As the rush slowly fades, he lowers my legs and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose, then my forehead, my cheek, and finally my lips.
“I want you in my bed from now on.” He braces one arm against the barbell above us. “I don’t want to wake up without you.”
The words send a rush of emotion through me, and I nod, my hands moving over his back as I remember the scars etched across his skin. The thought settles heavily in my mind, making me wonder who could have done that to him…and how badly I’d like to hurt them for it.
His muscles go still beneath my touch, and he rests his cheek against my chest before pressing a slow kiss at the center of it.
“That was a long time ago. Don’t worry about me.”
“Who did that to you?”
A laugh leaves him, but it’s not amused. It’s rough and hollow, and I hate that he’s hurting.
“If I told you, you might not believe me.”
“I’d believe anything you told me.” I cradle his face in my palm when he looks down at me.
He sucks in a sharp inhale, holding it before letting it go.
“My father,” he says at last. “He was…a sick man.”
I try not to let my reaction show, but the words still land hard. A piece of my heart breaks for him anyway. I know what it means to be shaped by cruel parents, and I hate that he knows that kind of pain too.
“He used to make my brothers and me play these games,” he explains. “Games that involved torture. And if we failed…” His gaze goes distant, like part of him is back there again. “He’d beat us, starve us, lock us in dark rooms with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs too casually for what he just described. “He’s rotting now, exactly where he belongs.”
“What did he do to you?” My fingertips trace the raised lines on his back, one after another, as if I can reach back through time and take that pain from him.
“He favored a whip. These scars…they’re all from different times.” His mouth twists faintly. “There was one night he made me fight Konstantin. I lost.” A short, humorless snicker slips out of him. “Back then, I usually did. These days…it’s a different story.”
But I’m not laughing. I sit up and wrap my arms around him as he settles in front of me.
“That’s all right. At least it taught me what kind of father I’ll never become.”
I picture a younger version of him—small, desperate for even a scrap of his father’s love and getting nothing but a monster in return.
His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes down my cheek. “Don’t cry for me, malyshka.” His voice softens. “I’m okay. I promise.” Then his eyes narrow slightly. “The question is…are you?”
A jolt runs through me. Why would he ask me that?
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m—I’m good.”
The lie sounds smooth enough that it almost convinces me too.
“Are you sure?”
My stomach drops.
God, I’m awful. I don’t deserve him.
“Yeah.” I manage a small smile and slide my hand around the back of his thick neck. “I’m okay. I’m happy here. With you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies my face so carefully it sends nerves skittering down my spine.
Finally he nods. “That’s good.” He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “Now, how about we take a shower and then go to bed so we can actually sleep tonight?”
