NIKOLAI
I DON'T KNOW why I cared.
Claude wasn't my responsibility. He wasn't anything to me. But when he flinched yesterday—when I saw that flicker of fear in his eyes—I wanted to rip apart whoever put it there.
I'd never felt this way before. Never.
The partners in my life had always been transactional. I gave them what they wanted, took what I needed, and left it at that. No questions. No complications. No strings. Yet here I was, lying in bed, the early morning light bleeding through the curtains, thinking about him.
His breathing filled the room—slow, steady, but not the kind of calm you'd expect from someone still asleep.
"I know you're awake, Claude." My voice cut through the silence, and I heard the subtle shift of sheets as he tensed.
I turned my head toward him, though the space between us still felt like miles.
He didn't answer. Just drew in a sharp breath.
"You have an accent," he said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. "I noticed it yesterday when we—"
"When I made you come all over my hand?" I interrupted, my lips curling into a grin at the memory. His sharp inhale was the only response, and under the sheets, my cock stirred at the sound.
"I'm surprised you caught that," I said, pushing my hair back. "I grew up in America but moved back to Russia a few years ago."
"Your family must be there."
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. For a moment, I wondered if he was asking about more than just family.
"Something like that," I said, my tone deliberately vague. No way in hell was I going to mention the bloodstained empire I'd inherited.
Silence settled over us again, but I could feel him working up to something.
"You never came," he said finally.
My brows furrowed. "What?"
"Yesterday. In the bathroom. And… last night."
I couldn't help but laugh at his bluntness, the sound low and rough.
I reached for him in the darkness, my fingers finding his jaw, then sliding down to his lips. When my thumb grazed them, he parted them slightly, and before I could react, his tongue flicked over the pad of my thumb.
My cock twitched at his boldness.
"Did you want me to come, Claude?" I asked, my voice dropping lower as I ran my palm along his jaw and down his neck.
He didn't answer right away. The pause stretched, but when I started to pull my hand back, he grabbed it.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
That was all I needed.
I pulled him toward me, dragging him onto my lap until he straddled me. We were both naked—had been since last night—and the heat of his skin against mine sent a jolt of electricity through me.
My fingers threaded through his hair as I crushed his mouth to mine. The kiss was all teeth and desperation, our breaths mingling as I tilted his head back to take more. When his lips parted, I slid my tongue inside, swallowing the moan he couldn't hold back.
My hands roamed down his back, over his smooth skin, until they landed on his ass. I spread him open, the head of my cock nestling between his cheeks. He tensed, and I pulled back from the kiss, both of us breathing heavily.
"I won't fuck you unless you want me to," I said, surprised by how much I meant it. "Unless you're comfortable."
"Okay," he muttered, his voice trembling.
The way he looked at me then—with hooded eyes and a vulnerability I wasn't used to seeing—made my cock throb.
I reached between us, gripping his length and stroking him slowly. He moaned, his head falling back as his fingers dug into my shoulders. Precum slicked my palm, and I tightened my grip, teasing him until he was writhing above me.
But then he pushed back, slipping free of my hand.
"No," he said, his voice unsteady. "I want to make you feel good too."
His fingers found my cock, stroking me with an unsure but eager rhythm. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
I covered his hand with mine, stilling him. "I can't come from just a hand job, Claude," I said bluntly, and his brows drew together in confusion.
Before he could say anything, I leaned closer. "I need a hole. A mouth. Something tight and wet. Will you suck my cock, Claude?"
He didn't hesitate.
Within seconds, he was sliding down the bed, settling between my legs. His fingers gripped me firmly, and the sight of him like that—kneeling, his eyes dark with lust—nearly undid me.
And when his lips wrapped around me, I knew I was a fucking goner.
Claude's touch was tentative, almost shy, but there was nothing about the way it made me feel that was soft. Heat coiled low in my stomach, and every stroke of his hand, hesitant or not, sent a shiver racing through me.
It wasn't perfect—his grip a little unsure, his movements a little stiff—but fuck, I didn't care. Watching him like this, learning what I liked, trying to please me… It was better than perfect. It was addictive.
"Relax," I said, my voice low and rough as my hand slid into his hair. The strands were soft, silky, and I tugged gently, guiding him. "Take your time. There's no rush."
His lips parted, and when the heat of his breath hit me, I had to clench my jaw to keep from groaning. Then came the first tentative touch of his tongue—light, barely there—and my head fell back, a guttural sound escaping me.
"Good," I murmured, tightening my fingers in his hair. "Just like that. Start slow. Get me wet."
The flick of his tongue over the sensitive tip made my hips twitch, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep control. My eyes dropped to him, taking in the sight of his lips glistening, his cheeks flushed.
"Fuck, you're so pretty like this." The words slipped out before I could stop them, but they were true. He was gorgeous, all nervous energy and determination, and the combination was enough to wreck me.
Claude glanced up, his wide blue eyes locking with mine, and I almost came right then. But I held back. Barely.
"Take me deeper," I said, my voice rasping as I guided him. "Slowly. That's it… Yeah, like that."
He moaned softly, the vibrations shooting straight through me. One hand gripped my thigh for balance, his nails digging into my skin, while the other slipped between his legs. He was touching himself, and the realization sent a wave of heat straight to my cock.
"That's it," I growled, unable to stop my hips from bucking forward slightly. His lips stretched, his mouth tightening around me, and fuck, the sound he made—a needy little whimper—almost undid me. "You're doing so good, Claude. So fucking good."
The praise seemed to spur him on, and he sank down farther, his tongue swirling around me before pulling back just enough to suck hard on the tip.
"Fuck," I hissed, my free hand gripping the sheets. "You're gonna make me come like this."
Claude moaned again, his throat working as he tried to take me deeper, and Christ, I couldn't look away. His lips were swollen and shiny, his cheeks hollowing with effort, and every now and then, he flicked his gaze up at me, his expression both unsure and eager to please.
It was too much.
My hand tightened in his hair, my control slipping. I thrust shallowly into his mouth, my breath coming faster, my muscles taut. "You're mine," I said, my voice rough. "No one else gets to see you like this. Understand?"
His eyes met mine, and he nodded—barely, but it was enough.
And when his lips closed around me again, sucking harder, his hand stroking the base in perfect rhythm, I knew I wouldn't last.
Not this time.
Not again and I knew—knew— I would never let him go.
At least until we reached land.