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“That’s insane.”
“Yes, I’m insane. I’m crazy for you, I’m not afraid to say it.”
His heat and candor are like nothing I’ve known from a man. No posturing—only the truth, given freely.
My heart hammers, my hands twist in my lap.
“You think I’m afraid?”
“Yes.” His eyes burn like blue gas flame, he won’t smile even a little. “You’re afraid to come to Russia. You’re afraid to be alone with me. You want the protection of your family or your school, even when you hate how they chain you.”
“I know nothing about Russia and we’ve only been dating a week! I’d be a lunatic to come live in your house with your Wolfpack. A bunch of guys all together and then me—how the fuck does that work?”
“It works how I say it will.”
“Because you’re the boss.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t want to be your soldier. I want freedom, not a new master.”
“You’ll be my partner.”
I make an impatient hissing sound. Everyone knows when there’s a king and a queen, the final word comes from the king.
“Let me show you,” Adrik says, enclosing my hand in his much larger one. “Come to Moscow. See what it’s like.”
I try to pull my hand back, but he won’t let me. Without even trying, he holds me trapped.
“I can’t just roll up to Kingmakers a week late. If I miss the ship, I miss the year.”
He won’t stop looking at me, he won’t give me an inch of space.
“Come with me. You won’t regret it.”
But I might. How can I know?
“Come with me.”
He overpowers me like a wave. He wants to swallow me up in him, to make us one and the same.
Fighting his pull is miserable. I’m in physical pain.
I want to cry with frustration, with confusion, but I won’t let myself, never, never, never.
Instead I fling myself on him. I silence him with my mouth. I show him with my body how badly I want him, how wild he makes me. I straddle his lap, ripping off my clothes and his, not caring who might drive in here, or who might see us.
Adrik responds as I knew he would—pulling up my skirt, tearing my underwear, shoving his cock inside of me. Letting me know that he understands our purest, truest communication is always our bodies together, giving in to what we both want with equal passion, equal need.
We can never be misunderstood when we’re in each other’s arms. Our words could never match our bodies. This is what’s real, this is what matters.
I fuck him in the scent of leather and gasoline, the blood-red sun beating on the dashboard, glinting off the chrome dials and the sparkling glass.
This is where I want to be. I’d trade my whole life for this moment, and I’d trade this for nothing, not anything that exists.
In this moment we are one person, we are one thought. And the thought is this:
This is right, I’m supposed to be with you. I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care what I believed before I met you, or what I planned. You smashed what I was and you made me something new.
