Amour Amour (35 page)

After climbing out of the car, he places his hand on the small of my back, walking towards the stucco 5-story apartment complex, plenty of bikes locked and chained to a nearby rack.

“You live farther away than I thought.” He finally speaks as we ascend the staircase.

 “Safe area though, right?” I holster the urge to fill the pregnant pauses.

He digs in his pocket for his phone. “Relatively speaking.” He hates me living here. I know it. I watch him text someone. “I’m making sure Katya knows she’s alone tonight.”

“She won’t go out or anything…will she?” I remember the 2 a.m. hunt for Katya Kotova. If there’s been another chase, I haven’t been a part of it.

“No she’s still at practice,” he says. “She’ll be too tired.”

I almost smile, not at her being tired, but for her trying harder. She’s been working on landing a full-in, full-out on the Russian bar for a while. Extra practice has been helping her a lot, Nikolai said.

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.

I’m in love with you
.

I hope one day I can grow the courage to say the words out loud.

* * *

“How do you feel?” Nikolai asks me, the morning light streaming through my broken blinds. I lie on my stomach, my firm mattress beneath me. His hand drifts along my bare back, my teal sheet just barely covering my bottom.

How do I feel?
I never even dreamed of sex like that, full of strength and emotions. Beyond the physical parts, I think our love for each other made it more intense.

But I can’t lie—it hurt when he pulled out. He knew it did. Afterwards he held me in his arms, caringly, until I fell asleep. And now… “Sore, mostly. I mean, not that much, but…” It’s hard to stretch my legs in a split without feeling pain.

I press my cheek on my pillow, my eyes meeting his. He’s on his side, his body propped by his arm.

“We’re not training today,” he tells me, “so you have time to rest.” In part, I think he wants to use some of today to help me find a job. I try to read his features, but he seems content, more at peace.

“How…was it for you?” I ask tentatively.

His lips rise. “Extraordinary.” He sits up and pulls me into his arms, kissing me now. “I’m waiting for you to catch your breath before we go again.”

My eyes widen.
Again?
I expect him to add,
just kidding.
Any time now…

He features lighten in a more charismatic smile. “You look frightened.”

“I’m not…I’m just…”

“Sore,” he states. “But I’ll take care of you, my demon.” He’s still wearing that charming smile.

I scowl. Though it makes me curious about a second time with him. And a third. Fourth, however many more there will be.
Infinity plus, Thora.
The nervous, excited flutters return. “What happened to resting?”

He tilts his head. “Training is more exhausting than sex.”

For him, maybe. My endurance has depleted since last night. And he barely exerts any effort to achieve what I do. He’s just built that way.

And I wonder… “Why do they call you the God of Russia?” Is it because of his skills in bed? I mean, they’re pretty godly. But that’s scary—that everyone would know that about him.

“It’s easier to do a lot of circus tricks being shorter; your center of gravity is lower. But you know this.”

I nod. Though, when paired, it’s a bit easier to do lifts if the guy outsizes the girl. So for aerial silk, there’s a small benefit to the size difference.

“In my extended family, only Dimitri comes close to my height. Most everyone is around Timofei’s size. He’s not short by any means, but it’s still easier.” He combs his fingers through my dirty-blonde hair, his eyes dancing over my features. “When I was young, they all thought I’d struggle with the harder tricks, the way that Dimitri did.”

“But you didn’t struggle,” I realize.

He nods. “I always found my balance.”

He’s naturally, supremely talented. Gifted beyond immeasurable doubt. It makes more sense, the jealousy between Dimitri and Nikolai. The competitiveness that derived as children. Always being compared. Nikolai always coming out on top. Strangely enough, I empathize more with his cousin on that account.

“My older brother, Sergei, jokingly called me the God of Russia. It catches on wherever I go because my cousins never stop using it. Mostly because they like how it infuriates Dimitri.” His gaze narrows by a degree.

And I recognize something else. Nikolai has never referred to the nickname, never acknowledged it or fed into it. “You hate it,” I say.

“I won’t put my cousin down to make myself feel better,” he says. “Dimitri is a lot of things that I dislike, but he’s also a lot of things that I love. It’s what makes him family.”

I smile, never expecting this answer from Nikolai. His humbleness attracts me, melts me. I think it would’ve been easy to grow up with a sense of entitlement, being that talented. But maybe his cousin’s struggles grounded him—made him appreciate what he has more.

“The way you look at me…” he breathes and shakes his head like there are no words to describe it.

“I’m not scowling, am I?”

His lips curve upward in another smile, and he draws me even closer. “No, myshka. The way you stare at me…it’s like…” His gray eyes light up. “It’s like you admire parts of me that no one else sees.” He collects my hand and presses it to his chest, to his heart, and the beat drums against my palm. Fast, quick, as though I’m overwhelming him.

My pulse begins to accelerate, matching his. I think about how when this all started, I envied him. And somewhere, I took a turn, and I no longer wanted what he has. He’s made me appreciate myself more, love myself more, and as a result, I’ve come to see him as more than just a great athlete, a charismatic performer.

Nikolai Kotova is the sum of his brothers and sister. And more.

He is selfless, loyal, dedicated and wholly determined—the most responsible twenty-six-year-old, the most mature man. He is power and strength. But most importantly, he is love. And family.

He kisses me again, his hand warming the back of my neck. “Whatever happens, just know that the parts of my life with you have been my favorite.”

My smile slowly fades, wondering why that sounds like a goodbye. “What do you mean, whatever happens?”

He pulls back, his thumb stroking my cheek. And he’s quiet for a moment, collecting the right words. “Come January,” he says, “after auditions, you could land a contract in a traveling show.”

My stomach sinks. “What?” I thought I had a good shot at Infini or Viva,
Vegas
shows. The traveling ones are all full.