For a moment, I didn’t move. I was cocooned in warmth, tangled in sheets and the steady weight of him beside me. It felt like waking up inside a dream I hadn’t dared to want. But then, like breath rushing back into my lungs, last night’s memories returned. Not just the heat or the passion—but something gentler too. Something real.
I shifted slightly and my eyes fell to his hands, resting loosely on the blanket. My breath caught. His knuckles were raw, scraped and bruised in deep reds and purples—ghosts of his fight with Mikel still etched into his skin. The sight pulled a sharp ache through my chest, a twist of protectiveness and fury all at once.
Sliding out of bed as quietly as I could, I padded to the bathroom, bare feet cold against the floor. I rummaged beneath the sink until I found the small kit I kept there—bandages, antiseptic, cotton swabs. My fingers were steadier than I expected as I returned to the bedroom, kneeling beside the bed.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Nikolai stirred, cracking one eye open. A slow, lazy smile crept across his face, still half-asleep. “You look cute when you’re worried,” he mumbled.
I rolled my eyes, even as my heart did something stupid in my chest. “You look like you punched a wall. Or ten.”
He gave a small shrug, though I didn’t miss the wince when I took one of his hands. “Mikel felt like plaster,” he muttered, like it didn’t matter.
I didn’t say anything at first. Just unwrapped the wipes and started cleaning gently, dabbing at the torn skin. “A disagreement that looks like it came with a body count,” I said, trying to keep it light, but I could hear the edge in my voice.
His eyes followed my movements, quiet now. Watching me.
“Let me do this,” I murmured, softer, meeting his gaze as I held his hand between mine. I needed to care for him, in the smallest way I could. Not because he asked. But because he didn’t.
As I wrapped the bandages carefully, I could feel something shift in the air between us—tenderness, unspoken but palpable. A kind of intimacy that lived in small, deliberate touches. In the space between pain and healing.
He let out a quiet laugh—low and rough, like it didn’t quite belong to this gentle morning. It echoed softly in the space between us, but there was something beneath it, something wound tight and unspoken, like a wire pulled taut between our hearts.
“I’m just saying,” he murmured, trying to smooth out the weight lingering in the air, “if I ever get into a real fight—you know, one of those over-the-top MMA cage matches—you’d make an ideal corner person.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. The image was too good—him in some gaudy satin robe; me holding a bucket of ice and barking out cliché motivational quotes. The absurdity of it unraveled a bit of the tension.
“Oh, totally,” I deadpanned. “You in sequins, flexing for the cameras. That’s definitely your vibe.”
His grin widened, fatigue softening the edges but never dulling that mischievous spark in his eyes. “Come on, you wouldn’t love that?”
“Not in the way you think,” I muttered with a smile, gently tying off the last of the bandages. My fingers lingered on his skin for a second longer than they needed to before I finally set the supplies aside, my hands suddenly feeling far too empty.
The room settled into a hush again. That in-between place—neither light nor heavy, just quiet and charged. He looked at me, and I looked back, both of us holding onto something we weren’t quite ready to name yet. Whatever this was… it was fragile. Beautiful. Real.
After a long beat, he asked, “So. You still want to do nothing today?"
The question caught me off guard—not because it was unexpected, but because it was so simple. So normal. I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat and answered honestly. “Honestly? Yes. Just… hang out. Be here. With you.”
He nodded slowly, the smallest smile ghosting across his lips. Then he reached for me, arms wrapping around my waist like they belonged there. Like I belonged there.
“Then it’s ours,” he whispered into my hair, pulling me close until I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine. “Today’s just for us.”
He pulled me onto his lap, kissing me slowly, deeply. My breath hitched as his lips met mine, his arms wrapping around me like a promise. I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, holding on tight.
"How are you ready to go already?" I whispered against his lips, feeling his hardness press against me. A shiver ran down my spine, anticipation coiling tight in my belly.
He murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "You have that effect on me." His hands roamed over my skin, tracing patterns that left trails of fire in their wake. "And you've bandaged me up, so I'm healed."
A soft laugh escaped my lips, but it was cut short as he leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth. I gasped, arching into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He sucked and teased, drawing out a response from deep within me. Each touch, each kiss, was a spark that lit up my senses, sending waves of pleasure crashing over me.
His hands moved lower, exploring, claiming. He lifted me effortlessly, positioning me so that I straddled him. I could feel him, hot and hard against me, and I rocked my hips, desperate for more. He groaned, his grip tightening on my hips, guiding me.
"Nikolai," I breathed, my voice a plea. I needed him, needed this. Needed to feel him inside me, to be consumed by him.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, something that made my heart ache with its intensity. "You're mine, Mina," he said, his voice a low growl. "All mine."
I knew it was true. I belonged to him, completely and irrevocably. And he belonged to me.
