He shrugs. “My cousin’s name is Makarov. After the gun.”
I snort. “You’re kidding.”
He doesn’t blink or show any sign he’s joking.Oh my god, he’s not kidding.
I start laughing, then immediately choke on it and wheeze from the pain. “Being named Kelly Francis was literal hell in high school. There was this one guy. He’d shove my head down toilets, hold me under until I couldn’t breathe. Called me faggot every chance he got. Once, he beat me so bad I couldn’t see out of my left eye for a week. Told everyone I got jumped while walking home. They all believed him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brent Cole Lawson. He used to hit on my friend Camilla too, made her super uncomfortable.”
He hums thoughtfully.
“Wait, why do you keep asking me for names of people?”
“No reason.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I thought this was a Russian quirk the first time. Cultural thing, needing names specifically. But this is the second time he’s asked, and it’s clicking into place now. Jesus Christ. I’ve been helping him make a list, haven’t I? No more names from me. Ever. I don’t really have words for him. He’s not what you expect when you first meet him.
His hand comes to a stop at the top of my shoulder. I catch him glancing down at my mouth again, then he licks his own lips. I swallow hard.
He really needs to stop doing that. He doesn’t actually want to kiss me, not really. Right?
I think even staying in bed with me like this is probably a huge deal for him. It doesn’t stop my body’s reaction though.
The towel’s gone, and I’m wrapped around him like a koala. Naked.
He glances down. Heat rushes up my neck, flooding straight into my face.
“Sorry,” I blurt, voice coming out way too high. “I’ll get dressed.”
His hand trails higher, from my shoulder up to my chin, tilting my face toward his.
Goosebumps break out across my skin. I can’t breathe properly. He licks his lips again and leans in closer, stopping right in front of my face with his breath warm against my mouth. His dark eyes search mine, and I nod.
Maybe too fast, but fuck it, I’ve been waiting for this.
His lips press against mine. The kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before it turns desperate. He cups my face, thumb dragging along my jaw as he pulls me in, while collaring my nape.
His lips part and his tongue pushes into my mouth, hungry and demanding. I open for him without thinking, let him in, and the feeling of it makes my brain shut off completely. His tongue slides against mine, slick and hot, coaxing sounds out of me I didn’t plan on making. He groans into my mouth, and I feel it everywhere. His hand tightens on my nape, fingers digging in. The kiss gets messier, wetter. We’re both past the point of restraint.
My dick throbs, going from half-hard to fully hard in seconds. I shift and feel him pressed against me, thick and hard through his jeans.
Heat floods my face, my throat, everywhere.
I push myself up, ribs screaming in protest, and swing my leg over to straddle him. His hands drop to my waist immediately, one hand squeezing hard, the other sliding down to grab my ass and pull me against him.
Our cocks grind together through his denim, and I gasp into his mouth. The friction is rough, not enough. He does it again, and I can’t breathe, can’t think past the feeling of him hard underneath me. I pull back just enough to see him. His lips are swollen and wet, his eyes locked on mine, pupils blown so wide they’re almost black.
“Is this okay?”
“Da.”
He grips my hair and yanks me down, then kisses me harder—mouth open, tongue pushing deep inside my mouth, flicking against mine. My body presses against him, and his hand spreads wide across my lower back.
I drag my tongue down his jaw to his throat and start kissing, sucking hard enough to bruise. I want to mark him everywhere, claim him the way he’s claimed me. My tongue flicks against his neck, and I bite down, then pull back and look. There’s alreadyred blooming between the edges of his tattoos. I lick over it and suck onto his skin, and he twitches under me.
“You are injured. Let me take care of you.”
