"Please," I whisper, maybe a little too loudly, but Fyodor doesn’t chastise me. Instead his hands slide to my hips where he bends me forward under the spray of water, and then pushes into me in one hard thrust.
I gasp as he bottoms out, hitting my back wall, and I clench around him hard as he starts thrusting. Without the pressure on my clit it just isn’t the same. I reach between my legs and touch myself, bringing those tantalizing sensations back to the surface.
The pressure builds again, slower this time but heavier. Every thrust pushes against that spot inside me, making my thighs quiver. I press harder on my clit, rubbing in tight, quick circles. Heat spreads from my core outward, tightening everything. My breathing turns ragged, short gasps I try to swallow and Fyodor thrusts in deep and holds there, rolling his hips in a slow circle.The motion grinds the tip of his cock against my cervix, adding another sensation and my walls start to flutter around him, light pulses at first, then stronger. The coil inside me tightens so painfully I think I might be unable to stop myself from crying out, and then it snaps.
The orgasm hits in waves. First a sharp, electric jolt that makes my whole body lock, then rolling contractions that ripple through my core. My walls clamp down hard on his dick, pulsing in long, slow squeezes that milk him with every beat. Pleasure floods me, spreading from my clit through my belly and down my legs and I brace harder on the tile to stay upright.
I keep rubbing through it, drawing out the aftershocks. Each pulse makes me clench again, and Fyodor groans low in his throat, thrusts turning shallow as my body grips him. I feel his warmth flood me, and the waves slow, leaving me trembling and still fluttering around him. My fingers slow on my clit, then stop. I rest my forehead against the cool tile, catching my breath while he stays buried inside me, moving gently now, letting the last tremors fade.
When I straighten he slides out of me and our bodies press together. He peppers kisses on my shoulder as he reaches for the tiny bottle of shampoo on the shower caddy. Then he washes my hair and turns me in the flow of water to rinse it, and we swap places as he scrubs himself clean.
Minutes later, we're toweling off without so much as a word about what just happened. It's comfortable and when he leans over to kiss me as he reaches for the robes hanging on the back side of the door, I smile into his lips.
"You're incredible," I tell him softly, and he nips my lip.
"Shh," he chastises gently. "You'll wake him." But he smiles at me too, and I can't help but feel giddy.
I tie the belt of the motel bathrobe around my waist and watch Fyodor do the same with his. Then he gathers our wet clothes from the bathroom floor and carries them out to the main room, draping them over the backs of chairs and the edge of the dresser where they can dry overnight.
Sasha's still asleep on the bed, curled up under the blanket with a peaceful expression and rhythmic breathing. It's a heartwarming sight to see him snuggled in that bed, but my body aches for rest.
Fyodor moves to the couch against the wall and sits down, running his hands through his damp hair. He looks exhausted like me, maybe more so.
I cross the room and climb onto his lap without asking permission, curling my legs up and resting my head against his chest. He goes stiff for a second, like he's unsure what to make of this, but then his arms come up around me and he lets out a long breath that I feel against the top of my head.
"It was sweet of you," I say quietly. "Coming to look for me like that."
He doesn't respond but I don't really need him to. I know things like that are difficult for him, and I'm willing to be patient as he learns everything for the first time.
"Thank you," I add, because I want him to know that I noticed, that it mattered to me that he spent hours driving around in the middle of the night trying to find me instead of just letting me go.
But still he says nothing. I can feel his chest rising and falling under my cheek. His heart beats a little faster, and I pull back enough to look up at his face. "This is the part where you're supposed to say 'you're welcome.'" Smiling, I cup his cheek and study him.
His jaw tightens and I watch as his eyes shift away from me and then return. "You're welcome," he says finally, and he sounds awkward, like he's not used to saying things like that.
My fingers trace the line of his jaw where the stubble's rough against my skin. He closes his eyes at the contact, and I watch some of the tension drain out of his shoulders.
"I'm sorry I'm not good at all of this," he admits. I see the storm behind his eyes and shake my head.
"It's okay," I tell him. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."
He doesn't say anything, but his arms tighten around me and he pulls me closer against his chest. I settle back into him and close my eyes, listening to his heart beat and feeling the warmth of his body against mine.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring or how any of this is going to work out in the end. I never envisioned myself being with a man who kills people for a living. The idea of tolerating that should make me so disgusted but it’s easy to forget about who Fyodor Gravitch really is when I'm just lying on his chest.
In this moment he's not a killer or a scary person. He's just the man who tracked me down in the rain and apologized for being a jerk to me. And he's made me feel safe and wanted.
And right now I'm too tired to put much thought into it other than I feel comforted, safe, and warm. And I'll think about the rest tomorrow.
23
FYODOR
Somewhere in the middle of the night I wake up with a jolt. My body registers danger before my brain catches up to what's happening. Noemi has shifted off my lap at some point and is curled up on the couch beside me, her head resting on the armrest and her breathing slow and even. The motel room is dark except for the faint glow coming through the gap in the curtains, and Sasha is still asleep on the bed where we left him.
For a second I don't know what woke me or why my heart is pounding and my muscles are tensed for a fight. But then I hear a soft scratching at the door, the unmistakable sound of someone trying to pick the lock without making too much noise.
I'm on my feet before I even think about it, moving silently across the room to where my clothes are draped over the back of a chair. They're still damp but mostly dry now, and I pull them on as quickly as I can while keeping my eyes locked on the door. The scratching stops for a moment and then starts again, and now I hear voices on the other side in harsh whispers.
