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The feeling is chaos, but the best kind of chaos. His fingers inside me feel like everything I would have ever hoped I would feel when getting this intimate. It’s incredible, making me breathless as he presses his palm over my sensitive mound and gently rocks his hand inside me.
He watches, never taking his eyes off me unless he kisses down my chest, which he does a few times when I arch my back. I’m reaching another level of pleasure now, stronger than the one before. So intense, I don’t know how I can survive it without moaning. My moans come out soft and desperate for more, but I’m not ashamed of them, not hiding how good this feels.
He seems to enjoy that part, his smile growing over his perfect lips every time I let one out. He dips over me just as I’m at the height, kissing my lips roughly as he presses his hard bulge to my leg. Sharp, high moans escape me over and over as I grab the back of his neck, breathing into his smile as he kisses me, letting out a moan onto his lips at the peak of my pleasure. It’s like he can feel what I’m feeling— sense my pleasure like it’s his own, and I’m lost in it for a long time.
He slows down as I release, the pleasure causing my muscles to loosen and relax around his frame.
“Do you feel what I feel?” I whisper breathlessly after he kisses me again, fingers still inside my pulsing wet sheath. He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Not really. It does feel good, though, knowing I’m making you come.” The way he says this turns me on all over again, and I kiss his soft, warm lips. He grabs my right hand and guides it to the front of his track pants, opening them for me.
I quiver a little, unsure. He starts to rub his palm over my pussy again, fingers finding spots inside me that are still pulsing from his effect on me. I let out a quick breath and shove my hand inside his pants, grabbing his hard length. Though I know the mechanics of it, I can’t bring myself to do it wrong, so I just squeeze it tightly. He breathes a laugh and pulls down his track pants and underwear, kicking them off and away from us.
I watch as he grabs my hand, guiding my stroking. He lets out a breath like the one I just gave, eyelids falling slightly as he tilts his head to the side. When he lets go, I continue to stroke, not stopping when I feel myself building to another burst of pleasurable release.
“Faster.” He whispers, sucking on my bottom lip and I oblige, stroking his long hard length faster and faster. Just as I reach my peak again, he lets out a moan, his hot release splashing onto my upper thighs as I curl my body towards him in ecstasy. It pulses throughout my body until I’m gasping for air, and then he slows at the perfect speed for me to breathe again. He falls to his side, lying on his back next to me.
Our heavy breaths and the crackling fire are all that’s between us right now. For a moment, my mind is just as quiet, as fulfilled and happy as the rest of me, and then I realize how fucked we are. How close we got to being more, doing more… how much we have already done.
“Fuck.” He breathes and looks over at my uncontrollably bleary eyes.
“What’s wrong?” His shift is immediate as he turns on his side, grabbing my chin between his fingers and looking intently into my eyes like he really doesn’t know.
“We were too close.” It is all I force out, trying desperately to blink away the tears continuing to form against my will.
His face drops like he’s sad, or grown distant, and I’m sure I’ve just set off the ticking time bomb that is Adrik Mikhailov. He tenses his brows for a bit, looking between my eyes. I wait for the blow, but it never comes. In fact, he looks me deeper in the eyes somehow.
“I’m going to be your husband.” He whispers, and I can’t disagree with him, though the possibility is as equal as the impossibility of it all. If Vince is still fighting for me, I shouldn’t give up hope. So, why am I giving Adrik myself? It’s this horrible longing so intense I don’t know how to describe it other than chaotic. This pull between knowingness and dutiful dignity, then want and desire. Yet, I’m choosing the latter, when all my life I’ve always chosen to be precisely who I’ve been told to be.
Adrik catches a tear I don’t realize is running down my cheek until his finger is on my skin. His touch feels the same as it always does. Like I’m made of metal shards, and he’s the magnet, raising these invisible longings from deep within me up to the surface.
“I don’t want you to cry”, is all he says, brushing a dampened strand from my cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no.” he shakes his head, pulling me onto his chest, so my eyes are focused on the fire and the sound of his heart beating in my left ear. “Don’t ever apologize for that shit, okay? We’re in this together.”
“We can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“We can’t do this again.” He is silent for a while thereafter, and I look up at him to make sure he’s still awake. He’s just staring at the fire, his bright blues lost in some train of thought I wish he’d vocalize. I trace the edges of his perfect jawline with my eyes, stop at his chin, over the hills of his pink lips, between the slope of his cupid's bow, and I stop at his nose. I’ve never noticed it before, but there is a small scar that only the light of the fire is making visible, casting a perfect shadow over its ridge.
“What’s that?” I whisper, reaching up and gently running a finger from the side of his nose and down. His jaw twitches like he’s remembering something he’s forgotten, and it’s nothing good. He doesn’t look over at me, instead he continues to watch the fire, tattooed arm is cranked at an angle under his head.
I think this is the best time to get dressed and leave. There’s clearly a wall between us again, and maybe I’ve caused it, but he put it up. And I won’t just lay here vulnerable and naked for him to ignore me. I’ve already screwed things up enough, I don’t need a reminder of it.
I jolt myself to sit up, but he holds me tighter with the arm already slinked around me, and I meet his gaze, now completely focused on me. Curiosity brews within me, and I’m sure my face shows it because he’s never stopped me from leaving before, never cared enough too. In fact, half the time I think his goal was to get me to leave.
“My father.”
I arch a brow. “He caused that?” I lower my chin to the barely visible scar now that his face is turned towards me.
“Yeah. I got a nose ring.” He shakes his head, half-grinning, like it’s stupid and painful all at once. “He has this rule about tattoos and piercings on our faces— my brothers and me.”
“You broke that rule?” I rest my chin on his chest, and he nods, looking back at the fire.
“I came into the dining room for dinner that night, fresh piercing. Everyone was already seated, and I took my place next to Kias. OldOtetstook one look at me and didn’t say a word. Just got up, grabbed it and ripped it out of my nose before anyone could stop him. Noone would have stopped him. He was a dictator—isa dictator.”
