We both dissolve into excited laughter, rolling on the couch together. I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest, still blushing but unable to stop smiling.
“I don’t know!” I squeal. “I barely know him. But the way he justdecidesthings… it makes me feel small and squirmy in the best way. Like he could handle all the big scary stuff and still make time to correct me when I get too sassy.” I pause, popping a gummy into my mouth. “Is that weird? That I keep thinking about it even though he’s kind of terrifying?”
Skeet shakes his head, eyes sparkling. “Not weird at all. That’s the magic. The scary part makes the safe part feel even better. You should totally let him be your Daddy someday. Imagine the aftercare and snuggles!”
We keep giggling and talking until the sugar crash hits and we end up curled up on the couch with our stuffies, whispering silly what-if scenarios until my eyelids grow heavy. It is exactly the kind of night I need—light, fun, and free from the heavy pull Kirill has on me during the day.
The next morning comes too soon.
Likewaytoo soon.
My alarm buzzes at 5:00 a.m., and I drag myself out of bed, still smiling a little from last night’s playtime. Bobby promised he would meet me at the gym for an early session to make up for missing a couple lately. I need the company and the extra motivation. My schedule is still a mess thanks to Bobby’s sessions, but a good hard early session with him will help make up for that.
I get to the gym, change into my gym gear, and start warming up on the shoulder press.
Minutes tick by.
No Bobby.
I check my phone—nothing. He is a no-show again. Irritation bubbles up fast. I get it, life happens, but we made a plan. I am already tired from squeezing everything in, and his flaking stings more than it should.
Then the door to the free weights area opens, and in walks Kirill.
Tall, broad, his hair perfectly in place, that dark commanding energy rolling off him like always. He heads toward the benches, but I cannot hold it in. The frustration from the schedule chaos, Bobby’s no-show, and all the confusing feelings I have about him spill over.
I march straight over before he even sets his bag down.
“You know what?” I snap, voice sharper, cheeks red, hands on my hips. “This is gettingridiculous. First you just decide I’m training Bobby with zero discussion. Then you drag me for coffee like it’s no big deal. Now your precious nephew is supposed to meet me here and he’s not showing up, and everything feels upside down because of you and your bossy ways. You can’t just snap your fingers and rearrange people’s lives whenever you feel like it!”
My words come out in a rush, bossy and irritated.
Part of me knows I am pushing it, but the Little side that played with stuffies last night is still close to the surface, making me braver than usual.
“So. Yeah. I’m not happy,” I continue. “And it’s all your stupid silly fault.”
Kirill’s expression shifts. The calm, unreadable mask hardens into something darker. He does not raise his voice. He does notneed to. Instead, he steps closer, towering over me, and grips my upper arm firmly but not painfully.
“Enough,” Kirill says, voice low and controlled, that accent wrapping around the word like a command. “You donotspeak to me that way. Not in public. Notanywhere.”
“Whatever!” I bark back. “I mean it. You’re a big, stupid, silly Russian fool.”
“Boy, be careful,” Kirill says, his eyes locked in on mine. “Beverycareful.”
“You want to see careful?” I ask, my voice full to the brim of sass. “Careful this…bleurrrrrgh!”
I blow a long, hard raspberry in Kirill’s direction.
But Kirill doesn’t respond. Not verbally anyway…
Before I can protest, he steers me with quiet authority toward the private locker room area at the back of the gym, the one reserved for premium members and usually empty this early.
My heart pounds.
I should pull away, but something in his tone makes my knees feel weak.
Kirill pushes the door open, guides me inside, and locks it behind us with a soft click. The room is small, clean, with benches and lockers lining the walls. No one else is here.
“Kirill, wait—” I start, but he cuts me off.
