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I reach for the waistband of his pants, and he makes quick work of his own shirt. His skin glows bronze in the warm bathroom lighting. His muscles flex and pull as he lifts me into his arms and then lowers us both into the Olympic-sized tub.
“There’s a bench in here! And it smells like vanilla.”
“So you appreciate my trip into your shower, then?”
I frown. “I don’t know what you—”
“Vanilla shampoo, vanilla conditioner,” he says, ticking off his fingers one by one. “There was a vanilla body scrub in there, too.”
“You… you made your tub smell like vanilla because of me?”
He presses his nose to my hair and inhales deeply. Then his mouth trails down my neck. “I like the way you smell.”
I guess that’s all the explanation I’m going to get. But it’s all the explanation I need when Timofey hooks his arms under my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist.
We slide together easily. Inch by inch he pushes into me, and I sigh when he’s fully seated.
He pulses into me with slow, gentle thrusts that are so tender I can feel my heart breaking. This isn’t like the night in the garage where we crashed together on the hood of the car, pounding and screaming out. This is something else entirely. Something that has me wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his chest to hide the tears welling in my eyes.
There is no striving or straining for release. The orgasm flows through me as naturally as breathing.
“I’m coming,” I whisper, digging my teeth into his muscled shoulder. “You feel so good.”
Timofey pushes into me and then steps backward, lowering himself onto the bench that rings the tub. His arms stretch out on either side of the rim, and his intention is clear enough. I rise onto my knees and slide down his length.
Before, my face was buried in his chest or his face was buried between my legs. Now, we stare into each other’s eyes.
In rolling strokes, I work myself onto him again and again while Timofey stares at me.
Eventually, he grips my waist with one hand. Then, a few seconds later, the second joins. As his breathing grows more ragged, he thrusts into me with sharp, purposeful movements.
As I stare back into his blue eyes, his expression breaks.
“Fuck, Piper,” he groans. His brow creases and his jaw clicks.
I want to close my eyes and ride him to the finish line. I want to steal the pleasure and leave the rest behind, but I can’t close my eyes to this. To the feelings growing between us.
So I press my forehead to his, look deep into his blue eyes, and come on his cock for the third time.
“Timofey,” I gasp, curling my fingers behind his ears, clinging to him with my quivering thighs.
He holds me to him, pulsing inside of me as he breathes my name in ragged gasps. “Piper. Piper. Piper…”
I can’t lie about this moment. Later on, I won’t be able to tell myself I didn’t know. I won’t be able to say I was powerless to stop it.
I could have walked away from Timofey Viktorov. I could have kept my legs and heart closed, but I opened myself to him willingly. Happily.
Whatever comes next, I have to face that truth, ugly as it may be.
When it came time to choose, I chosehim.
79
PIPER
“I think the doctor meant we should sleep,” I say, pushing pasta around my plate.
“Could you go to sleep right now?” Timofey asks.
