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“Can youpleasekeep the commentary to a minimum? Today is supposed to be fun.”
Muttering something under his breath, Sasha stopped abruptly when a gaggle of children swarmed us. They laughed and shrieked and took off for the pumpkin patch while their harried parents chased after them, sputtering out apologies to us and every other person the kids mobbed.
He was going to kill me. I knew it. In the time we’d been together, the orchard checked off almost everything Sasha hated: people (specifically children), dirt, Halloween, and anything that brought a normal person joy, like apple pies and pumpkin candles.
Slipping my hand in his back pocket, I squeezed his ass through the denim. “It’s not like I asked you to come, you know.You’rethe one who won’t let me out of your sight unless I have a fucking bodyguard.”
Sasha’s head whipped toward me, his icy eyes narrowed. “Has Ilya been a problem? Just tell me and I’ll—”
“No, he’s fine. Jesus!” The last thing I wanted was for my poor bodyguard to catch a beating or a bullet because Sasha was still being insanely overprotective.
“I’m just saying,” I continued with a huff. “I would have been more than happy to come here by myself and leave your grumpy ass in Chicago.”
“Why do you keep calling me grumpy? I’m not grumpy!” he snapped, not doing himself any favors.
“Yep. Just like you’re not gay.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He glanced around quickly and smacked my hand away from his ass, despite the fact it had already been there long enough for anyone to see we were clearlytogether. Or just super-close friends who liked to play grab-ass in the parking lot of a nice, family-friendly destination.
“Literally no one knows you here. We’re not doing any ‘gay shit’ where Sergei or anyone else can see,” I pointed out, opening the door to the barn and facing him with raised brows. His concern wasn’t entirely unfounded, but that was Chicago and this place was safely outside of Sergei’s realm. “I’m buying apple cider donuts and fucking pumpkin butter. Completely harmless.”
He made a face, nose wrinkled and lip curled. “Pumpkin butter?” He sounded out each word, like it was the first time he’d ever heard them. “You put pumpkin in the fucking butter? What iswrongwith you people?”
“No, it’s notbutterbutter. Just… come on!” I stifled a sigh and led the way into the massive barn.
The inside was completely refurbished from what it used to be, jam-packed with people and every homey, country thing you could think of. Food, mostly, but also candles, decorations, books, clothing, and — hopefully the thing that would put my crabby Russian in a better mood — alcohol. It was like someone took the best things about Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas and crammed them into one, giant retail space. For four months out of the year this place was a fall/winter wonderland.
The scent of cinnamon and warm apples hit me the second I stepped inside. For a brief moment, I soaked in all the warm, cozy feels of my favorite season, wondering how the holidays with Sasha were going to go. I knew nothing about Russian Christmas traditions beyond what I Googled. After what happened at the restaurant, I highly doubted we’d be seeing my family for ThanksgivingorChristmas, not that those had ever been fun gatherings by any standard. So, it looked like Sasha and I were going to have to start our own tradition.
Meandering through the crowd, I stopped in front of a display of locally-grown honey. “The apple trees make it even better,” I said, holding a jar up for Sasha to see. “Bet it would taste really good in that layer-cake thing you like so much.”
Rolling his beautiful blue eyes, he snatched the jar and dropped it in a basket he picked up somewhere along the way. God, he was all talk... Outwardly he may have looked like he was enduring unspeakable suffering, buthepicked up a basket, which meant he accepted the fact we were going to be here a while.
With a smug smile, I carried on, grabbing the seasonal essentials and depositing them in the basket. He kept his comments to himself, but the glares were unavoidable. I’m sure he didn’t see a need for any of the shit he was hauling around, but that’s probably because he’d never properly enjoyed all that America had to offer in the fall. If he thoughtthiswas bad, I couldn’t wait to see his face when I decorated for Christmas.
As soon as I had a cider slushy and a box of hot apple cider donuts, I released him from his misery and announced we were going to the car.
“Want one?” I asked as we strolled through the parking lot, offering him a cinnamon-sugar covered piece of heaven.
“No.”
“Are you just being difficult out of principle?”
He popped the hatch on his SUV and set the shopping bags inside before huffing out an answer. “No.”
Which really meant “Yes” and his stubborn ass would never admit it.
Tearing off a piece of the donut, I closed the distance and lifted it toward his mouth. “You know you want to...”
“I will bite you,” he snipped, leaning back and glaring at the innocent baked good like it was poisoned.
“Don’t flirt with me.” I grinned and bit my lower lip, inching the donut closer.
His pale gaze darted around quickly. The coast must have been clear, since he leaned forward and opened his mouth. His lips wrapped around my fingers and his tongue curled, taking possession of the donut while simultaneously licking away the remaining sugar from my fingers. Between his mouth and the smoldering look he gave me, any hope of discretion went right out the window. My dick sat up and took notice immediately and there was no way I was going to suffer through a case of blue balls the entire ride home, no matter how fast he drove.
Grabbing his hand, I yanked him away from the car, heading toward the pumpkins.
“Where are we going now?” His voice was rough, but for once he didn’t rip his hand away.
