DIMA (Filthy Rich Alphas)

I gazed around and shrugged. “I’m not the type of person to tell someone what they’re doing too much of, especially when it brings no harm to anyone.”

“Yet?”

I grinned. “It’s. . .a lot, but. . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s you.” I walked over to the other wall. “And I like the idea of learning more about you. I’m a nosy journalist after all.”

“You’re much more than that.”

I grinned and took in a few of them. “You like the 1940’s?”

“I like the style.”

“Why gangster action figures?”

“When I was a kid, I loved Care Bears, but my mother wouldn’t allow me to collect them.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Why not?”

“Too sweet. Not hard enough. She started giving me these guys. Eventually I became stuck on them.” He pointed to a big-bellied boss smoking a cigar. “This was the first one.”

“And now, how many do you have?”

“I stopped counting at two hundred.”

“Wow.”

“I should stop, but I probably won’t. There’s a happiness that comes to me when I add a new soldier to my collection. And there’s an excitement in hunting for rare ones.”

“I understand.” I pointed to the shelf of chess king pieces. “And these?”

“I collect them too.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re kings.”

I chuckled. “Fair point.”

“Come here.” He extended his hand out. “I want you in bed and next to me.”

I left the mini gangsters and returned to him. Dima had my robe off in seconds. I lay down in his bed.

Dima’s bed was the highest level of comfort and elegance. A bedding connoisseur would have been impressed. His sheets were Egyptian cotton sheets. The finest white goose down must’ve filled every pillow. Each one made me feel weightless and like was lying on fluffy clouds. White cashmere blankets wrapped around our entwined bodies.

He dropped his robe and joined me.

I turned toward him as he wrapped his arms around me.

As he held me, I scanned the odd space.

I didn’t know how he could sleep in here. All the gangsters faced our way. It felt like they were watching us.

A gangster toy collection. What an interesting twist to an interesting man.

I slid my breasts against his muscular chest and inhaled him. The floral fragrance of our bath clung to his skin. It was a pleasure to be so close to him.

Dima held me tighter. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“Me too.”

“And it’s such a simple moment. Your warm body against me. Yet, I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so comfortable. So warm on the inside.”

My insides melted.

“Do you know what I realized after fucking you on the table?”

I grinned. “What?”

“Sometimes, I don’t mind when my food touches.”

I gave him an odd look. “Really? That was the biggest lesson.”

“I already knew I loved your body and that your pussy would be amazing.”

“Hmmm. Well. . .I guess that’s a good lesson too.” I chuckled.

He ran his fingers through my hair. “I must tell you something about me.”

“What?”

He didn’t look my way as he played with my hair. “I have Asperger’s.”

My head exploded. That was the last thing I thought he would say. I lay in his arms, stunned and with my lips parted.

He squinted at me as if trying his best to assess what I could be thinking. “It’s a neurological disability.”

“Yes. I know. My cousin Ashley is on the spectrum—Asperger’s and sensory processing disorder.”

“Really?”

“She told me once that she felt assaulted by the world. The ticking of clocks, honking cars, and strong perfumes agitated her. She also hates to be touched. She calls herself an aspie.”

“The term Asperger’s has gotten heat. Austrian pediatrician Hans Asperger was recognized as the pioneer in the study of autism. He was even seen as a hero for saving children with the condition from the Nazi killing program by emphasizing their intelligence.”

“Then, what happened?”

“It’s been argued that Asperger also collaborated in the murder of children with disabilities under the Third Reich.”

Disgust filled me. “That’s horrific.”

“There’s medical records and referral letters showing that Asperger protected the children he regarded as intelligent. But he also referred several children to be euthanized if he deemed them to be genetically inferior.”

“I never knew any of this.” I touched his chest. “What term do you use?”

“I don’t tell many people. You’re one of the few people alive who know.”

I blinked.

“But, if I talked about it a lot. I would. . .take pride in the term Asperger’s syndrome as part of my identity. Asperger’s past is a dirty historical revelation. I definitely separate the man from the term.” He scanned my face. “Are you close to your cousin Ashley?”

“Not as close as we used to be, but I try to check in with her twice a month. My family made her a black sheep just because of her diagnosis.”

He nodded as if completely understanding.

“And I was made a black sheep because I’m stubborn and go against the idea of what a Walsh is supposed to be.”