His facial muscles tightening, his shoulders strict.
John seems highly unamused. “She’s not my type! While her ambitions are slightly endearing, they’re mostly delusional! But that’s not even the problem.” I did catch that compliment in there. I mean, this could be worse. Right?
“What’s the problem?” Nikolai asks, opening the floodgates.
“She has a vagina!” The music switched songs right when he screamed that. It came out so much louder than it should have.
I shut my eyes with a wince. Yeah, he just mentioned my vagina. To Nikolai. To make a point that he’s gay, and it’s just—a lot to take in. I just really, really hope I’m the only one picturing my vagina right now. Please let this be true.
I tentatively open my eyes by the silence. Timo is smiling like he’s already known this fact about John. And I can feel Nikolai’s hot gaze penetrating me.
Don’t engage—John basically said as much the first time I met Nikolai. Maybe I should’ve listened to him back then. I can still try now.
At least when we’re not at the gym.
Right?
I’m confused. I’m confusing myself.
“I’m going to get something to drink.” Timo speaks first. He begins walking towards the high-top table of men.
John curses under his breath before shouting, “The bar is the other way!” He shakes his head a few times.
Timo glances over his shoulder and grins, descending further into the throngs of dancers.
John sighs heavily and stares between me and Nikolai. Stay here. Do not leave me. I hope I’m expressing all of these things in my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just scowl harder though.
“Well this is unfortunate,” John says, and his gaze falls to me. “I just want you to know that I’m leaving for the alcohol and to avoid being a third wheel to whatever this is.”
It’s starting to set in: I’m going to have to confront my feelings. Head on soon.
John pats my shoulder and weaves between the bodies, picking up his pace to reach Timo.
Now I’m alone with Nikolai. Well…not alone alone. Technically there are bodies around us, some even pressing close to invade Nik’s space. I even spot girls gawking at him from the packed bar, whispering like they’re concocting plans to approach the God of Russia.
Good, I think.
My heart plummets.
Body and brain, still not aligned.
Nikolai leans down, his unshaven jaw rough against my cheek, and I smell the tequila from his breath, reminding me of his bet. Tattoo or piercing.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks lowly, his deep voice melting my defenses.
“Don’t you have to watch your brother?” I instantly regret adding more stress on him. Because whatever this is (as John called it) already weighs down his shoulders.
“It won’t take long.” His words send a shudder of alarm through me. He’s going to stop training me.
I nod and start mentally preparing ways out of this: I won’t see you outside of the gym, for starters. Or hang out at your suite anymore, also goes with number one.
Or pretend that I have feelings for you.
My eyes are burning. Stop burning.
Nikolai glances at the VIP area of the club, but it’s packed with bodies, allowing for no privacy. He spins to the other direction, near the bathroom. And he guides me with his hand on my hip, dropping to the small of my back.
I wish he wouldn’t touch me at all. It’d make this clearer. Easier.
I side-step out of his grasp again, and when I catch a glimpse of him, his face is contorted like my action impaled him through the chest. We don’t say anything. But it’s hardly quiet.
The music never masks this vast, unyielding tension that tugs my senses. The line to the bathroom snakes along the wall, but he walks past it, aiming for a new door. One that says: employees only.
He turns the handle and slips inside, me right after. When he shuts out the cacophony behind him, I realize that we’re in a very cramped storeroom with extra bundles of napkins, stir-sticks, and racks of cleaning supplies.
With barely any space to move, my legs hit his, my head reaching the height of his shoulders. I’m tiny. In a tiny room. With a six-foot-five Russian man. And an even bigger elephant. His emotions, my emotions. There are many, many emotions here.
I tug at the hem of my dress that exposes my bare flesh. “What do you want to say?” I ask softly, avoiding his gaze. I fixate on the saltshakers that line the shelf in a neat row.
“Your eyes are black.”
My blood simmers, and I gape. “You brought me in here to tell me that my eyes are—”
His lips suddenly meet mine with force and urgency, his hands wrapping around my small frame like he’s wanted to hold me all night. My heart explodes. I explode, his tongue parting my lips in the fieriest kiss, one that grips my core. One that knocks my back into the shelves.
I struggle for breath—high on his touch, the way he lifts me around his waist, breaking open my legs. He deepens an already sweltering kiss, his hot hand protective on my neck, his thumb caringly brushing my skin while the rest of him—masculine, powerful—rushes through me.
I brace myself by clutching his arms; my body has won out to my mind. I’ve been overtaken, overpowered, overpleasured.
My lips sting as he slows down an already strong kiss, his chest rock hard against me. I feel unwound, flyaway strands of hair sticking up—like he electrocuted me.
He kind of did.
My spine digs into the metal shelf, and Nikolai kisses my cheek, my forehead, as though I’m precious enough for more than just the thrill. He gives me the unhurried, measured moments, the kisses that seem to ache more.
A noise trembles my throat, a breathless cry.
He lets out a deeper sound against my neck. And his red glow necklace stares back at me, a blinding reminder of all that I don’t understand.
What are we doing? What is this? My mind has revived and come to haunt me.
“I…don’t understand,” I whisper.
He only draws back to cup my face. His lips are a stinging distance away. I can still feel the force of them, the heat of them, on me. His mouth curves upward some, as though he finds my confusion funny.
“It’s not funny,” I whisper.
“You’re cute,” he tells me. “I thought my actions said enough.”
He likes me. “There is…something between us then?” I wonder. I haven’t been fantasizing about the tension. It hasn’t been one-sided. It’s just been ignored.
He stares so deeply into me. “There is definitely something, my demon.” His lips rise more.
I can hear my heart beating. The bass from the club vibrates the shelf behind me, adding to my elevated senses. “What now?” I ask. I shift my hands from his biceps to his shoulders, skimming the red glow necklace. It’s where most of my uncertainty lies.
He kisses me again, slowly, his fingers along my neck. It’s languid and relaxed, like we’ve done this all our lives together. When he parts, he whispers, “I’ve been hesitating because I don’t want to step in the way of your dreams.”
I try not to fear that. I understand my goals. But—I don’t like looking at the bad things before they happen. It’s not worth it. “You won’t.”
He gives me a look like wake up, myshka. “I don’t want my attraction for you to ruin all that you’ve sacrificed,” he rephrases.