sᴜɢᴀʀ sᴛᴏʀᴍ | ✓

35

Amara had two choices.

First, she would make Primo happy so that any of her suggestions would be welcome without hesitations.

Second, tell the truth and threaten to break up with him if he refused to meet his father.

The first one seemed to be the logical decision. She didn't want to lie but threatening him would only make him angry. Worse, he might choose their break up.

Amara took a deep breath and entered the foyer of Luchenko's mansion with a box of homemade cookies she had baked. Conversation flitted in the air and she trudged closer to the source.

Primo's parents were talking.

"What are we going to do, Aslan? I never thought this would happen!" Mama Vida exclaimed, wringing her fingers together.

"I could sue him. We had a deal that he wasn't allowed near Primo," the man replied, pressing a hand on his forehead.

"Maybe we should leave," she suggested and Amara's heart pounded in fear. "Forget this ever happened."

Amara retreated and took the path towards Primo's room with a heavy heart. The possibility of Primo leaving strengthened her resolve to help Zeke. Maybe this way, there was no need for him to flee the country.

She knocked and twisted the doorknob without a second thought. She was familiar with the house that she could go in and nobody would care.

Primo was perched on a window sill. He was in his pajamas, half-naked and strumming his guitar languidly. She bit her lips as their eyes meet. His gaze moved down to her hands.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Amara sat on his blue-covered bed, placing the box on her lap. She licked her lips. "I bumped into a door."

Primo set his guitar down. There was doubt in his eyes but he accepted her explanation. "Will it heal before your competition?"

"Yes. I'll take care of it," she answered with a wide smile. "How about you? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah." He jumped from his spot and settled next to her. "What's that?"

"Oh! It's a gift! I baked the cookies with mom's help but this..." Amara opened the box, setting the cookies aside before she got out a CD. "Here. I chose all the songs."

"A CD? Isn't that too obsolete?" He laughed but scrutinized the list of songs that were plastered on the case. Primo smiled. "Great list. But... what's the occasion?"

"It's our monthsary!"

"Our what?"

Amara chuckled at his bewilderment. She pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Like giving gratitude... for making me happy."

Primo set his gifts down, grabbing her by the shoulders before he crashed his lips to hers. Her back hit the bed as Primo rolled on top of her.

Amara buried a hand in his hair, her legs clamping around his waist. Sighs of pleasure left her mouth as Primo placed kisses on her neck. He groaned when her nails raked his muscled back. His lips moved downward, nipping at the skin on the inside of her thighs as he shoved her pink dress to her stomach.

He stared up at her, eyes wide with the blue fire of desire. "Can I?"

She bit her lip and nodded her agreement.

Primo slid her panties down her long legs. She threw her head back as his tongue met her moist center. Long broad strokes and soft laps. But then, he became ravenous. Hard sucks. Fast licks. Hands digging into her ass, surely forming bruises the next day. Her body burned, blooming and flourishing into a wildfire that caused her to sing a blasphemous tone.

Stars erupted behind her eyes in time with Primo's groan of approval. He climbed up and whispered honeyed words of endearment and admiration next to her ear. Both in Russian and English.

Amara stretched as relaxation set in her body. Primo laid his head on her shoulder, a finger tracing the tip of her North Star tattoo that peeked out from the V of her dress.

"It's my fault isn't it?"

"What?" she asked, her good hand stroking his messy hair.

"Your hand..." he muttered. "It's my fault."

Amara wanted to say it's okay. That she had forgiven him. But as much as she hated it, she knew this was the one advantage she needed. "Do you want me to forgive you?"

"Yes," he replied, rubbing his nose against her jaw. "Fuck, yes, baby."

"Then, let's have lunch," she declared. "And you're not allowed to move from your seat."

"What?" He raised his head to look down at her.

"Is that a no?" She challenged.

Primo sighed. "No. We can even go right now."

Amara waited for Primo to get ready. And while he did, she had arranged the meet-up with Zeke. She had hesitations over this whole thing but when she thought of Primo's resentment, she couldn't help but worry.

Maybe meeting his father would be the first step to healing.

Maybe then... he wouldn't leave.

"Let's go?" Primo asked as he pulled on a sky blue shirt over his jeans.

Amara followed him and they traveled to the Tavern in his car. Their hands locked together when they walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Primo chose their usual seat next to a glass wall. He ordered his favorite shrimp cocktail again while she settled on an apple tart. They conversed although Amara kept glancing towards the entrance.

"Are you okay?" Primo grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "You want me to feed you?"

She laughed. The apple tart was a mess because she used her non-dominant hand. "It's fine."

Just then, Zeke entered with his father.

Amara eyed Primo. "Promise me, alright? You're not allowed to move from that chair."

Confusion crossed his features. "But why?"

Amara stood up. "Think of it as a gift for our monthsary."

"But I gave you a gift already," he said and stuck his tongue out.

She chuckled and pinched his arm for his joke. Amara leaned down to give him a brief kiss. A part of her worried that he wouldn't forgive her but it was a risk she was willing to take.

Anything was better than leaving.

"Good luck," she whispered.

Primo gasped in shock. He cursed as Zeke and his father came into his view.

And Amara swallowed hard as betrayal shone in Primo's blue eyes.