Chapter 5: The Predator At The Door

NICO

The water is hot enough to sting, just the way I like it. The steam curls around me and blurs the tiled room. My head tips back and the spray pounds against my neck and shoulders, grounding me. 

I contemplate closing my eyes and falling asleep right here in the shower because… why not?

I've done it before, back then, when it got so bad. I actually slept under the shower that day, to see if it could wash away all my sins, but it didn't. 

I should be thinking about a dozen other things. My dwindling list of allies, how long I can push Sasha before he decides I’m not worth the oxygen I’m stealing or the main reason I was sent here. 

Instead, I'm thinking about that day, that place. Him. 

Then I feel it.

The prickle at the back of my neck.

You know the feeling when someone’s eyes are on you, heavy enough to press into your skin. Like a predator watching its prey, but the thing is, I’ve never been good at being prey.

I turn my head just enough to see him.

Sasha. Well, colour me surprised. 

He's standing in the doorway like a statue carved out of ice, and doesn’t move. I don’t think he even blinks. 

He doesn’t say a word. Just watches. 

And fuck me, that stare, flat and unblinking, full of things he’d never admit out loud. 

For a beat, neither of us moves. The only sound is the water slapping tile and the rough pull of my own breath.

I could cover myself. Pretend I didn’t see him. Act like a sane person. But hey, where’s the fun in that?

Instead, I turn fully, letting him see me in my full glory. He's privileged. 

The water slides down my chest, over my stomach, catching at the curve of my cock. Said cock is already thickening just from the weight of his stare. 

His eyes drop for a split second. Just one. But I catch it.

Interesting. I wonder what reaction I will get if I ‘unconsciously’ touch myself. 

“Well, well,” I murmur, loud enough for him to hear over the spray. “Didn’t know we were doing the whole… voyeur thing.”

Still no reaction. No shift in his stance.

God, he’s infuriating.

And maybe that’s why I do it. Maybe that’s why my hand moves, slowly at first. Curling around myself, stroking lazily and deliberately. The kind of pace you take when you want to make someone wait for it.

His gaze doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t blink.

But it’s not indifference.

No, this is worse. This is hunger pretending to be boredom.

My smirk curves sharply. “You could come in, you know. Water’s hot.”

Nothing. But he can't hide the tent already forming in his pants.

So I up and lengthen my strokes. My grip tightens.

I move my hips in a rhythm that tortures him. I know it does. 

Every slide of my hand is exaggerated, slick with heat and water, my thumb pressing just right. 

His jaw ticks.

I can already taste my Victory. 

“Gonna just stand there, Sasha?” My voice is low now, all smoke and challenge. “Or are you gonna do something about your little problem. 

I don’t expect him to answer. And he doesn’t.

He just keeps watching.

And for some twisted reason, that’s hotter than anything else he could’ve done.

By the time I'm close, aching and biting my teeth on a curse, his stare is burned into me like a brand. 

Who knew I had exhibitionist traits? I sure didn't. 

I've never done anything like this, and yet, it feels so right. 

I come hard, against my fist and the tile. The thought that he just watched me come doesn't deter me as I stroke harder emptying my sac with a low grunt. 

Damn, that felt great. 

The water washes it all away in seconds.

He stands there for another beat, then walks away. 

But his eyes?

Those will stick for some time.

          ——————

I towel off, hair dripping down my shoulders, and swipe my phone off the counter. 

I find one missed call from her. Of course. 

I sigh and hit video call.

“’ Bout time,” my sister’s face pops up, framed by that messy bun she always does when she’s been pacing. “You look…wait. Are you naked?”

“Relax,” I say, leaning back against the counter with the towel slung low. “It’s not like you haven’t seen worse at the beach house, besides you're family so this is wholesome content”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve been in therapy ever since. 

Nico for the love of God, put some clothes on, per favore. And wholesome isn't the word I’d use for you. ”

I grin. “Harsh. I missed you too, Sorellina.”

She pauses, and I catch the flicker in her eyes. The one she gets when she wants to ask if I’m okay but won’t, because we both know I’ll dodge it.

“You look… twitchy,” she says finally. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I lie, too easily. “Just a long day.”

Her gaze sharpens, but she lets it go. Out loud, at least. “Papà asked if you were keeping your head down.”

I chuckle, low. “You know me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mutters. “You can’t keep poking at people over there. The Russians aren’t…” she stops herself, glancing off-screen, voice dropping “they aren’t family, Nico. They don’t forgive. Ever.”

I feel that stare from earlier crawl over my skin again.

“They bleed like anyone else,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You could come home, you know. Just saying.”

“Not my style,”

She exhales through her nose, the way she does when she’s biting back ten other arguments. “Fine. Just… call me before I have to hunt you down, okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “You’ll be the first to know if I get murdered.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

We sit there in silence for a second longer before she gives me one last glare and hangs up.

I drop the phone on the counter and catch my reflection in the fogged mir

ror.

Still damp and still smirking.

But my mind flashes back to the main reason why I am here.