basorexia
(n.) the overwhelming desire to kiss
MILA
During the intermission, one of the theater attendants slipped a piece of paper into Ronan’s hand. He read it and then put it into his pocket. Call it intuition, but I knew Liza wrote the note.
As the curtains closed and the lights came back on, we headed down the hall to the exit, but something drew me to a stop. A portrait on the wall in a gaudy gold frame. My mother’s hair was in an elegant updo, her eyes sparkling with an animate light. Ronan waited behind me, and if he noticed the uncanny resemblance, he didn’t say anything.
I swallowed and followed him out of the theater.
My mother performed here. Now I knew for sure, maybe I could come back and question some of the employees tomorrow. Someone had to know if she had family and where I could find them.
Having beat most of the crowd outside, we passed the old-fashioned ticket booth, where my attention caught on an elderly woman sitting on the ground wrapped in a thin, tattered blanket. Her eyes were full of crazy, and, as they held mine, her throaty, terrified whisper reached my ears.
“D’yavol.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose, my breath a ragged puff of vapor. I stopped and turned to look over my shoulder as if a red-horned devil would be standing behind me, but Ronan grabbed my arm.
“You’re holding up the line, kotyonok.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
That couldn’t be what she said, could it? Did a concussion make you hallucinate?
We reached the car, but I hesitated. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Turning around, I fought against the crowd back to the ticket booth. When the old woman saw me coming, her eyes widened with fear. She started to get up, but I tried to reassure her.
“Nyet . . . druz’ya.”
I thought I said “friends,” but she looked at me like I just told her we were uncles, which was annoyingly possible. I crouched in my heels and fur coat in front of her, took some rubles from my clutch, and offered them out. I wished I could give her all of my money, but I knew if I pulled cash from an ATM, Ivan would find me and force me home. I wasn’t ready to go yet.
The woman eyed the rubles warily for a moment, but then, as if she thought they might disappear, she snatched them from my hand. Her hands were red and raw, and with a gust of wind, a shiver wracked her. I chewed my lip in contemplation.
Oh, screw it.
I took the coat off and settled it on her shoulders. It swallowed her small frame. I didn’t know how Ronan would feel about me giving a crazy homeless woman a luxury coat he just gifted me, but my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep in a warm bed tonight while she was out here cold.
She ran dirty hands over the white fur, an expression of awe on her face. “Angel,” she breathed. “Ty angel.”
Her belief I was an angel made me feel better about the D’yavol comment. Maybe her mind was stuck in an episode of Supernatural.
I avoided Ronan’s gaze on the way back to the car, nervous of his reaction and wishing I was still buzzed. Albert leaned against the passenger door, watching me with cautious eyes and smoking another cigarette.
“That’ll kill you, ya know.”
He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.
I raised a brow at the challenge. “Keep smoking like that, and you’re going to break a lot of girls’ hearts when you go.”
He grunted.
I finally brought my gaze to Ronan’s unreadable expression. The theater attendant who served us drinks rushed over and said something quietly to Ronan, whose eyes lowered. I could see a hint of annoyance in them.
“I’ll be right back, kotyonok.” His dark gaze drifted down my body, caressing and setting fire to every curve encased by thin yellow fabric. “Wait in the car. You’re not wearing a coat.”
He walked toward the theater doors, the red-vested attendant following behind like a lapdog. Ronan stood out in the crowd, not only because people parted like the Red Sea to allow him by, but because of the smooth and powerful way he walked, as if he owned the pavement beneath his feet. The sight of his dark silhouette among falling flurries sent something dense and languid to every nerve beneath my skin, like the steady beep of a heart on life support.
Feeling unsteady, I turned to Albert, who actually rolled his eyes at me. Clearly, I wasn’t very secretive about checking out his boss. My cheeks were flushed from the cold, but my blood burned hot, so I leaned against the car beside him. My arm brushed his, and he eyed me like I’d just challenged him to a spitting contest.
I raised a brow. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.”
“He told you to get in the car.”
“He’s awful bossy, isn’t he?”
He didn’t confirm nor deny, just stared forward and blew out a breath of smoke.
“Serious question,” I said direly, “and answer carefully, because this is the deciding factor in whether you and I can be pals.” After a heavy pause to make sure he knew the gravity of the matter, I asked, “Team Duckie or Blane?”
His narrowed eyes came to me. “I do not speak whatever language that was.”
I smiled. “Pop culture? Eighties films are back, you know.”
He looked like he was suffering from a headache, and I couldn’t hold in the small laugh.
After a moment, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nyet.”
“Considering your outstanding use of language, I don’t see how that’s possible.”
He didn’t respond, standing at his incredible height. He had to be pushing six foot eight. I’d felt obscenely tall my entire life, and it was nice to be the shortest one in the group for a change.
“I have a friend, Emma, who loves the giant, grunting types,” I told him. “Says they have the softest, mushiest centers, and she just wants to climb them like a tree.”
Not a blink.
I sighed. “Can you hear me okay from all the way up there?”
Something close to amusement passed through his eyes, and an ember of success filled me, so I continued.
“We volunteer at the homeless shelter every Tuesday evening.” I rubbed my arms, feeling the icy chill creep in as I noticed the crazy woman had disappeared like a ghost in the night. “Her hobbies include knitting, scrapbooking, and cats.” I laughed at the repulsed curl of his lips. “Just think, she could knit you an oversized Christmas sweater with little bells attached.”
As if this tempted him, his cool gaze came my way.
“Just say the word, and I’ll set you guys up,” I said. “Long-distance relationships always build the best foundations for love.”
He watched me like he was seriously contemplating it, but then he casually asked, “Does she like to be gagged and spanked?”
He was trying to shock me, and it worked. I couldn’t keep the flush from my face, which finally evoked a small smile. Evidently, only my embarrassment would get a reaction from this giant bastard.
“Um, I’m not sure, but I can ask.”
“You do that.” He threw his cigarette butt to the pavement.
“Hey,” I complained. “We only have one planet, Albert.”
He stared at me like I was out of my mind when I stubbed it out before picking it up. And then like I was actually certifiable when I slipped it into his coat pocket.
“Do you want to live on Mars?” I asked. “Because I don’t.”
“Are you sure you’re not from Mars?”
“Ha ha. I’ve read better jokes in the joke book our cook Borya keeps next to the toilet.”
That earned me an actual laugh, one that sobered as fast as it came. Because Ronan stood behind me watching us like we were both Martians who had displeased him.
He opened the car door, and I slid into the back seat. When he sat beside me, the silence pressed on my chest. Ronan wasn’t even looking at me but out the window, though his presence chafed my skin. He didn’t have to say it for me to know he wasn’t happy I gave my coat away. I had a feeling it didn’t have anything to do with the money but something else entirely.
“I’m sorry.” I swallowed. “About the coat.”
His gaze met mine, searching and thoughtful, the weight of it stunning my body with a nervous energy. “You’re big on apologies.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but, consumed by this man’s quiet disapproval that rivaled my papa’s, what came out was, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “You shouldn’t give a fuck about what other people think. Trust me, they don’t care about you.”
For some reason, his words felt like a warning.
He was a conundrum dressed in Valentino with “fuck” on his lips . . . I didn’t know why I found the contrast attractive. Maybe the novelty and honesty of it.
“That’s a very pessimistic view.”
He fought a smile like what I said was cute. “It’s a realist’s view.”
It felt like I needed to prove him wrong, to convince him not everyone was out to get him. I may not believe in magical happily ever afters, but I’d seen goodness in its purest forms. I’d seen a man give the shirt off his back to someone who needed it more. I’d seen mothers walk miles to make sure their children were fed. There was good in this world, and that was a hill I’d die on.
“The boy in that picture in your office, I bet he cares about you.”
There was something between them—two dirty, homeless boys on the street—that screamed loyalty.
“And who cares about you?”
I didn’t hesitate. “My papa.” I knew it was true. No matter the secrets he withheld from me and the anxieties of abandonment, I knew he loved me.
Ronan found something unpleasant in my response. “You have a soft heart.”
I didn’t say anything because, as annoying as it could sometimes be, it was true.
“Don’t,” he said, as if I could simply change it. “The soft ones are easier to break.”
I wondered who gave this man such a jaded view on life, who cast him out into the cold street. Whatever happened to him, he was still kind and generous, and I couldn’t help but find that incredibly attractive.
“The soft ones are the most loyal,” I countered.
“And naïve.”
“If you mean trusting, yes.”
“I meant naïve,” he deadpanned.
“It’s not a crime to look for the best in people.”
Albert grunted from the driver’s seat, apparently eavesdropping.
I raised a brow. “If the world’s so bad, then why did you help me, a stranger?”
My words strangled the air as we held each other’s stares. I had to look away—needed to give in to the physical pull to avert my gaze before a click or a pop sounded against my head—but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. Somehow, this had turned into a challenge. He didn’t like it.
Or maybe he just wasn’t used to it.
His gaze narrowed. “Don’t play games you can’t win.”
“I’m not a sore loser,” I said, unwilling to give in just yet.
“You’re altruism’s poster child, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.” So many things said otherwise, but the defense that slipped out sounded superficial to my own ears. “Sometimes I eat dairy when there’s no other option.”
As if he couldn’t help it, he laughed softly. “That’s a concerning issue, kotyonok. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at you the same way again.”
All I got from that was he might want to see me again.
I ignored the annoying blush on my cheeks, but he must have noticed it because his expression went grim.
“You’re too sweet for your own good.”
“You can have some. There’s plenty to go around.” The offer escaped me without a single thought to how it might come across.
All of the playfulness in the air drowned beneath the intensity of his eyes. His stare burned me with the hot lick of a flame. My heart tightened at the tension, resolve wavering. But then he ran a thumb over the scar on his bottom lip and looked away.
I released the breath I was holding, a smile pulling on my lips.
He didn’t even glance my way, but he must have felt my triumph because he said with dry humor, “Not so gracious a winner though.”
Amusement filled my stomach again, but suddenly, with the motion of the car, a bout of dizziness hit me.
He noticed, of course. “When was the last time you ate?”
I chewed my lip. “This morning.”
His eyes flared with disapproval, probably because it was the meal I only ate half of in his office. “Do you starve yourself often?”
I frowned. “No. I just forget sometimes.”
“What are you hungry for?”
Anything, really. But one thing came to mind.
“French fries.”
He smiled. “Such an American girl.”
Five minutes later, I had a hot container of french fries in my hand. I ate the salty pieces of heaven with relish. He watched me eat, giving me more attention than he gave to the opera we just watched, and it made my heart play with fire in my chest.
I offered him one, which annoyed him.
“Stop giving away the things I buy you.”
To hide a small smile, I bit the fry in half.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, and warmth poured through my body as I licked the salt from my lips. Ronan’s irises were a desolate black when he glanced away.
We spent the rest of the short ride in silence. His hand rested on his thigh, and I’d never been more aware of a man’s hands in my life. I bet they would touch a woman with assurance, with confidence . . . maybe even a little roughly. At the thought, the thigh showing through the slit in my dress vibrated with hypersensitivity. Goose bumps spread across my body where my leg brushed his, and Ronan’s narrowed gaze observed the contact, a tattooed finger tapping on his leg.
The soda can of a car popped and fizzed.
My body grew hot as I imagined him sliding his hand up that bare skin and beneath my dress. Just the idea of it hit me like a drug, a hot and restless energy expanding in my blood.
Although, I knew he wouldn’t touch me. Not naïve and innocent me. I knew if I wanted him to see me differently, seriously, I would have to take matters into my own hands. I would have to be forward, like Liza.
Knowing a note from her sat in his pocket offering most likely some kind of sexy proposition and the fact he might have left me at the car to go meet with her, I felt oddly . . . jealous. An uncomfortable knot twisted and turned inside of me, and that hint of green fire gave me a rush of bravery.
Well, a tepid rush of bravery.
As he walked me up to my room, nerves danced and wreaked havoc in my stomach. My hands were clammy, so I wiped them on my dress.
“You never told me what you do,” I said absently to distract myself, because that tepid bit of bravery grew colder with each step closer to my door.
He was saying something from one step behind, but I couldn’t hear a word. My heart pounded in my throat, blood rushed to the surface of my skin, and then, I did it.
I turned around and kissed him, mid-sentence.
It was slightly off-center. Unpracticed. Our teeth clinked.
I pulled back to see his eyes sparkling with dry amusement as he wiped the side of his mouth with a thumb. But I was too hot, too high on the small contact of our lips to be embarrassed about what an utter failure that was.
“Kotyonok.” He drew the word out in a low warning. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Nope.
Not at all.
I shook my head.
He watched me. “Do you usually kiss your dates like that?”
So, it was a date?
I shook my head again and said breathlessly, “You’re the first.”
The amusement in his eyes faded to pleasure. Heat. Something soaked in intensity and satisfaction. He stepped forward, forced my back to the door, and rested his hands on the frame above my head. My pulse was a distant whoosh in my ears, overwhelmed by the tremor that rolled across my skin and the closeness of his body. I couldn’t find enough air to breathe.
His voice resonated warmth, a thoughtful rumble so close to my mouth I could taste it. “I have always loved coming in first.”
Then his lips touched mine, softly, only a whisper. Like I was too young, too innocent to handle anything else.
A rage of heat dropped to my core at the lightest brush of his mouth on mine. I needed more.
So much more.
I touched his face, ran a hand across his cheek and into his hair, and pulled his lips harder against mine. He didn’t like that, and he told me so by nipping my bottom lip. The graze of his teeth moved a desperate noise up my throat. I thought he might step away, conflict and my heavy breath between us, but he drew on my lips sweetly, first the top lip, and then the bottom.
Every inch of me vibrated beneath the surface, hummed and inflamed whenever my body touched his. I rolled my hips and arched closer against him, feeling incredible heat beyond his expensive black suit, and then I licked the inside of his mouth. Like a reflex, he sucked on my tongue. Heat, tiny pricks of heat, consumed me from the inside out.
He pulled back to roughly say, “Ty dazhe na vkus sladkaya.”
I had no idea what it meant, but I didn’t care enough to ask. I just wanted the pressure of his mouth back on mine. I gave in to the urge to slide my tongue across the scar on his lower lip.
The lick saturated the air like some kind of dirty, carnal sin.
With a dark look, he closed the small distance, and I was lost. Any reservation in him melted with every press and dip, every touch of our lips. Each kiss was harder, wetter than before. A blaze seared through me as I drew my blunt nails down the length of his back. He growled low in his throat, and the slow glide of his mouth roughened.
Ronan stepped closer, pressing his hard-on against my lower stomach. When his lips moved to my throat, my head fell against the door with a moan. His hands remained braced on the frame above me. Hot and wet, he kissed a path down my neck that set off sparks deep in my core. My vision turned hazy, a heavy heartbeat pounding between my legs. I was a combustible ball of fire burning hotter every second.
He dragged his lips past my collarbone and nipped the soft flesh above my bodice. My nipples tightened at the closeness and warmth of his mouth. I was losing my mind in this hallway; would suddenly do anything for him to tug my dress down, bare my breasts, and put his mouth on them.
My hands were all over him: his face, his hair, now sliding up beneath his vest to feel his stomach, which was as tight as it looked.
“Touch me,” I begged.
His hands didn’t move from above my head, but as if he knew what I needed, he pressed his thigh between mine. Right against my clit. I panted, a wave of pleasure sliding down my spine when I rocked against it, already feeling the budding pressure of release.
I was nothing but need, flushed and wet and wanting.
He pulled back, his eyes narrowed but full of heat as he watched where I grinded on him. Watched the bare length of thigh that showed through the slit in my dress. Tension lit the line of his shoulders, tightened the muscles in his arms, and the idea he might be trying to stop only made me more desperate for this to continue.
I gripped a handful of his hair to pull his mouth back to mine. He refused. I tugged harder. He made a rough noise in his chest, then his eyes lifted to mine, alight with a challenge. He brushed my lips, but when I moved in to deepen the kiss, he pulled back just out of reach. To tease me, or to make sure I knew who was running the show. When I waited impatiently, he gave me what I wanted, nipping my bottom lip, hard, and then licking it.
I moaned into his mouth and rocked against his leg, needing more friction. The empty pressure between my thighs built and built, and I kissed him without finesse, humming desperately into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he rasped against my lips. “Are you going to come on me, kotyonok?” His accented voice grated abrasively as sand.
I couldn’t say anything if I wanted to.
He pressed his leg harder against me.
I put my face into his neck, biting down when the orgasm whipped through me—a sweltering inferno that knocked the breath from my lungs. In its aftermath, I shivered against him.
He finally touched me, fisting my hair and pulling my head back to look at me.
Eyes half-lidded, my head fell to rest against the door. Maybe I should be embarrassed by how easily and ridiculously fast he brought me to release. Instead, I felt nothing but his body heat, how incredibly hard he was against me, and an overwhelming tingling in my veins.
He stared at me for what felt like a long time. And then I watched something violent sweep away the lust in his eyes. Stepping back, his shoulders tense, he left me cold while I struggled to catch my breath.
“Go inside and lock the door, Mila.” It wasn’t soft at all, nor was it a suggestion.
I watched him for a moment and then acquiesced without a word.
Once the door shut behind me, I slid down it, trembling, while the hot burn of his lips still smoldered on my skin.
