Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
The shed was barely big enough for the two of us, and his presence filled it, steady and unshakable, like an anchor. Larger than life.
I tried to stop shaking, wrapping my arms around myself. The fabric of my dress clung to me. Now that Semyon was here, I became viscerally aware of every sensation. The cold drops of rain down my spine felt heavy as I tracked them falling between my breasts and trailing between my thighs. But it wasn’t just the cold that had me trembling now.
“Anya,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the howl of the wind outside the flimsy shed, as if saying my name out loud made my presence here more solid. I loved the sweet lilt of my name in his rough voice. I wanted to record it and play it on repeat as I fell asleep at night. “What are you doing in here?”
I glared at him. “The same thing you are, obviously.”
He looked away, shrugging off his coat with practiced ease, his movements, as always, methodical, deliberate. “You’re freezing,” he said bluntly.
I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I lied, but my teeth chattered, betraying me.
“Your lips are blue.” Without another word, his piercing gaze didn’t leave mine as he stepped closer. My heart leaped, excited panic sweeping through me. Was he—no. I stood frozen as he draped his coat over my shoulders. The outside was still damp, but the inside was warm and soft and carried his scent. The smell of him was sharp, masculine—woodsy and clean. I was instantly wide awake, my blood heating under my skin.
I clung to his jacket, a lifeline.
“You’re soaked too,” I whispered, looking up at him, admitting too late that I was, indeed, freezing.
His hair, jet black and usually meticulously groomed, was plastered to his forehead, droplets of rain trailing down his sharp jawline.
I realized with startling awareness how I wanted to lick them off.
I was startled by how quickly my thoughts turned sexual, but I was eighteen years old, lonely, and irrevocably in love.
“I’m fine,” he said simply, his tone calm, unbothered. But there was something about the way he stood—his shoulders tense, his eyes scanning the tiny space as if searching for threats. He wasn’t afraid of the storm. In my mind, Semyon wasn’t afraid of anything.
I sank to the floor and pulled his coat tighter around me. “Do you think it’s safe in here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as thunder boomed and lightning lit up the sky. “If lightning hits—”
“We have a better statistical chance of that happening than we do winning the lottery three times in succession.” His voice was quiet, but there was a certainty in it that made me believe him. Some people poked fun at him for his analytical brain that clung to data and facts, but there was something about it I couldn’t explain that made me swoon. “Anyway,” he continued, “storms don’t last forever.”
I clung to that line and made it mine.
Storms don’t last forever.
Your father won’t always be a drunk.
Your brother won’t always be stealing from him.
You won’t always have to fight for food for your younger brother or hold it together so your mother doesn’t cry.
As for Semyon—you won’t always have to be the strong one, the guardian, the big brother.
Please don’t always be the big brother.
The air between us felt charged, heavier than it should have been, as electric as the lightning outside the shed.
His knee brushed mine.
I wondered if it was accidental. But the spark I felt jolted straight through the fabric, and he didn’t move away.
I tried to focus on the storm—the rain pounding against the thin roof, the wind rattling the tree branches outside, the clouds moving like soldiers prepared for battle. But I couldn’t help it. My eyes were glued to the way Semyon’s chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, visible under his soaked shirt. The way the fabric clung to his body, outlining the muscles beneath. When lightning struck again, it illuminated the glorious tattoos inked across his arms and neck.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the storm. He turned his head and locked his gaze on mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The space between us seemed to shrink, and I almost forgot about the raging storm outside.
“It’s nothing,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine.
Was he talking about the coat?
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him, my breath catching. Was it my imagination, or was he leaning closer? No, he was definitely leaning closer. His hand came up, brushing a strand of wet hair away from my face. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it left a trail of undeniable heat in its wake. My body came alive, electric.