Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) (11 page)

“I don’t know who you’re trying to impress,” he said, “but I remember how you can put away pizza.”

Stephanie snorted a laugh that forced him to set his slice down lest he dump it all over his crisp white shirt. She pressed a napkin to her mouth. “Oh my God. Of all the things you remember.”

“Don’t feel like you can’t be yourself around me, that’s all. Now eat some more like I know you want to.”

“Fine, you got me.” She slapped another slice onto her plate.

The pizza gone and the plates cleared, Alex glanced at the DJ in a booth overlooking the floor. LED lights strobed on and off, back and forth, in a sweep of colors, and the floor sparkled. The air itself pulsed with rhythm, with pheromones exuded by the primeval sensuality of bodies oscillating in an ancient mating ritual. Already the provocative atmosphere vowed to carry her away, abetted by the alcohol and, most of all, by being with Alex.

“Time to dance. Come on.”

“I don’t dance.”

He pouted. “Really?”

“Go ahead without me. Maybe I’ll get drunk enough to change my mind.”

With all the self-assured swagger in the world, Alex became the bar’s cynosure as soon as he stepped onto the floor. Being the tallest man in the room, he was already difficult to ignore, but he was also the most beautiful. Not a self-conscious bone in his magnificent body. Stephanie counted the seconds before women flocked to him and his gyrating pelvis. Nine. How could they resist that smile? Those eyes. That accent even if, as he’d once insisted, no one liked Russian accents. She’d countered that he sounded like a sexy movie villain.

His admirers understood the way a man danced was the way he made love, and so Alex must be the sexual grand champion. She was practically choking on his testosterone. She ordered another cocktail, guzzled it, and watched the erotic sway of his hips. His ass. Watched everyone flirt with him. Women who had embraced society’s dictates: full makeup, dresses, and high heels. Personalities constructed in pursuit of the ultimate goal assigned to them—getting a man. The kind of women people expected a peacock like Alex to pursue. Not a career-oriented tomboy. Someone like Alex wouldn’t settle for a girl like her, her father had said. And he hated Alex.

Then she thought about the night at his condo. The taste of him. The smell of him. The way he felt. The way
she
felt. The magnetic necessity of being together.

He granted some of the women a dance. Smiling, relishing the attention. Letting them run their hands over his chest, his hips, letting them wriggle all over him. She clenched the glass so hard she expected it to shatter in her fist. Two women sandwiched him, their bodies rippling as one, like an ocean swell. He set his hands on the waist of the woman in front. Stephanie drained the glass. Eyeballed the exit.

A large body exuding heat and virility was sliding onto the banquette. “You know, you’re having a very interesting reaction for someone who wants to be just friends.”

“I’m not having any kind of reaction.” She set, or slammed, the glass onto the table.

“You’re jealous,” he whispered in her ear, his voice, his breath, a cunning tease. He stretched his arm across the back of the banquette. “When are we going to start acting like adults around each other? I admit I was crazy at times.”

“And now, after a couple weeks away, you’re normal. Do you turn it on and off when it suits you, or just to mess with me? How do I know which one is the real you?”

“This is me. You know me.” A shadow darted across his face like a cloud over the sun. She could feel the chill. “I have mood swings sometimes. Like anyone. Now come on. You’re dancing with me.”

“I told you I don’t dance.”

“I can squat lift over three hundred pounds. I swear to God, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out there.” He clutched her hand and pulled her onto the floor. With a lewd grin, he began bumping and grinding against her.

“I hate you. By the way, your hands are on my ass.” Where, she was averse to admit, she hoped they’d stay.

“I think you like me. A
lot
.” He was showing off now, a six-foot-five Justin Timberlake. Not content to be the center of attention because he was so damned gorgeous, he had to dance better than everyone else did too. “Going to just stand there?” Alex mapped his body to hers, each pivot of his hips electrifying her cells, his firmness and strength and the scent of his cologne beguiling her.

She allowed herself to rock with the music’s carnal beat. A droplet of sweat trickled from Alex’s neck into his chest hair. She clenched her thighs.

“This makes me miss Ibiza,” he said with a wistful sigh.

God only knew what he’d done there. She was better off not knowing.

“You went somewhere in your head.”

“How do you know?”

“You get a look in your eyes. And yes, I did a lot of dumb shit. Sex, drugs…”

“Why?”

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Why does anyone? At first, because I thought it was cool. Almost everyone in Russia has at least tried something. Later, I just wanted to feel better.”

“About what?”

Alex broke eye contact. “I don’t know. I get sad sometimes.”

“I’m not judging you, Alex. I just thought I knew you better. Maybe I’ve romanticized the way I remember you.”

“No. Back then I was…closer to what I wish I was.” He cast his gaze to the floor, his expression dimmed with shame.

“I didn’t mean to—I care about you and—ˮ

“Yeah?”

That goddamned smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Of course I do, you ass.”

“What’s going on with you, anyway? It’s making me wonder something.” His body swayed with hers, his muscles contracting, then relaxing with each suggestive movement. Where she ended and he began disintegrated. “What excuse would you make this time?”

The warm pulsing between her thighs had grown unbearable. He laid a hand on the small of her back, urging her closer, swinging his hips with hers in a hypnotic, captivating rhythm. A titillating appetizer. Foreplay. He had become slightly erect. This close, he knew she’d be able to feel him. That her body would beg for him the way it had since the day he’d walked back into her life.

The DJ transitioned to a slow song. Alex slinked an arm around Stephanie’s waist and wove the fingers of his other hand with hers.

“What are you really doing, Alex?”

“What?”

“You know what. This. Everything.”

“It’s called flirting. Loosen up a little. You’re the envy of every woman here.” He gave the tip of her nose a playful nip.

“You are such an arrogant shit.”

That one clearly hurt. He glowered at her and to her chagrin put a couple of inches between them. “I’m teasing. Lighten up,
da
? You take everything as a challenge to your dignity or something.”

“I’m scared, Alex.”

“Of what?” His expression tempered into one of concern. He folded his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Of the way I feel when I’m with you.”

“How
do
you feel?” He pulled back enough that she could see his verdelite eyes glittering.

“I don’t really know how to explain it. But I like being with you. And I don’t know if I should.”

He tilted her chin up. “I was so angry because I thought you were rejecting me for your fiancé’s sake. But now I get it. You thought that even if we did sleep together, I’d leave. That’s what I do. And I’d do it to hurt you. Am I right?”

“It’s hard not to think that.”

“You thought the same thing that night after the prom. But I didn’t leave.”

Stephanie rested her hand on his cheek, his stubble like a cat’s tongue on her palm. She drew her thumb over his cheekbone, over his lips, and he kissed it. Over his chin and jawline, his throat. There was a rough edge of stubble where his razor hadn’t reached. Tom Ford cologne, a complex scent of tobacco leaf and spice essences. Beneath that, fresh sweat. Clean cotton. She resisted the urge to lick his skin.

“Can I kiss you?” His words were barely audible above the music.

“You’re asking?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I do have manners.”

“Oh?” She laughed. “All of a sudden?”

“Yes. I should warn you, though. First—” a roguish smile, “—Russians love to kiss.”

That explained a lot.

“Second, if you like it, I may take that a certain way.”

“What if someone sees us?” With one hand on the back of his head and the other on his shoulder, she drew him closer. They had always belonged to each other.

“I already gave you the story.” He swept his thumbs over her cheekbones. Soft, closemouthed, yet enchanting in its subtle eroticism, the lingering kiss foreshadowed what was to come if she let it. He slowly, lightly drew the tip of his tongue over her lower lip. Then placed his teeth there and pulled back, pausing at the end before giving her another gentle kiss.

“Wow,” she whispered. She felt the familiar, resentful stares of those who had invested so much in attracting a man like Alex only to see him fall for a short-haired woman in jeans and riding boots. And just a pinch of self-satisfaction that she hadn’t had to change a damned thing.

“Come on.” Alex gave her a perceptive smile and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take you home.”

Chapter Ten

Stephanie unbuckled her seat belt. “I had a good time. Thank you.”

Alex laughed a little, his lips curving into the sexy smile that had literally charmed the pants off dozens of women. “That’s questionable, but you’re welcome.”

“Do you want to come up? You left your jacket and tie…” What a stupid pretext. Her nerves danced.

“I did, didn’t I?” Alex exited the Mercedes. Like a perfect gentleman, he came around to her side, opened the door, and offered his hand.

Adrenaline kicked in on the short elevator ride. They stood side by side, silent. The air crackled. By the time they reached her floor, she was shaking and dropped her keys.

“Why are you so nervous?” he said behind her, so close she could feel his body heat. She had no answer; they’d committed to nothing. She unlocked the door and flipped on the light. Alex remained in the kitchen, his shoulder against the wall and arms folded over his chest.

“You can come in, you know.”

“It’s late. There is one thing, though. I asked you something back at the bar, and I didn’t get to find out the answer.”

Her heart galloped. She set his tie on the counter and opened the closet where she’d hung his jacket.

“
Milaya.
” He caught her wrist and laid her hand over his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her palm. “If you want something, just say so. Because you are much too clever to use my jacket and tie as an excuse to get me up here.” He bowed his head and parted his lips over hers. ”So tell me what you want.”

Their mouths coupled, tongues entangled. They separated for breath, then repeated the act, longer and deeper each time. Her hands in his hair, on his cheeks, on his waist, a newly blind woman relearning her beloved’s features. Her lips, her fingers, each part of her as she touched him created all over again by his love. “Alex, it was always you, and I’m so sorry—”

He crushed his mouth to hers, his kisses merciless, and his tongue insistent, voracious. He grabbed her shoulders, gripping her as though she were an illusion that would break apart as soon as he let go, and pushed her against the wall. Her framed
Starry Night
print dislodged, then crashed to the floor, where a corner of the wooden frame splintered and a crack spiderwebbed through the glass. She flinched, though sex with him after so long was bound to be as primitive and pure as she’d envisioned. A maelstrom of emotions their bodies had longed to express, a tacit agreement to succumb to the rawness of their eight-year famine in whatever forms it took.

Cradling her head in his hands, he assailed her with another ferocious kiss, his tongue demanding hers. She reciprocated with equal savagery, biting his succulent bottom lip until she drew blood. Then recoiled, horrified by the urgency of her need.

Alex licked the blood away. “Is that how you want it, baby?” His mouth twitched into another smile. “I can take a little pain.” He roamed his hands, rough with calluses yet long-fingered and graceful, from her face to her hips and back again. Each caress seared a permanent impression of him into her skin. Alex lobbed her tunic across the room and trailed kisses down her neck, her throat, an arc of fire. He kissed the swell of her breasts and between them, then unhooked her bra. Imprisoning her in his warm hands, he suckled each nipple, ran his tongue along the contours.

His erection prodded her through too many layers of fabric. She unfastened his belt buckle and pants and fondled the rigid shaft constrained only by his underwear. He sucked in a gasp. He pressed her arms over her head, binding her wrists, and kissed her again fiercely despite his bruised lip. She tasted blood.

She took her time undressing him, unveiling him button by button. She pushed his pants down and spared a moment to let her hands rove over his heavenly ass. When she pulled off his underwear, his erection bounced up from the black fur between his legs. The first time she’d seen it—thick, pink, and angled upward—in the light. His foreskin had retracted, and the tip of his cock glistened. She wetted her palm with her tongue, then closed her hand around him, stroking, fondling, and inciting him to stiffen more. Iron in a velvet glove.

Alex, his forehead against hers, ran his thumb over her lips. “Do you want me inside you?” His tumid, veiny cock pulsed in her hand. “Say it.”

She gazed into the eyes that had looked at her the same way all those years ago. That had loved her no matter what. “I want you inside me.”

He lifted her and pinned her to the wall as if she weighed nothing. She’d fantasized about a man strong enough to fuck her like this. About Alex. Always and only Alex. She hooked an arm around his neck, fastened her legs around his hips, and cried out at the sharp but brief pain as he opened her, stretching her to accommodate his width. His cry when he penetrated her was of someone who had discovered a beloved family heirloom in a tornado’s wreckage. Something irreplaceable thought long destroyed, lying unscathed before him. She sank her nails into his shoulder blades. His eyes were shining with equal parts heartache and devotion. It hurt, always wanting. It felt like dying. And finally living.

His skin scorching her, his breath a hot breeze against her ear, he was made of fire. She wanted to burn with him, with the pain of being alive as they had only ever been with each other. He pumped harder, deeper each time, a savage grunt interposing each lunge. If he had wanted to make love in the forest or in his condo, he wanted no such thing now. And she could not get close enough to him, could not get enough of him though each thrust pushed his full length into her. He and she were not meant to be two separate things.

Alex carried her to the kitchen counter, bent her over it, and with his hands on her hips trailed kisses down her spine, her buttocks, over the angles of her hipbones. He cupped her breasts with both hands as he kissed her neck, her shoulders. A delicious chill chased each caress. He rubbed his cock between her folds, then reentered her from behind. His tempo redoubled, violent and merciless. Alex gripped her shoulders, snarled his fingers in her hair. Raw, brutal, animal lust infused each thrust, the culmination of eight lost years, of longing and grief and bitterness. Not what they had envisioned but what their bodies and some dark part of their souls required. Life was love, and love was pain. Their love had been so strong, it made sense it should be the greatest agony they had ever known.

“Turn me around so I can kiss you.”

He pulled out. She faced him and he guided himself into her again, his breath shivering. “You feel so good,” he whispered.

She ran her thumb over the scar on his cheek. He molded his body to hers, and their tongues flowed in and out of each other’s mouths.

“I won’t leave. I won’t ever leave.” He held her hands on the marble. Though the edge of the counter bit into her back, she curled a leg around his hips and drew him deeper into her. His pulse beat beneath the skin of his throat. When he let go of her hands, she scraped her nails over his back, his skin slick with sweat, muscles flexing beneath her fingers. She existed only where he touched her, only when he touched her, and in between was no more substantial than mist.

The apartment was silent except for their labored breaths and the slap of skin on skin. Time stopped. She pressed her fingers into his cheek. Their gazes locked in an act both intrusive and trusting in this moment of total vulnerability. She swore she could read his thoughts, though she could not have articulated how. Everything he had ever wanted to say was in his glittering, bottomless eyes, and she hoped he could decipher all the apologies in hers.

“I love you, Alex.”

He slid his hand down her thigh, cupped her ass. Spots of color appeared in his cheeks. He pounded his hips hard and quick against her. “Don’t look at me like that. Oh God…” He moaned and exploded into her with a hot, boundless gush. His muffled cry, his face buried against her neck, was both rapture and anguish. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and milked every drop.

As he caught his breath, one hand strayed to her cheek as if to persuade him of her reality. She could still feel him inside her, the delineations between them no longer solid but shifting each time they touched, little by little becoming more of each other.

“
Ya lyublyu tebya
,” he whispered. Then their mouths coupled again, and there was no more need for words.

***

Aleksandr

Steam rose and curled around them, fogging the shower door. He backed Stephanie against the tiles and assaulted her with his mouth, his hunger for her a ruthless necessity he could no longer control. Alex mauled her with his teeth and hands, leaving red welts on her tender skin that would bruise. He skimmed his lips over her throat, cradled her breasts, and suckled her stiff nipples. Her eyes slipped shut, her beautiful lips forming an
O
. There was no romance in it; he had fucked her, and he was going to fuck her again. Any number of women could have warned her to expect nothing more, or less, yet somehow he was on his knees, worshipping her.

Alex kissed her belly, her thighs, traced her hipbones with his thumbs as water flowed over her skin. He opened the petal-like pleats below her golden curls, sucked and lapped at the hot, fragrant pool at her center. Soft, springy, like a ripe peach. So many little creases and crimps to lick and suckle. So many furrows for his tongue to explore. Stephanie shuddered against him, her thigh muscles constricting. She squirmed against the tiles and clutched his hair, then shoved his face into her until she overwhelmed all his senses. Her body convulsed, an earthquake. Her throaty groans hardened him more.

He could not surmount his territorial urge to mark her as his. After all, she’d done the same to him, had long ago scored his soul far deeper than the scratches on his back. He bent her over, her palms against the tiles. Her pink flesh glistened. He crouched, sucked at her pussy again; she jerked and cried out, and he ran his tongue along her slit before standing up. Gripping her hips, he slid into her, a wet smack against her ass with each thrust.

She tightened around him, slick and hot, scuffed her fingernails along the wall and pushed back against him. “
Fuck
me,” she demanded, “like you said I needed to be fucked.”

She’d never been assertive, but to be the medium through which she reclaimed her voice, her sexuality, delighted him. “
Bozhe moy
,” he groaned and scratched his nails down her spine. He pounded into her a few more times, then pulled out and worked himself into her snug little ass. She whimpered and compressed around him but didn’t resist or ask him to stop. “No one’s ever fucked you like this before?”

“No,” she grunted.

“I like being the first. That you saved this sweet ass for me.” So close now, the friction unendurable. “Did you, baby?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip.

That did it despite the obvious lie. The pressure was building deep inside, the tingling in his scrotum discharging currents into his legs and arms, each muscle tense with the sweetest pain. Only with her had he ever felt the world was ending and beginning all at once.

His cock contracted. He gushed into her and emitted a wordless sound of absolute relief and rapture. His entire body released, his legs going numb and his ears stopping up, and a gentle ache pulsed from his balls to his prostate. Sharing a piece of his soul the way he could with no one else. His legs shook with each spasm, the last of his strength draining away.

Stephanie straightened, faced him, and pressed herself to the tiles. Her thighs were still quivering. Alex fit his body to hers, skin on wet skin, and glided his tongue past her lips as he caressed her athletic body. “Did I hurt you?” he asked when he remembered his mouth had functions other than kissing her. He had wanted to on some level, for rendering him unable to forget her all these years. For having absolute power she didn’t know she wielded, and for her lie of omission. “I’m sorry.”

She gazed at him with tearful blue eyes. “I love you. Please believe that.”

His breath caught. When words failed him, his mouth sought hers and explained what speech could not.

***

Stephanie

Ingots of gray light slanted through the blinds. Stephanie, her back spooned to Alex’s chest, linked her fingers with his. Seven a.m., the air heavy with the perfume of lovemaking, charged with possibilities. The sex had transformed at some point in the night, a subtle evolution from the vehemence of their first encounters, their atavistic need to fuck satisfied, to a tender exploration of each other in their adult bodies. They had become something else, both more and less because they were one. Waveforms whose only match was each other, crest to crest and trough to trough. Atoms entangled in an unconditional bond.

She turned over, her forehead and nose touching his, hiked the blankets over their shoulders, and trapped their warmth beneath it. Alex smiled though his eyes remained closed. He traced his fingertips over her hip, her thigh, and their mouths tangled again in a drowsy kiss. She wished she could freeze time and live in this moment forever.