Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“You’re really going to shoot cans?” I ask.
“Sure am.”
“It won’t kill you to stay still for a while.”
“Nah, I’d rather do something fun.”
“Have you always had that?”
He tilts his head in my direction. “Had what?”
“Restless energy?”
“I don’t think it’s restless per se. I just was never allowed to be still, I guess. My father always had some course or shit lined up for me, and laziness didn’t sit well with him.” He pauses, smiling without humor. “You once asked me if my life is worth so little to me. It actually isn’t, but from a young age, I was conditioned to never look weak, and my brain thinks the best way to showcase my strength is to dare death whenever I can.”
My heart squeezes, thinking about the absolute hell he’s been through with his dad. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Yuli. You’re the strongest guy I know.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Stronger than Niko?”
“Yeah.
“Stronger than you?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He’s grinning wide. “Come on, join me for shooting.”
“No, thanks.”
“Your loss, baby.” He grabs the gun from the table next to the lounge chair I’m lying on and winks, grinning.
Fucking hell.
I subtly adjust myself because my cock is begging for attention just at that wink, and if Yulian finds out, he’ll definitely tease me and restart the fuck fest.
Not that I mind, to be honest. We’ve had enough of a break.
Yulian lifts his arm, his shoulders relaxed but in the right stance as he fires. The can wobbles and falls.
“Bull’s-eye!” He cranes his head in my direction. “You saw that, Mishka.”
“It’s not that impressive.”
He raises his brow. “Show me what you got, then.”
“Not interested.”
“Because I’m totally a better shot than you?”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I beat your ass in the shooting range back at the camp.”
I jump up from the lounge chair and grab my own gun, then stand beside him, the damp grass swallowing my feet.
He smirks, thinking he’s won, but truly, I’ve willingly taken the bait. My shoulder brushes his as I aim and shoot. The can wobbles a bit but stays standing.
“That still counts,” I say.
“It didn’t fall.”
“It moved and I hit it.”
He steps behind me, close enough that I feel his soft exhales on my nape. His hand slides over my forearm, correcting the angle, nudging my stance firmer with his knee.
It’s so close to my inner thigh, my cock takes notice.
“Like this,” he murmurs near my ear.
I tip my head back, my eyes sliding to his. “What are you doing?”
“Correcting your stance.”
“It’s perfectly fine. You’re just searching for an excuse to touch me.” I keep staring at him as I shoot, hitting the can clean.
“That was hot, baby.” He squeezes my arm. “A man who can shoot has a special place in my heart.”
“Is that so?” I fire again, knocking another can over while looking at him.
“Careful, Mishka.” He wraps an arm around my waist, slamming me back against him. “You’re turning this into foreplay.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?” I wrap my hand with the gun around his neck, rubbing my ass on his growing erection. “Wrestle me for who gets to fuck the other first?”
“Always, baby.” He drops his lips to mine with a groan, then pulls away for a beat. “Can you not leave tomorrow?”
The pout in his voice nearly undoes me.
He’s been asking that for the last couple of weeks, and it’s becoming harder to tell him “You know I have to” or “Yes, I do.”
Because I don’t want to leave either.
The more time I spend with him, getting fully submerged in his chaos, the more I don’t want to go back to my monotonous life where he’s not there.
But I can’t say that, so I kiss him hard, fusing his body with mine.
This is the only way I can show him how much he means to me.
How much he’s changed my life.
Even if it’s temporary.
30
YULIAN
Not to be dramatic, but the last two months have been the happiest time of my life since…well, ever, really.
It’s like I’m back to being the giddy kid who bulldozed a wall at the park, fell down, then jumped right back up. Mama shook her head and wiped the mud off my face—and mouth. What? I was curious to see how it tasted, which isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be, by the way.
It’s similar now—that sense of freedom and happiness without limits.
I’m whistling and performing sort of a dance on my bike as the road flashes in the background. The reason for my uplifted mood is fairly simple.
It’s Friday!
My favorite day of the week ever. I loathe Sunday to pieces while we’re at it, since that’s the day Vaughn leaves.
But no, nope, I’m not thinking about that unholy day—and yes, church, I called Sunday unholy, and no, I won’t apologize. I won’t be accepted in heaven anyway.