All the Lies We Tell (Quarry Road #1)(34)

She knew, somehow, that’s where she’d find Nikolai. The wonky latch on the attic door hung loose as she opened it. She then put a foot on the bare wooden stair and listened. She could warn him that she was coming up, but she didn’t. Her breath caught in her throat as she ascended, her hand on the wooden railing worn smooth by years of palms passing over it. As her head cleared the floor level and she could look into the attic space, she saw him.

He wore a pair of black dress pants and a pale-blue button-down open at the throat to reveal the first few curling dark hairs on his chest. He’d slicked his hair back from his face, the comb marks defined. The style revealed his profile to her—the high forehead and strong black brows, very much like his brother’s. The high cheekbones and full mouth, very different.

He twisted in his place at the end of the bed to look at her as she came all the way up the stairs. He didn’t look surprised, which amused her. He didn’t look annoyed, which relieved her.

“Hey,” Nikolai said.

“Hey.”

“Mom and Ilya are—”

“In the living room. I know. Theresa told me. I heard someone else arriving just after I did, but I’m not sure who it was.” Alicia looked around the space. Same sagging double bed with the brass headboard wedged into the only space that allowed you to stand upright. Same battered dresser and shelves built in against the walls.

How many hours had they spent up here, she thought in a bit of a daze as her feet moved of their own accord. No hesitation in her step, no matter what she might be feeling or thinking. Or not thinking, as the case might be.

There was the stack of board games and puzzles missing pieces. In the back corner, where the ceiling almost met the floor, she’d find the outline of their hands, traced in Magic Marker, if she looked. Memories of things they’d already done.

She was here to make some new ones.

“It’s hard to believe she’s gone.” Nikolai leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His shoulders hunched. He shook his head once, twice, looking at the floor. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long, especially when I knew she wasn’t doing so well.”

“You came back. That’s what matters.” Standing in front of him, Alicia put her fingertips on the top of his head. His thick, dark hair, so much softer than Ilya’s, brushed her knuckles. She tightened her fingers in it, tipping his face up.

“I wasn’t here . . .”

“You were here when it counted,” she told him.

Moments later she was on his lap with her mouth full of the taste of him. His hands clung to her hips while hers cupped his face. Her skirt tangled around her knees, making it difficult to straddle him, and he rolled them both onto the bed in a twist of arms and legs.

“Allie—”

She shut him up with another kiss. She didn’t want to hear him talk about how this was wrong, or how they shouldn’t. Later they could talk this to death, if they had to. Or they could ignore it and live with the guilt. Right now, all she cared about was touching him.

With a low groan, Nikolai opened his mouth to her. At the nip of her teeth on his bottom lip, his moan became a small growl. He opened his eyes to look into hers, his brow furrowed. Deliberately, his gaze never wavering, he pushed his hand between them, beneath her skirt. Up, up, pushing her thighs apart to get his fingers against the front of her panties.

When he rubbed his thumb slowly over the front of the silky fabric, Alicia bit back a moan of her own. Her hand slid from his face to grip his shoulder. Her nails dug deep enough to make him wince but did nothing to deter him from circling his thumb against her again, all without ever looking away from her.

She should’ve known better than to think she could ever be in control of this. With Nikolai, it was always, and would always be, a matter of one-upping the other. Winning had been so important to both of them as kids—but could there be a loser in this? She nudged his chin upward so she could get her teeth at the sensitive flesh of his throat. She nipped him, urging Nikolai to arch and grind against her, as his fingertips skidded a little higher and then dipped inside the waistband of her panties.

He covered her mouth with his hand when she moaned again. The salt taste of his skin sent a shudder of pleasure all through her, even as the urge to bite him so he would take his hand away made her bare her teeth. Instead, she reached between them to yank at his belt buckle and find the zipper beneath. Her hand was in the front of his pants a few seconds after that, her fingers curling over the hot, hard bulge in the front of his briefs.

The headboard squeaked as they rocked the creaking bed frame, shifting and moving against each other. Frantic. Furtive. She couldn’t touch enough of him—she couldn’t open herself to him fast enough.

Yet there was the barrier of clothes and the necessity for silence, even though she doubted anyone would hear them from downstairs unless they started shrieking. Nikolai rolled them again, and her hair came down from the loose knot. His elbow landed on it, pulling hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her low cry of protest was still muffled by his covering hand. It became a different sort of cry when he replaced his palm with his mouth. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and she no longer minded the ache in her neck from the angle it was being bent into by the weight of him on her hair.

They shifted again, this time ending with her on top of him. Her knees gripped his sides. Her hands moved over his belly, pushing his shirt up to reveal the taut muscles beneath. With shaking hands, she traced the line of thick black hair curling below his belly button and disappearing into his briefs. His erection pressed the soft fabric, a hint of his flesh peeking out from the waistband; when she drew her fingertips along it, Nikolai bucked his hips upward and grabbed her wrist to stop her.