I release an exasperated sound. “I don’t know why the hell you’re obsessed with me, but I’m telling you that it’s impossible. I’m not gay.”
He bursts out laughing, the sound scraping at the edges of my sanity, and I want to reach out to stop it, but I can’t move.
Shut up.
Shut the fuck up—
“Not gay?” he sneers at me. “Baby, you came three times on my hand, mouth, and fucking fingers. You choked on my cock and came because of a mere prostate fucking. If that isn’t gay, I don’t know what is.”
“Stop talking,” I grit out, trying to fight the pounding in my head.
I need to leave before he sees me for the ugly monster I actually am.
“What the—” He snatches my hand, and for a fraction of a second, I feel like the world is tilting back on its axis.
I inhale his mint scent and spit out disgusting nausea until my stomach settles back down.
Nikolai inspects the plaster on my forearm. “What happened to your arm?”
“It’s just a scratch.” I try to retrieve it, but he tightens his grip on my wrist. Over the watch I never remove.
He narrows his eyes. “Why do you seem to get hurt a lot? The other day, it was your hand, and this time, your arm. You don’t strike me as clumsy.”
I watch his hair flying in the wind and I hate that the only urge I have is to touch it, run my fingers through it.
But I can’t.
Wanting him is a painful struggle. Wanting him is ripping a hole in the very marrow of my existence and making me question everything.
I can’t afford to question everything.
I need my system and routines, and he simply does not belong there.
He’s an error in the matrix.
A plot hole in a story.
“Why do you want me, Nikolai?” I ask instead of answering his question. “We’re nothing alike—I’m too proper for your liking. You’re too violent for my preferences. So why are you this obsessed with me?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Of course you do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need a reason to want you, lotus flower. I just do. And if you put a pause on the useless thoughts cramming that head of yours, you’ll also admit that you just want me, too. Simple. Normal.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re such a gentleman and you love running at the same time every day. I also know you’re different from your psycho twin brother and have a good relationship with everyone. Except for Clara, because she’s finally out of the fucking picture, but here’s the most important part.” He smirks. “I also know you love kissing me.”
“I do not.”
“Wanna prove it?”
“Don’t…” I slam a hand to his mouth and he kisses my palm, then licks my fingers, thrusting his tongue between them.