Sasha: Chapter 50

Our breathing slowly evened out but our hearts beat hard in perfect harmony.

Either that or I’d become poetic from the explosive orgasms this man was giving me. Yeah, physical connection wasn’t everything but… Oh. My. Gosh. It was definitely something here.

I curled up into Sasha, soaking up his warmth. Yes, I grew up in Montréal, but it didn’t mean I loved the cold. The beach and sun were always more preferable.

I listened to Sasha breathe while my fingers roamed his body, tracing the ink. He had so much of it. I loved it. It was a story, his life, laid out on his skin. I wanted to know all of it. He gave me a glimpse of who he was earlier, but I wanted to know everything. It was easy to demand all of him, but it was so goddamn hard to give him all of me.

My fingers came across the bite mark and fresh ink and I paused. Did he–

I traced it, feeling my throat squeeze. He tattooed my bite mark onto his skin. I hadn’t noticed it until now

“Why do you have so much ink?” I asked, almost holding my breath.

“To remember.”

I lifted my head to see his expression. “Remember what?”

No answer. My palms resumed roaming his chest. I couldn’t stop touching him.

“How old were you when you got your first tattoo?” His body tensed under my palms.

“Young.”

My eyebrows shot up. “How young.”

“Eleven or so.”

I knew there was a story behind his ink. My eyes roamed over his tattoos. It was like watching a story laid out in images. Endless Knot. The Christian Cross. Mythological creatures. Words in Cyrillic.

Maybe it was silly but I wanted to know more. What drove him. What made him. I wanted to understand him. For all Sasha’s directness, I didn’t know much about him. He was psychotic, dangerous, deadly. But that wasn’t all. There were layers I needed to peel to get the real Sasha.

“Which tattoo was your first one?” I asked, touching every inch of his skin.

He pointed to his ribs. A tattoo of Nemesis stared back at me. Mythology wasn’t my strong suit but I seemed to recall it was a goddess of indignation and retribution.

“Nemesis?” I asked just to be sure.

“Da.” His voice was rough, a hint of emotion thick in it.

“Why that particular one?”

Invisible walls rose all around him. I was practically on top of him but he might as well be thousands of miles away.

But he answered. “She reminded me of my mother.”

“Why?”

“Nemesis could bring about losses and suffering,” he said, his voice colder than the winter temperatures in Siberia.

“Why did you pick that tattoo?”

“Because my mother brought nothing but pain and suffering,” he remarked, his tone dry and his words rougher. It was the first time I heard a hint of his Russian accent.

I stilled, goosebumps rose on my arms. The temperature in the room took a dive. His mother must have hurt him for his expression to darken. Maybe God worked in mysterious ways after all. Connected us with our other half that mirrored our own scars. So we could help each other heal.

“Did she hurt you?” I choked out.

He shook his head. “Not like that. She just ensured we all suffered because of her rage at our father’s infidelity. She couldn’t let go so she made sure we suffered right along with her.”

There was more to Sasha than his psychotic behavior. There was a side of him that he kept tightly reined in. I wanted to know that side of him. I wanted to know all of him.

Before I could say anything else, he ripped the covers off me and tossed me onto my back. His body came down on mine and I slid my arms around him, soaking up his warmth. He was so big, his body a heavy blanket on my body.

His lips brushed mine as my palms roamed over the smooth muscles of his back. One day, I’d explore every single tattoo on his body and learn what they meant.

He kissed me, slow and deep, different from the rough way he fucked me earlier. My thighs parted, welcoming him back inside me.

This time his thrusts were deep and slow, like he wanted to savor the moment for as long as he could.