Page 49 of Golden Eagle

12

A phone was ringing. The unobtrusive iPhone chime that only yesterday had sent Nikita into a rage.

This morning, though – and it was morning, weak sunlight filtering through the sheer drapes on the windows – Nik started to roll over, and was brought up short by the strong arms around his waist.

He’d been dreaming; rare, pleasant dreams. Soft, like light through a filter, warm with touch and taste and scent and sensation. Dreams of Sasha, the impossibility of turning to him not as friend or brother, but as the lover he’d always wanted to be, a role that he’d denied himself, tight hands on the reins, day after day. Dreams of letting go – but not falling, no. Flying.

He opened his eyes a sliver, pulled in a deep breath that smelled of Sasha, of the two of them, sweat and sex, and knew that it hadn’t been a dream. It took him a long moment, staring at his cracked-open closet door, blinking the sleep from his eyes while Sasha’s hands opened and closed aimlessly against his stomach, fingertips drawing lazy patterns on his skin, to realize that for the first time in a long time – maybe ever – he’d awakened without a jolt of panic. Pleasant dreams, when they came, always inspired swift feelings of guilt; pangs of regret, surges of worry that he’d said or acted in some unforgiveable way, giving away his most secret feelings.

Or he woke after nightmares, thinking they were in Siberia, or Stalingrad, or that shitty flat in LA in the fifties, when he’d worked for gangsters who’d sneered at him and threatened Sasha as a way to hold him in line.I know what you are, his slab-faced, over-pomaded boss had told him with a cruel smile.I know how to keep you in line.

He’d knownsomeof what Nik was. He hadn’t known he was a vampire, though, and when he’d walked out of that house that night, covered in blood, even more of it in his belly, there’d been not one witness to go running to the cops.

But those were old memories. Foul and guilty. And they didn’t deserve the chance to creep into his conscience now, as Sasha shifted in closer behind him, breathing out deep and warm and dreamy against the back of his neck, and murmured a rough, “Good morning,” in Russian.

He thought of last night – kisses, and confessions, and Sasha’s face when he fell apart – and smiled. No more secrets. No more keeping things bottled up.

He rolled over in Sasha’s arms, Sasha’s hands playing over his ribs, and shoulders, and chest as he did, touching just to touch, unrestrained and unselfconscious. It would break Nik’s heart if he thought about it too much: the way Sasha had been pining too, innocent and wanting.

When Nikita was settled, Sasha smiled at him, soft and still sleepy, his hair messy on the pillow. He stroked across Nik’s collarbones, and then down the center of his chest, big circles, unhurried, tweaking lightly at his nipples when he passed them.

“Good morning,” Nik returned, in English. They felt like the most inadequate words, but in the moment, he was simply stunned.

He wanted to take in every detail. The drowsy contentedness in his half-lidded gaze; the way his lips looked almost bruised, still swollen, the tiniest healing nick in the plump center of the bottom one, where Nik had accidentally bitten him; the faded bruise on his throat where he’d bitten him purposefully, not to drink, but just to feel his flesh in his teeth while he rutted against him.

It was a good thing he was lying down, he thought, because he might have actually swooned. This was his precious Sasha, and they could have this.

His face must have been doing strange things, though, because Sasha reached to cup his cheek, brows drawing together. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect,” Nik said firmly, and leaned in to kiss him.

They both had awful morning breath, but Sasha opened right away, sighing happily, inviting the flick of his tongue.

The phone started chiming again, and Nikita pulled back with a curse. He’d forgotten what woke them in the first place.

“I’ll get it,” Sasha offered, and rolled away to snag it off the nightstand.

No, Nikita thought, not wanting to lose his hands and arms and mouth. But leaning out from beneath the covers gave him a view of Sasha’s naked back, all smooth skin, sleek muscle, and the shadows of ribs.

Not a bad trade.

Sasha checked the screen, swiped, and answered with a cheery, “Good morning, Trina!” only slightly still rough from sleep.

Nikita could hear her on the other end. “Morning.” She had a smile in her voice, because no one could resist Sasha in a good mood. “Is Nik there?”

“Yes, I’ll put you on speaker.” He did, and settled back down on his side so they faced one another, propped on an elbow, the phone resting on the sheets between them.

“What do you need me for?” he said, harsher than intended. But once he spoke, he realized he was pissed. “You couldn’t ask Sasha? I’m not his boss. I’m not anybody’s boss.” Some of it was about being interruptedagain. But mostly he was affronted on Sasha’s behalf; like he was a child or an animal, and Trina only wanted to deal with the “adult.”

“Nik,” Sasha chided gently.

Trina was silent a moment, then said, “Is this a bad time?”

Nik started to answer – and Sasha put a hand on his arm. When Nik looked at him, his brows lifted.Be nice, his expression plainly said.

He sighed. “No,” he said, aiming for…notnice; he wasn’t sure he could do that. But at least polite. “It’s – what’s wrong?”

Another pause.

---