Page 50 of Break Me Open
Avoidance has officially failed. Whatever this is, I’ve stepped into it with both feet, and the scariest part isn’t the risk or the rules or the fact that I might lose everything if it goes wrong.
The scariest part is the quiet, undeniable thought sitting in the centre of my chest.
It was fucking worth it.
Eighteen
Arseny
For a moment, I stand there in the hallway, breathing heavily as if I’ve just sprinted. “Blyad’,” I mutter to the empty corridor, dragging a hand down my face. I can still taste him. “You’re fucked now, detka,” I whisper to myself.
The air out here is cold, but I feel like I’m burning up. My back’s pressed to the wall, and all I can see when I close my eyes is the look on his face right before he kissed me. It’s not like the first time. This one was deliberate, premeditated even. He hunted me down, waited for me between the crates and racks, with all that righteous British fury pulsing under his skin.
And then... his hands were all over me.
A shove into the racks, and my laugh died halfway out of my throat when his mouth crashed into mine. I didn't question it; I just grabbed hold and answered him with my tongue down his throat.
His kiss was intense, as if he were trying to win some invisible battle. There were teeth, tongue, and that little caught sound in his chest he made the first time I bit his lip. His fingers dug into my shirt like he was trying to climb inside me.
I push off the wall slowly. My heart is still going hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. My mouth is — well — wrecked. In a good way, but it’s still unacceptable.
He’s just a man. Yeah, just a man whose tongue you nearly swallowed. I snort at myself. Walk it off, Zakirov.
Men like him don’t let unresolved tension exist; it offends their sense of order. That’s why I threw gasoline on it everychance I got by ignoring him. And he stepped right into the trap. The best part is he still thinks it was his idea.
By the time I finish the bare minimum of “working” so no one can say I was lazy, the worst of the buzz is gone. The heat isn’t, but that I can manage.
The base feels different when you’re trying not to look guilty. Same shitty fluorescent lights, same scuffed floors, but everything is cranked up a notch now. Every person in my peripheral vision feels like they’re walking toward me. Every passing glance feels like it’s going on a report.
No one knows anything, I remind myself.
From the outside, we’re just two soldiers who don’t get along. That’s all anyone expects. A group of my guys come down the corridor, laughing at something. One of them — Petrov — tips his chin at me. “Sergeant, you look suspiciously happy,” he says. “Someone died?”
“Not yet,” I reply. “Why are you volunteering?” The others laugh, and Petrov flips me off, good-naturedly. It’s almost disappointingly simple to slip back into the role.
“Briefing in ten,” he adds as they pass. “Niko wants you there.”
“Of course he does,” I mutter. I take the stairs two at a time, more to bleed off energy than because I’m late. On the landing, I nearly collide with Niko himself. He stops dead and he reaches out instinctively to steady me by the arm.
“Whoa,” he says. “Where’s the fire?”
I freeze for a second, and he squints at me. “What?” I say, too fast.
He tilts his head, studying my face with infuriating big-brother accuracy. “You look...” He gestures vaguely at me. “Wired. Did you start drinking already?”
“Do I look stupid?” I say, offended.
He snorts. “That’s not a no.”
“I’m fine,” I add, rolling my shoulder out of his grip. “Just had an argument.”
“With who?” he asks, and then his eyes narrow in immediate suspicion. “If you say ‘with one of the British’, I’m going to have an aneurysm.”
“Relax,” I say, letting my mouth curl.“Your pet Lance Corporal is still alive.”
Niko makes a face. “He’s not my pet.”
“Mm,” I hum. “You talk about him a lot for someone who isn’t your pet.”
