Page 59 of Night So Silent
Love you.
With a thrust of his hips, every iota of air leaves my lungs as he drives his cock back into me. No speaking, only the sound of each breath and the slick rapture turning me to a convulsing mess all over his crisp, white sheets.
And I’m here for it. I’m here for him.Only him.
How can Sergei be so stoic and silent with the force of a violent hurricane, tearing me apart at the seams? A lot of people need to hear the words to believe them. But, as much as I love when hedoeschoose to speak, I don't need to hear him say a word.
Instead, I feel the ache, the longing in the silence validated by the heavy pauses and hungry eyes and lingering glances. He’s the deafening silence that’s either all-comforting or all-terrifying.
The silent love.
It’s the only love I want, and the kind that only he can give. Because sometimes silence is more satisfying.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than words ever can.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Christmas Eve
Barrett
“Ready for another?” Sergei asks, raking his hair out of his glacier blue eyes.
I glance up, a devious smile creeping across my lips as I roll my head across the down pillow.
“Always yes.”
With a flash of his eyes, he strolls across the cream rug. My heart rate starts to rise, my gaze drawn to his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing every contour of his muscles stacked up his abdomen where the edges of his tattoo peek around his ribs. And below the waist, they leave nothing to the imagination. I could just eat him up.
Again.
Sergei arrives at my shoulder and leans down, planting his hands on either side of my head. I reach up, twirling a lock of his corn silk hair around my finger.
“I shouldn’t even ask,” he says, running his eyes up and down my body. “Needy little princess.”
“But you will,” I grin up at him, “because you’re such a sweet boy. You can’t fool me anymore.”
Sergei narrows his eyes, and after a few moments tips his chin, motioning for my hand. I hesitate, only for effect, and then raise my arm to hand him my midnight blue glazed coffee mug with “Gunnison Diner” painted on the side. He takes it and dips down to kiss my forehead before returning to the kitchen. I glance out the wall of windows, at the snow beginning to fall on the mountain, and wince as I adjust my position.
It’s Christmas Eve and I’m lying on Sergei’s sofa with an ice pack on my groin.
“I think it’s safe to say that even though I was your first true sexual partner, you’re still one of my firsts, too”
“How so?”
I shift on the cushion, adjusting the frozen gel pad beneath me. “Well, you’re the first to ever put me out of commission.”
The last 12 hours are momentary flashes in my mind’s eye. Every position. Every inch of his bed. Hanging off his bed. Bent over the edge of his bed, clawing at the sheets. Asleep. Awake. In his shower. Half out of his shower. On all fours on the vanity. Against the door. Every word. Every sound.Just one more time—promise.
I’m by no means an athlete. Brett’s only convinced me to bike with her a total of twice in the course of our entire friendship and both times I nearly croaked. But I found out that balance and coordination are relative when someone can just lift and hold you where they want you to be. And now I want to remember every moment like a mental photo album with glittery hearts and little snowflakes on the cover.
“What you need to do is strip down and go sit in one of the snow drifts,” Sergei says as he rounds the counter with another coffee for me.
“Is that what you do after one of your Spartan workouts? Sit naked in a snow drift?”
“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “And there’s no one else up here to see you—anymore.”
I shouldn’t like the way he says it, like a sordid secret between us. Maybe I haven’t completely wrapped my mind around it, but I’m still surprisingly OK with the fact that I watched Sergei—the man with whom I’ve been cohabitating and having rough virgin sex—shoot an arrow through my psycho ex’sleg and literally throw him off a cliff. One-handed, I might add. It was cold as hell, like the blood in the snow.
