Jonah came awake still stroking Sacha’s face. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, just that the action movie he’d been watching on mute had made way for a documentary on Turkmenistan.
He switched it off and the haze of the early morning filtered through the window—they’d forgotten to shut the curtains. Jonah wondered if the light would bother Sacha when he woke and tried not to picture his red, pain-filled eyes from the night before. He focused on the last words Sacha had uttered before he’d passed out. “…I am very close to falling in love with you…” and his heart skipped a beat, for once, not because he doubted Sacha, but because he felt the same. A whirlwind had passed since Sacha had stepped into the lift all those weeks ago, but time could mean whatever they wanted it to, and Jonah’s feelings were real.
I could love him. Maybe I already do.
His thumb passed over Sacha’s cheekbone.
Sacha hummed.
Jonah stilled and stared down at him. “Are you awake?”
“A little. That is nice. Please don’t stop.”
Jonah resumed his ministrations. Sacha’s breathing deepened as if he’d gone back to sleep, and Jonah let him be until Sacha hummed again, and pressed himself closer to Jonah. “How are you doing down there?”
“Better,” Sacha said without opening his eyes. “I am sorry about that.”
“Why?”
Sacha shrugged. “I sit on the floor for a moment. I never meant you to find me.”
“I know. But I did. And it was okay. What would you have done if I hadn’t?”
“I would have got up eventually. I always do.”
Jonah slid his fingers through Sacha’s hair again, grounding himself in the silky strands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Is your injury from the same accident that killed your mother?”
“Yes. I don’t remember it, though. If I did not have the scars beneath my hair I would not know.”
“You have scars?”
“On the left side and my neck. Have a look.”
Jonah had already seen the scar on Sacha’s neck. He reached for the lamp and bathed the room in a golden glow. Sacha sat up slightly, and parted his hair, revealing a curved scar on his scalp. Breath caught, Jonah traced it with his fingertip. “That’s big. I can’t believe you can’t see it through your hair.”
“It is old,” Sacha said. “Long time ago, but my head hurts sometimes since then. If tired, if I do not eat enough. Sometimes if I come too hard as well, so it is always a danger with you.”
“Has that happened? Has fucking me given you a migraine?”
“Once,” Sacha said, his lips twisting in a smirk. “The second time we were together. I put my tongue in you, then I fucked you. I did not know it at the time, but it was…a lot for me.”
Jonah searched his memories of that heady night, the long hours they’d spent hunched over their computers, and then the breath-taking orgasm Sacha had bestowed on him. He scoured every image that flashed through his mind but found none that clued him into Sacha’s discomfort. “I wish I’d known you were in pain.”
Sacha propped his head on his hand and stared at Jonah with his unblinking hazel eyes. “Why?”
Because I love you. Jonah shrugged, sidestepping the impact of the startling realisation that it was true—he really did love this infuriating man. “Because you shouldn’t have gone through it alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. You were snoring beside me.”
“I don’t snore.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re smug enough to have told me a dozen times by now.”
“That is maybe true, but why do you want to know I have a headache when you sleep?”
“Maybe the same reason you asked me to stay with you last night.”
Comprehension dawned in Sacha’s gaze. He reached out and cupped Jonah’s cheek with a hand that was now warm, alive, because dear god he’d seemed half dead last night. “I think…”
“What?” Jonah whispered. “What do you think?”
“I think, perhaps, that you are right, Jonah Gray.”
A smile split Jonah’s face in half. He tried to contain it, but didn’t care that he failed.
Sacha smiled too, droll and wry. “I do not know what amuses you so. You are not funny.”
“I know. But you are.”
“And how is that?”
“You don’t like it when you lose control of anything…even something as wholesome as this?”
“Wholesome?”
“Yes. We can be good for each other, Sacha. You have to believe that.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Sacha pulled Jonah towards him. “But there is nothing wholesome about the way you make me feel right now, luchik.”
Jonah let Sacha draw him closer until their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, limbs entwined, hard lengths straining for release. “You still need to tell me what that means.”
“What?”
“Luchik.” Jonah cringed at his pronunciation. “You’ve been saying it since we met and I have no idea what it is.”
Sacha’s slight smirk softened. “I will tell you soon.”
“Not now?”
“No. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are other things I want to do.” Sacha kissed Jonah’s cheek.
It wasn’t particularly sexual, but Jonah felt it in every nerve and sucked in a sharp breath. “Do that again.”
Sacha kissed him again, then trailed his mouth to Jonah’s, and their lips met in a kiss that was as fiery as it was sweet. Despite the frost clinging to the city outside, heat rose between them like a summer storm, familiar, and yet so different to the wildfires of before.
They kissed for unmeasured time, grinding a slow dance that found Sacha beneath Jonah, pulling him down on top of him.
Groaning, Jonah thrust against him, the friction almost unbearable. He wanted Sacha so badly he ached, but he moved with caution, watching Sacha for any signs of lingering discomfort.
Sacha caught his face in his hands. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Hold back. I don’t need it.” Sacha wrapped his legs around Jonah’s waist. His face was still lined with fatigue, but his gold-flecked eyes were bright and clear. He was present, right here, with Jonah. “I want something,” he whispered.
Jonah bit his neck, then kissed the red mark he’d left behind. “You want me to ride you?”
“No. I mean, I do, very much. But not right now. Jonah, I want you to fuck me.”
Jonah paused in his journey along Sacha’s jaw, eyebrows rising in surprise before he caught himself. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about topping Sacha, but it was the stuff of fantasies he’d assumed would stay between him and the walls of his solitary showers. Not a reality whispered to him on a frosty winter’s morning in Sacha’s bed. “Are you sure? I didn’t know you did that.”
“You never asked.”
“Touché. I guess it’s never come up.”