Trust - Page 133

I shake my head. “Don’t. I need you.”

“You need me to untie you,” Ilya corrects. He starts with my cock, where the ropes are less snug thanks to my cock no longer being hard. He still takes his time untying the rope and setting it aside.

“Ilya…” I mumble.

He moves on to my wrists, carefully untying and uncoiling the rope so my arms can finally separate. As soon as my hands are free, I reach for Ilya. I don’t know what I want, but I know I want him close.

Ilya indulges me, kissing me again and petting my hair.

“Do you need me to make you come again?” Ilya asks softly. “I really am too old to go again, but you…” He lays a warm hand around my cock.

I shake my head. “No. I just want you, Ilya.”

“You have me,” Ilya answers with a smile. “But it’s still my job to take care of you. So sit up, pretty boy, so I can untie the rest of you.”

It takes me a moment, languid as I am, to sit up completely, and he ends up having to help me. He carefully unties the ropes, and he rubs his hands over my chest where the ropes had been.

It’s sensitive, but not overly so, and I hum in pleasure at the feeling of his hands on me.

“I could stay like this forever,” I whisper. “Here, with you.”

“Me too,” Ilya answers. He helps me lie down again and smooths his hand over my chest. “That was amazing, Mishka. You look so good with rope.”

“You’re so good with it,” I tell him with a soft sigh. “You’re so good with everything.” I pause, watching him as we share a comfortable silence for several beats. Then I reach out, touching his hand. “Ilya?”

“Mishka?” he replies.

I smile at him, take a deep breath, then whisper, “I love you.”

Ilya’s mouth drops open.

He stares at me.

And he doesn’t respond.

The deep languor that had gripped me begins to dissipate.

“Ilya?” I whisper. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have?—”

“No!” Ilya grabs my hand and kisses it. “You should have. You caught me by surprise. Because I am a violent man, and I never thought I could ever find love. It is not meant for men like me.” He smiles at me, his eyes shimmering. “I am so happy, Mishka. I love you too. I think I have loved you since the day I heard your sad music. I knew I wanted you then. I knew if your music was happy, it would be the most glorious thing in the world.”

My own eyes tear up. “I wouldn’t call it glorious,” I tell him. But I love that he loves it.

I love that he lovesme.

I wrap my arms around him, forming myself against his body. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I say, because once isn’t enough. “Just like you are.”

“You have changed my life so much,” Ilya says as he returns the embrace. “You made me see I was still stuck. You gave me a reason to change myself.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t because of me,” I tell him. “But… I won’t lie and say I’m not happy you decided to make some changes around you.”

It isn’t that I wouldn’t have stayed with him if he’d remained with the bratva in other capacities — I would have — but knowing he only has the restaurants to contend with eases something inside of me.

Ilya twines his fingers with mine and kisses my knuckles. “For you. My beautiful Mishka.” He lets go so he can stroke my hair. I close my eyes and sight with contentment.

I’m halfway to dozing when Ilya says, “The sheets. And cleanup. You’ll be sad if you wake up with cum in your pubic hair.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumble, clinging more tightly to him. “Need you to stay right here.”

“Okay.” Ilya sits up enough to grab the comforter from the foot of the bed and pull it over us. “You’ll also be sad when the big blanket has cum stains,” he mumbles. “But this is why?—”

“—detergent exists,” I finish with him. It’s a familiar line, one he’d had to repeat for me every time I’d panicked about the sheets being dirty or something else staining.

I’ve come so far, and while I have a long way to go, I’ll have Ilya by my side.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.