"The Underground Fighter and His Kitten"
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Sasha "Kayo" Sokolov is a Russian fighter who was sent to America at a young age. One day, he met a young girl by the name of Everleigh Wilson, who taught him how to speak English, and helped him with his s...
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Sasha was in his shower. The moment we entered his apartment, he went into his bedroom, leaving me alone to inspect his home all by myself. It was like a bachelor pad. The living room had a black couch perched in front of a big flat screen television. There was a fluffy white rug that took up most of the room. There were huge floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the entire city. The glass table that was centered directly in front of the couch really set it off along with some hung paintings.
I slowly made my way over to the kitchen that was actually kind of small and looked particularly unused. My nosiness pleaded with me to take a little peek in the black refrigerator, but I refrained. I knew my limits.
That was really all there was to it. Except, there was a door that led directly to Sasha's room where he was showering.
Just then, my phone began to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket, hopeful that Xyah and I's friendship meant a hell of a lot more than some abusive asshole, but apparently, it didn't. It was some unknown number that I didn't have the energy to answer. Instead, I watched it ring before sitting down on the soft cushions of the couch, wanting nothing more than to melt away.
I was about to drift off into sleep when Sasha's door squeaked open. I looked over to catch his mouth-watering toned legs that led up to a white towel tied around his waist. It did a good job of containing what connected his v-line. There was trimmed pubic hair that stopped at the very beginning of his abs which glistened with water. My eyes had a mind of their own as they wandered up to his strong pecs that were covered with tattoos and down his long arms packed with muscles and veins. Not to mention, his wet, dark hair imperfectly falling to his ears in the most perfect way. His eyes found mine as the pools of gray called out to me.
"Everleigh," he called, breaking me from whatever trance he put me in. I cleared my throat and looked out toward the view outside, hoping that he wouldn't dare bring up catching me checking him out.
"You can sleep in my room. I will sleep on the couch," he told me.
"What?" I questioned, turning to face him again. He had crossed his arms which didn't help my imagination at all. He was still the most handsome man I had ever seen.
"Come on," he said, beckoning me over with the slight bob of his head. I was like a moth drawn to a flame with the way I stood and followed him into the room. The way he called me to his room was so innocent, but my hormones just wouldn't let that slide.
His room fit him perfectly. It even smelled like him—clean with a hint of spice. It reminded me of luxury cologne the way it hit me but in a way that wasn't annoying, but rather addicting and alluring. His room was all black. From the black silk sheets to the black comforter. Even the curtains that hid the floor to ceiling windows were black. The only thing that wasn't black was the white rug planted just underneath his bed. There was a long dresser with a huge flat screen sitting on top and a black Chester Drawer. His room was very similar to the living room
