The pressure builds cruel and sweet—ripe peaches splitting their skins. His choked groan as I crest syncs perfectly with the pulse between my legs. White light fractures the screen when I start to convulse, his shirt damp with sweat and other things.
“I— I— I— I love you, Sasha Ozerov.”
Post-climax tremors make the phone wobble in my grip.
When I finally still, he’s breathing like he ran here from Manhattan. We stare at each other through the pixelated wreckage—naked in ways that have nothing to do with skin.
I gulp, my mouth suddenly dry. “Did you…?”
Sasha shakes his head. “No, and I don’t want to. I’m saving myself for you, ptichka. When I get back—that’s when I f*****g get back, not ‘if’—I’m going to give you every single part of me. Head to toe, heart to soul. And then I’m going t
