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“I love how you say my name.” I smile. He pronounces it with a Russian lilt. Lifting onto my toes, I tilt my head up and lightly touch my mouth to his. “Say my name again. I want to know how it tastes on your lips.”
Pasha’s hand comes to rest at the back of my neck, stroking the sensitive skin there, while his eyes bore into mine.
“Please,” I whisper over his lips.
He touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “You’ve been hurt.”
“I know.” I move my hand along his jaw and bury my fingers in his wet strands.
“You’re eighteen,” he says. “I’m too old for you, mishka.”
I bite his lower lip lightly. “Bullshit.”
His hand at the back of my neck grips my hair. His breath fans my face as he exhales, and he opens his eyes to look at me. “Asya,” he says into my lips, then seizes them with his own.
I grab at the material of his wet shirt to keep myself steady as I let him devour me with his mouth.
“Asya,” he says again between kisses, moving his lips to my chin and along my neck. “My little Asya.”
I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up and over his head. Pasha’s hands glide down my body, stopping under my thighs as he lifts me. I wrap my arms and legs around him at the same moment, just as I have so many times before. The movement is so natural, it feels like I’ve been doing it all my life. He carries me out of the bathroom and toward the bed, kissing me the whole way.
“We won’t do anything, mishka,” he says and lowers me to stand next to the bed. “I will just be kissing you. Okay?”
I nod and brush my palm down his cheek. “Okay.”
“I need to grab a change of clothes. Wait here.”
Oh, so not happening. I jump back into his arms.
“Asya.” He looks down at me. “I need to go into the closet, baby.”
I know what he means. His suits are there. “I won’t look,” I say.
Pasha squeezes his arm around my back. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”
He runs. I don’t even notice the suits because he just rushes inside, grabs a pair of boxer briefs, pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt, and he’s out in under five seconds.
When he places me on the bed again, I drift to my spot next to the wall and pull the blanket over my naked body. My hair is still wet and will soak the pillow, but I don’t care. Pasha turns his back to me and, in a few quick moves, changes out of his wet jeans and underwear into dry boxer briefs and pajama bottoms.
“Don’t,” I say when he reaches for the T-shirt.
He looks over his shoulder, then at the tee in his hand. “Mishka?”
“Please,” I whisper.
Pasha nods and throws the T-shirt onto the recliner. The mattress dips as he climbs into bed. As soon as he’s next to me, I lean forward and place a kiss on his naked chest. His hand comes under my chin, and he tilts my head up.
“Nothing will happen tonight. Just kisses and cuddling. But if you want us to stop, you need to tell me. Right away, Asya.”
An urge to cry comes over me at hearing the words, but I bottle it up. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I crush my lips to his. His hand caresses my back, stroking me over the blanket. I shove the blanket off me and continue kissing him. Pasha’s palm presses against the small of my back and, for a fleeting second, I freeze. He quickly removes his hand and lies there utterly still.
“It’s okay,” I say into his lips. “I know it’s you.”
He slowly puts his hand back, but it’s barely touching me. I sigh, throw my leg over his waist, and climb on top of him. “Please, stop treating me as if I’m going to break when a wind blows in my direction.”
Pasha’s hand cups my cheek, brushing the skin under my eye with his thumb. “I’m afraid you’re going to.”
“You can’t break something that’s already been broken beyond repair, Pasha.” I press my cheek into his palm. His jaw goes rigid and the vein at his temple pulses.
