if doing so will shoo me away.
Adrik Mikhailov, the one that isn’t shy about anything, is biting a small corner of his upper lip and blinking at me like he’s scared to answer my question. He raises his hand to my face, following the curve of my cheekbone with his fingertip, then brushing his thumb from the corner to the bottom of my lip. My heart lurches towards him, my stomach tying in a knot.
“It’s fine.” He finally whispers, but I can still feel it beating for the both of us. I press my cold fingers to his warm chest, and he cups my hand with his.
“Are you nervous?” I whisper back, looking at the tattoos covering his entire torso.
“Esperanza. Me? Nervous?” He pushes like it’s ludicrous, thick brows going tall.
“Yeah, don’t act like it’s silly.” I scrunch my nose at him with a smirk. He grins back, nothing smug or ill-intent ending in it. Caring, and soft— two things I would not use to ever describe Adrik in any other scenario.
His hand is still over mine pressed to his chest. I look back at his tattoos trying to make out what everything is in the dark. There isn’t a blank spot on his skin, but they stop very starkly right under his jaw.
“Why not on the face?” I ask, and I know he knows what I mean because he’s been watching me observe his body.
“I don’t know. Never liked face tattoos, too cliché for a Bratva kid, I guess.” He shrugs his lips and I breathe a laugh through my nose.
He cocks a brow. “Was that a genuine laugh from Esperanza San Giovanni?” He’s pretending to be beside himself, and I shake my head, shifting my jaw into a grin.
“Don’t get used to it.” I warn, trying to sound stern, but it comes off all flirty and sweet despite my best attempts to make it anything but.
“Yes ma’am.” He lowers his voice a little and our grins become something that fills the space, like a bouquet of flowers freshly cut from a garden and placed in the center of the room. It’s light and comforting and for a moment, I forget that I loathe this man, that I’m not meant to even be near him like this, let alone kiss him, but I’m leaning in. We both are, inching closer with grins that are turning to looks ofshould-we-do-this, between breaths ofI-want-you.
His lips lightly nudge mine and I slide my hand out from under his, grasping the back of his neck as our lips collide, sending me into a rush of pleasure beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. He pulls me closer to him, and now it’s primal. Our lips moving like we’ve wanted this all along. Like, the rude remarks and fights that never seemed to end were just our way of saying“I need you”. And wearesaying that, right now, with every caress, every heavy breath between lust-filled kisses. It’s pure desire.
It’s so strong– our want for one another– that it’s out of my hands, like trying to control a riptide. I can’t fight it, I’m swept up, and nothing– not even my harsh reality creeping in at the edges of this momentary pleasure– could stop me. His hands trace down my spine, leaving my skin longing for more, and I don’t want him to stop until he grips my hips. That’s when it all hits me like I'm being pounded in the face by a powerful wave and I can't ignore how badly I want this to continue but how imperative it is that we stop.
“Stop.” I breathe as he kisses down my neck and I don’t want him to, but he needs to, we both do.
“What’s wrong?” He whispers into my skin before planting one more chill-inducing kiss and then looking deeply into my eyes like nothing else matters to him but my happiness. A lie that especially hurts because this has to be a part of his game. Right?
“We can’t.” I shake my head, grabbing one of his wrists. He lets go of my hips in response and pulls me closer to him, still looking in my eyes.
“You don’t feel well?”
“No, it’s not that.” I look down, and he pinches my chin with his thumb and index, lifting my eyes back to his icy blues.
“Then what is it?” He’s not giving up.
“We should wait.”
