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“Deal.” He leans into my touch and releases a soft sigh. I’m ravenous for the way he lets me touch him outside of sex now. I know he wasn’t comfortable about the prospect in the beginning, but he now does it so naturally that I have to stop myself from devouring him whole and leaving no crumbs.
How the hell is he able to get me worked up with a few sounds?
How did he mold the almighty Nikolai Sokolov into this strange entity that can only survive in his presence? I don’t even remember myself before him anymore. I certainly refuse the very notion of being separated from him.
“How was your night out?” I ask to put an end to this queasy feeling.
“One can’t complain.”
“So you enjoyed your time while I was being miserable.”
“You’re so dramatic. Besides, I thought you’d be busy with your shenanigans in the fight club.”
“I didn’t go. I wanted to see you.”
“Is that so?” he says in a slightly mocking tone.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.” He turns sideways so he’s facing me and raises a brow. “Have you done something I don’t approve of today?”
“Me? You’re the one who ghosted me.”
“Earlier today, did you or did you not take a picture with some leggy brunette?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and opens my IG in the tagged posts section and shows me the picture in question. A girl—that I honest to fuck don’t remember her name—is glued to my side, pushing her tits up against my arm. The captions is,Miss you, my hunk.
“Care to explain yourself?” Bran asks in an eerily calm tone. I’ve noticed that he becomes scarily collected when he’s mad.
“Uh, baby. That picture is months old, probably from before I met you. Not my fault she decided to post it today.”
“One of your fuck buddies?”
“Ex-fuck buddy. I barely remember her face. She’s from school, I think.”
“And yet, she has the liberty to call you herhunk?”
I grin. “Jealous, baby?”
He doesn’t smile back as he fists my hair in a painful grip. “You belong to me, Nikolai. I donotshare, are we clear?”
“Fuck. I love it when you get all possessive.”
“That’s not an answer. I don’t want to see you with girls or guys hanging onto your arm or sitting on your lap. I don’t want anyone to touch you, period.”
“Only if you don’t let anyone touch you.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you going to delete that one picture withClaraon you IG?”
“You went that far back?”
“So what if I did? I’m going to need you to erase her existence from your life.”
“I’ve already deleted that post a long time ago.”
