Page 5 of Ascendent
Sergey reached for his tux and his duffel. Sasha let go of both like he was a man condemned to die and Sergey was taking away his last possessions. Sighing, Sergey set his duffel on the bed––on what could behisside of the bed,hisnightstand.
“Do you need to go?” Sasha’s voice was low, his words clipped. His hands clenched at his sides, making tight fists.
“No. Today is just for you. I want to spend every moment with you.” Sergey swallowed. “What doyouwant?”
Sasha’s gaze met his. “That.You. I want you.” He looked away, his jaw clenching.
Finally,govno, a sign, a signal,somethingfrom Sasha that said he wanted this too. That he actually wanted this, wantedthem. That he wasn’t meekly following Sergey because Sergey was his president and he was blood loyal to Sergey, to Sergey’s dream of Russia, and to the Motherland. He wasn’t enacting some devotion of misplaced patriotism and loyalty.
The burn started in his fingers, an ache to reach out to Sasha, touch him everywhere, hold him again. He’d brought him to his bedroom to talk, to sit and justbetogether, but… His nerves sang. His muscles clenched. His belly tightened, and heat spread from his balls, curling through his groin. His cock, which hadn’t stirred since Sasha had walked away after the Arctic, twitched.
“Sasha…” He reached for him, cupping his cheek. Sasha’s eyes closed as he turned into Sergey’s touch.
His hands shook as he reached for Sasha’s sweater, as his fingers slid under the dark hemline. Sasha’s jutting hip bones fit perfectly into the hollows of his palms. The skin on his back was cool, the fine hairs there rising to meet Sergey’s fingers as he ghosted his touch in the hollow of Sasha’s back, between the muscles that cradled his spine.
Sasha shivered. His head tipped back as he groaned. But, his hands stayed fisted at his sides.
Sergey peeled Sasha’s sweater off, his hands traveling over Sasha’s flank, his ribs. His pale, heaving chest, scattered with freckles and already splotchy with a red flush, appeared.
It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Sergey’s heart lurched as his cock leaped. His soul ached, his hands roaming over Sasha’s body, exploring, discovering, adventuring in the new world of his lover. Sasha’s freckles danced below his collarbones, splashed across his pecs. His nipples hardened as Sergey stared at them. His hips were narrow, his shoulders broad, and the V of his body was the most perfect Sergey had ever seen. Sasha was beautiful, was perfect, was deliriously gorgeous. Sergey wanted him, so badly. His cock strained, desperate.
And yet, still, Sasha didn’t touch him. His fists were locked at his sides.
“Sasha,” he murmured, pressing kisses to Sasha’s lips, his cheek, his chin. “Why don’t you touch me?”
Sasha went whipcord taut. His expression darkened, scowl lines deepening. “I don’t know how.”
“What?” Sergey pulled back.
“I only know how tofuck,” Sasha spat. “That’s not what I want withyou. I want—” He swallowed. “You deserve more than that. But I don’t know how––”
Sergey blinked. Words wouldn’t come, wouldn’t rise to his lips. He’d never been bereft of what to say before. He’d always been able to summon up a witty rejoinder, a turn of phrase to burst the tension, make everyone laugh again.
But there was so much he didn’t know about Sasha, about his past. What Sasha had confessed beneath the ice still tore at him: that he’d never been with someone he cared about. Had he never cared for anyone? Or had he been ruthless with his affections? What shaped his life to make him hate himself so deeply? Russian society’s messages were pervasive, but Sasha’s self-hate had a deeper, more personal touch.
What strength of love was this that Sasha was going against absolutely everything in his life, in his soul, to try to build something with Sergey? Again, the fighter pilot flying his heart looped, screaming for the highest altitude. They could make this work, theycould. He just had to show Sasha that everything was okay. That Sasha, as he was, was who Sergey craved.
“You are perfect for me already.” Sergey reached for his own clothes and shed his pullover, started on the buttons of his shirt. Sasha’s eyes tracked his every move, his pupils darkening as Sergey slipped each button free. “You are everything that I want. You, as you are.”
Sasha’s lips thinned. “I want to be better. For you.”
Sergey shrugged out of his shirt, shaking free of the sleeves until the fabric fluttered to the floor. Chest bare, he stood before Sasha, watching as Sasha’s lips parted and his breaths came faster. How on Earth was he desirable to Sasha? Looking down at himself, at the sparse hair speckled across his thin chest, he spotted a strand or four of gray tucked among the blond and light brown sprigs. “Govno.” He smoothed his palm over his mangy chest. “I should have removed all evidence of my antiquity.”
“No.” Sasha reached for Sergey. His rough palms rested on Sergey’s chest. His fingers tightened, as if digging into Sergey’s skin, hard enough to bruise. And then relaxed. And again, like he was holding back from grabbing him and going wild.
The feel of Sasha over him, around him, dominating him on theHonolulubeneath the Arctic slammed back into Sergey, a visceral memory that lived in his bones. He leaned into Sasha’s rough touch. Another time like that, yes, please. Yes to Sasha’s unbridled lust, his desire for Sergey unleashed into a passion that wholly dominated Sergey. Yes, he craved that, and Sasha, again.
“I’m yours. Anything, Sasha. Anything you want.” He’d give everything to Sasha. He’d bend over right then and there and welcome Sasha into his body if that’s what Sasha wanted. His knees weakened at the thought, at the imagining. He struggled not to moan. Would Sasha take him? He could practically already feel—
He thought his breathless plea would embolden Sasha, tap into a buried lust Sasha might have had for him. He’d thought—he’dhoped—the passion Sasha kept so carefully concealed and controlled would burst free and they’d be swept up in the torrent of their desires again. After, he’d prod Sasha into realizing how much Sergey wanted him, how much he craved him and his love. He’d use their frantic lovemaking as proof, point to their release and cajole a laugh out of Sasha. He could see it so clearly.
But Sasha flinched. Cringed and turned away.
Sergey’s jaw dropped. He reached for Sasha. His hand froze in midair, suspended between them.
“What I want isn’t right.” Sasha’s voice was a fragile thing, so unlike the bold man who stood before him. He shook his head back and forth quickly. “It’s disgusting.”
“Sasha…No,it is not. You arenotdisgusting!Weare not disgusting!”
