He slips his phone back in his pocket. And I stop by my door, apartment 4E. He scans the outdoor hall: the fluorescent lights, bugs flocking it, and my neighbor’s dingy welcome mat that says Nice Underwear.
There is a faint smell of dog crap in the air and stale pizza. But I’m still happy to have this place, something that’s mine.
When I push open the door, I begin to hold my breath for his ultimate reaction. He follows me inside, and I scoot around him to lock it back. I take a little while longer to achieve this, my heart on turbo-speed.
“I can give you a tour…” I slide the deadbolt and spin on my heels. The blinds are shut, three of them broken, rays of moonlight casting shadows in the darkly lit room.
“Bedroom,” he says, nodding to the mattress on the floor. The blankets are haphazardly thrown on it. Why didn’t you make your bed? I really didn’t think this invite through.
“Yeah…that’s my bed.” I nod. “It’s also the couch. Like a bedroom-living-room situation. Cozy.” Do people still use that word? Cozy. I exhale through my nose and focus on him instead of my furniture (or lack thereof).
He stands between the bathroom door and the edge of the mattress. Literally like five feet of space. His body seems larger here. Taller. The ceilings lower. The room smaller.
I brought a Ken doll into a Polly Pocket house. I’m a Polly Pocket playing with a Ken doll. This is…not right. It’ll be fine, I think. My brain even sounds uncertain.
“There’s the kitchen,” I say, pointing to the cramped area with moveable counters and a hot plate. “And the bathroom is behind you. But you know what a bathroom looks like, so…” I clear my throat. I’m acting like we haven’t been dating for months, but this is just new. Him here. The possibility of sex. It’s nerve-inducing. The pressure is a little higher.
His eyes stop dancing around the room, and they land on me. He gestures me to walk over to him. I am lingering by the deadbolt. There isn’t much room between the mattress and the bathroom door. That’s the point.
Right.
I set my keys on a small wall hook (aka a nail), and I kick off my shoes and sidle to him. I immediately regret my lack of shoes as the top of my head reaches his shoulders.
He cups my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Your eyes are black, myshka.”
Are they?
I’m just overly concerned about how large he looks in my tiny apartment. And how tiny I am compared to him. Tiny things don’t fit with big ones. Those are the laws of physics. Or geometry. Whatever class I wasn’t paying attention to in high school.
“It’s dark in here,” I note. I wish I was better with words. God, do I wish that right now. “But yeah, they still do that sometimes.”
“When you’re angry,” he replies, stepping closer, my pulse racing. Not always. “When you’re confused.” Sometimes. His hand drifts to the back of my neck.
I ache between my legs, loving his touch there. Always that firm, protective grasp. Always in that place.
“And when you’re aroused.” That…I wouldn’t know.
I dizzy as his thumb skims the soft flesh along my jaw.
“So right now, which is it?” His other hand descends to my thigh, and in one rapid, lithe movement, he has me at his waist, supporting me here with a single palm. I’m almost eye-level, my arms clinging to his shoulders, my legs around his torso. His mouth brushes just outside my lips. “Thora?”
I haven’t answered him yet. My heart thumps. “You’re too big.”
He holds my face again, his strict gaze full of reassurance. “You have to trust me.”
“I want to…but I’m scared.” It’s one of the most truthful things I’ve ever said, ever admitted aloud. I just can’t stop thinking about the differences between us: our ages, our heights, our sizes, our—
He kisses me, so deeply, as though to show me how much we do fit together. My muscles flame in pleasurable heat, and while his tongue parts my lips, he walks backwards, towards the bathroom. Nikolai opens the door, but instead of slipping through, my spine hits the wooden frame. He pins me here.
When he breaks the kiss, his eyes bore into mine, pulling off my baggy tee. Then he removes his. He unbuttons his pants, steps out. Never detaching from me. Never leaving me. His attention, his intensity is mine. He takes off my bottoms, leaving me in black Phantom lingerie.
My heart can’t slow. Even for a second.
“I’m going to fit inside of you,” he says lowly, his voice masculine and deep, filling a silent, small room. “Since you’ve only had sex twice, it’ll hurt at first, but it will feel better.”
I nod, digesting his honesty.
His fingers slip into my hair. “You don’t have to think about anything. Not how this’ll work or what to do next. Just relax, and I’ll take care of you.”
It’s this proclamation that calms my restless nerves the most. “Okay,” I whisper, blood pumping. This time, when his lips drift to my nape, I let go, closing my eyes and just burning with the swelter of his strong movements. No more thinking about our differences. No more zoned in on the parts that make us a bad pairing.
As his hands roam, undressing me, undressing him, I forget everything except this pleasure. His lips meet mine, hungrily, achingly. He extends my legs more, stretching one up, the other still hooked around his waist. My back arches, his hardness close, and I already begin to pulsate, his fingers rubbing me.
I grow soaked by the second, and I can’t close my mouth, breathless and warm all over. “Nik…” I clutch onto his biceps for support.
He says something in hot, sexy Russian that only stirs me more. His thumb flicks my barbell piercing, the sensitivity pricking my neck.
And then his body presses up against mine, to the point where I figure out what’s about to happen next. My eyes open, and I wrap my arms tighter around his chest, bracing myself for the fullness that I simultaneously crave and fear.
It won’t hurt. It won’t hurt.
Even if he said it will.
Stop thinking.
That’s when he slides his erection deep inside of me, not slow, but hard. He thrusts forward, the pinch is worse than the first couple times I had sex. Because he’s bigger. My fingers dig into his back, stifling a wince, but he never hesitates, just rocking at a melodic, fast pace.
It builds up my arousal, and he dips his head to kiss my neck, sucking—devouring me. He lets out a deep noise, a grunt as he goes deeper. The pleasure flooding his face, and it sends me to a new plane of existence, one where pain is replaced by a high, floating. Near the broiling sun.
I turn my head, a fraction, in a dazed state. And I catch sight of ourselves in the bathroom mirror. Dear God…
That can’t be me. The girl enveloped by this man. His cock disappearing between my legs. His hands on either side of the wall, cocooning me for a further, more intimate entry. Rocking forward. Into me.
My chest is on fire.
My heart set ablaze.
Seconds later, my toes curl, a cry rips through my throat, and my body curves, right into him. He never stops his rhythm, never slows his powerful stride, and I feel myself being wound all over again. The pain is gone to these other senses, like a drug numbing a wound.
I reach up to touch his jaw, my head dizzied, my eyelids drooping.
He takes his hand in mine before my fingers even skim his cheek, and he kisses my palm, staring straight into me as he thrusts. I’ve never felt closer to Nikolai than right now. And I trust him. With every single part of my life—I trust this man.