Tomorrow will bring new challenges. The visa decision, whatever that might be. Questions about our future, where we'll live, how we'll build a life together.
But tonight, in the darkness of our bedroom, with Maya's breath warm against me and her heart beating in rhythm with mine, I know something with absolute certainty:
The immigration office's letter arrives on a Tuesday, three weeks and two days after we submitted the appeal. I recognize the official seal immediately, the way my name is printed in precise government font. My hands shiver as I turn it over, the paper crinkling like dry leaves.
Maya appears in the doorway, towel-drying her hair. "What's that?"
I hold up the envelope. "Decision."
She drops the towel. "Open it."
The seal breaks with a sound like bones cracking. I unfold the single sheet of paper, scanning the bureaucratic language until one phrase leaps out:
"Application approved. Permanent residency granted."
Maya whoops loud enough to make the windows rattle. She launches herself at me, nearly knocking us both over as she wraps her legs around my waist. I catch her easily, spinning us in a circle as her laughter fills the room.
"We have to celebrate!" she declares, already pulling away to grab her phone. "Champagne. Dancing. I'm calling Dex?—"
I capture her hand, pulling her back against me. "Later."
Her eyes darken as she recognizes the hunger in my voice. The letter floats forgotten to the floor as I claim her mouth, pouring every ounce of relief and gratitude and love into the kiss.
She melts against me, her hands sliding under my shirt to trace the ridges of my muscles. "Bedroom," she gasps between kisses. "Now."
I carry her there, our mouths never parting. The bed meets my knees and we fall together, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her fingers work at my buttons with urgent clumsiness while I strip her sweater over her head, revealing the lacy bra underneath.
"Beautiful," I growl, tracing the swell of her breasts with reverent hands. "My beautiful Maya."
She arches into my touch, her nipples pebbling against the lace. "Too many clothes," she complains, tugging at my belt.
I rise just long enough to strip completely, watching her eyes darken as she takes in my naked body. Then I'm on her again, pinning her wrists above her head as I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts.
"Ursak," she moans, her hips lifting to meet mine. The friction sends sparks through my entire body.
I release her wrists to cup her face, kissing her slow and deep as my fingers find the waistband of her leggings. She lifts her hips again, helping me peel the fabric away, leaving her in nothing but that scrap of lace.
"Perfect," I murmur against her skin, tracing the lines of her body with hands and mouth. Every freckle, every scar, every curve is a landscape I want to memorize.
Her fingers tangle in my hair as I kiss lower, over the soft swell of her stomach, the flare of her hips. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pause, looking up at her.
"Please," she whispers, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I strip the last barrier away, baring her completely to my gaze. The sight of her, flushed and open and wanting me, makes my cock ache with need.
"Touch me," she demands, her voice tinged with desire.
I don't make her ask twice. My hands learn the shape of her thighs, the softness of her inner skin, the heat of her center. She's already wet for me, her body as eager as my own.
"Ursak," she gasps as my fingers find her clit, circling slowly. "Yes, just like—oh!"
I watch her face as I work her, memorizing the way her lips part on a moan, how her eyelashes flutter when pleasure crashes over her. Her hips rise to meet my touch, her body trembling on the edge.
"Not yet," I murmur, slowing my touch. "I want to be inside you when you come."
She whimpers but nods, her hands reaching for me. I capture her wrists again, pinning them above her head as I settle between her thighs.
"Ready?" I ask, though I can feel her answer in the way her body arches toward mine.
