Mikhail’s face is so crystal clear that I can smell his cologne lingering in the air and the unique scent his heated skin gets when he’s about to come. They double the height of the wave about to crest in my stomach and have my spare hand searching for something to clutch.
As I fist the sheets in a white-knuckle hold, my entire body convulses.
My breath catches in my throat as fiery embers ignite my skin.
I’m about to come, and then, horrifyingly, I realize I’m not alone.
With my throat burning from the number of screams I’ve held back the past fifteen minutes, my demand for my intruder to leave my room immediately is a pathetic squeak.
My inability to talk leaves me no choice but to yank my hand from my panties like my mother busted me masturbating and stray my eyes to the person trampling my privacy.
A new fire blazes through my stomach when my eyes land on a pair identical to the ones featured during my self-pleasuring exhibition. Mikhail stands in the doorway of our room. His fists are clenched, his brows are furrowed, and a large rock is bulging behind his zipper.
He knows what he’s walked in on but tries to act oblivious. If he is anything like the man I once dated, he is trying to save face for me, not himself.
“I thought I should check that you found everything okay.” A ghost-like grin etches his lips high on one side. “You appear right at home.” His smile sags when he takes in the pajamas I foundin one of the many drawers in the enormous walk-in closet. They have Snoopy on them, as in the Peanuts franchise. “Still not done torturing me?”
He pulls a face that announces the size of the lump he just lodged into his throat before he crosses the room, undressing on the way.
I glance at my hands, trying not to look. It is virtually impossible. The definition of a god is in front of me, and my veins are still blazing like I’m only seconds from climaxing.
I am not strong enough for this.
Now Mikhail’s many references to our exchanges being torturous make sense.
This,him, is torture. Pure murderous I-want-to-kiss-the-stupid-grin-off-his-face torture.
And he makes it worse when he cranks his neck my way a second before he enters the bathroom. He catches my admiring stare and the gleam in my eyes that announces how badly I want to track my tongue over the tip of his cock again. But instead of discouraging my recklessness, he doubles it.
“There’s no shame in masturbating. Only the shame of knowing it willnevercompare to the passion displayed when soulmates unite. Not even sex is good compared to that. It is a mundane trailer of a love story people rarely get right.”
Chapter 14
Mikhail
I’m tempted to punch myself in the cock while exiting the shower. Not solely because the fucker won’t go down no matter how often I remind him that he achieved release only hours ago, but also because of the sentimental schmuck it made me out to be only twenty minutes ago.
I accepted Emerson’s heartbreak like a coward—by fucking any woman with a pulse.
Don’t throw stones just yet. It took years for me to look at another woman, and not once were my glances directed at someone with fiery red hair and sea-moss-green eyes. For five years, I focused on business matters, assuming the delay would make things more enticing.
It didn’t.
The first time was a fucking sham, an emotionless transaction with a minute slice of mutual attraction.
The second was more about need than enjoyment, and the others followed the same path.
I arrived, exerted some dominance without sharing feelings, and then left.
Sex is boring as fuck when you’re up there, swinging the bat in an empty stadium. Athletes don’t show up just to record a win. They want the admiration and wonderment of their peers and to be challenged like they won’t be anywhere else.
Sex isn’t close to that for me anymore.
It’s how I explained masturbation to Emerson—a mundane trailer to the erotic love story I once lived. There are no sparks, no fireworks, no false sense of security.
It reminds me time and time again that I peaked in my youth.
Yeah, we were young, but what we had was amazing. You can’t replicate or replace it. It was the best I’ll ever get, and the remembrance pisses me off more than it excites me.
