lie.
Sergei carries me to bed and nestles against me, snug as spoons. Golden light from the street lamps spill across the ceiling of his bedroom. Every now and then, tree branches blot out the light as the wind rustles them, and I stare at the shadows as they stretch toward us, ominous. I’m too exhausted to do anything productive—like studying for my translation midterm—but too stressed to fall asleep.
Behind me, Sergei’s having a similar problem, first slinging one arm around me, then the other, then rolling around to his other side. I lie still, and eventually he slips out of bed and heads for the basement to work out. When he returns, I hear the shower turn on, and bite my lower lip, imagining the suds gliding through the crevices of his muscles. Okay, so maybe I’m not that tired.
He saunters back into the bedroom, silhouette gilded in the gold light, and towels his hair dry. “Can’t sleep either?” he asks me with a sly grin.
I shake my head, curls spilling around my face.
Sergei tosses the towel aside and crawls up toward me from the foot of the bed on his hands and knees. “I think I know just the thing to help you.”
I make a half-hearted attempt to swat at him. “Come on, it’s too late for that—Oh.”
I’m wearing one of his team t-shirts, so I’m basically swimming in it, and he takes full advantage of that fact to stick his head underneath the fabric and kiss his way up my stomach. His mouth leaves a burning trail up my abdomen. I arch my back, gasping in anticipation, and he doesn’t disappoint. He slides his mouth around one nipple and teases it between his teeth.
“You’re rotten.” I rake my fingers through his still-damp hair, massaging his scalp while his tongue draws a lazy spiral on my breast.
Sergei pauses; one deep blue eye peers up at me from the gaping neck of the t-shirt. “Not bad,” he drawls in English. “Accent just makes me sound that way.”
Maybe it’s the Slavic Studies perv in me, but it’s all I can do not to shove his face between my legs right then and there. I settle for dragging my nails down his scalp and neck and sinking them into the taut cords of his shoulder blades instead. He laughs and kisses his way back down my stomach, igniting a fresh crackle of lust in me.
“Looks like you’re feeling better.” Sergei grips the waistband of my panties in his teeth and slowly, painstakingly tugs them down.
“Starting to.” I raise my hips to help him peel the panties away.
Sergei prods my thighs apart and slips his tongue right between my lips. He’s so warm and wet against my bare skin that I cry out. He laps right up to my clit and circles it while he presses two fingers deep inside me. I rock my hips against him, savoring the phosphorus white burn of his tongue grinding against me. Squeezing myself around his fingers. Digging my nails in his hair once more.
The cool blue look he gives me from between my legs is pure torture, and I’m about to break. “Don’t stop.” I clench my fists in his hair and arch my back. “Don’t stop. Almost—”
A convoluted twist of English, Brazilian, and Russian pours out of me as my orgasm splits me right through. I’m gasping for air, sucking at nothingness, throbbing with distilled bliss.
“One of my favorite sounds,” Sergei murmurs, carefully easing his fingers out of my still-convulsing folds. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean. “Mm. And one of my favorite tastes.”
I’m still panting, but I flail and try to tug at him to pull him on top of me. “Come here. It’s your turn.”
“Shh. Not tonight. Just try to get your rest.” He kisses my stomach again, just below my navel, then flops onto the mattress beside me.
Finally I can feel my eyelids starting to sag; I nestle in beside him.
“I’ll be right here,” Sergei whispers as he strokes my arm. “Watching over you. Keeping you safe.”
As I start drift
Sergei carries me to bed and nestles against me, snug as spoons. Golden light from the street lamps spill across the ceiling of his bedroom. Every now and then, tree branches blot out the light as the wind rustles them, and I stare at the shadows as they stretch toward us, ominous. I’m too exhausted to do anything productive—like studying for my translation midterm—but too stressed to fall asleep.
Behind me, Sergei’s having a similar problem, first slinging one arm around me, then the other, then rolling around to his other side. I lie still, and eventually he slips out of bed and heads for the basement to work out. When he returns, I hear the shower turn on, and bite my lower lip, imagining the suds gliding through the crevices of his muscles. Okay, so maybe I’m not that tired.
He saunters back into the bedroom, silhouette gilded in the gold light, and towels his hair dry. “Can’t sleep either?” he asks me with a sly grin.
I shake my head, curls spilling around my face.
Sergei tosses the towel aside and crawls up toward me from the foot of the bed on his hands and knees. “I think I know just the thing to help you.”
I make a half-hearted attempt to swat at him. “Come on, it’s too late for that—Oh.”
I’m wearing one of his team t-shirts, so I’m basically swimming in it, and he takes full advantage of that fact to stick his head underneath the fabric and kiss his way up my stomach. His mouth leaves a burning trail up my abdomen. I arch my back, gasping in anticipation, and he doesn’t disappoint. He slides his mouth around one nipple and teases it between his teeth.
“You’re rotten.” I rake my fingers through his still-damp hair, massaging his scalp while his tongue draws a lazy spiral on my breast.
Sergei pauses; one deep blue eye peers up at me from the gaping neck of the t-shirt. “Not bad,” he drawls in English. “Accent just makes me sound that way.”
Maybe it’s the Slavic Studies perv in me, but it’s all I can do not to shove his face between my legs right then and there. I settle for dragging my nails down his scalp and neck and sinking them into the taut cords of his shoulder blades instead. He laughs and kisses his way back down my stomach, igniting a fresh crackle of lust in me.
“Looks like you’re feeling better.” Sergei grips the waistband of my panties in his teeth and slowly, painstakingly tugs them down.
“Starting to.” I raise my hips to help him peel the panties away.
Sergei prods my thighs apart and slips his tongue right between my lips. He’s so warm and wet against my bare skin that I cry out. He laps right up to my clit and circles it while he presses two fingers deep inside me. I rock my hips against him, savoring the phosphorus white burn of his tongue grinding against me. Squeezing myself around his fingers. Digging my nails in his hair once more.
The cool blue look he gives me from between my legs is pure torture, and I’m about to break. “Don’t stop.” I clench my fists in his hair and arch my back. “Don’t stop. Almost—”
A convoluted twist of English, Brazilian, and Russian pours out of me as my orgasm splits me right through. I’m gasping for air, sucking at nothingness, throbbing with distilled bliss.
“One of my favorite sounds,” Sergei murmurs, carefully easing his fingers out of my still-convulsing folds. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean. “Mm. And one of my favorite tastes.”
I’m still panting, but I flail and try to tug at him to pull him on top of me. “Come here. It’s your turn.”
“Shh. Not tonight. Just try to get your rest.” He kisses my stomach again, just below my navel, then flops onto the mattress beside me.
Finally I can feel my eyelids starting to sag; I nestle in beside him.
“I’ll be right here,” Sergei whispers as he strokes my arm. “Watching over you. Keeping you safe.”
As I start drift
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