I kiss that spot again, then move lower. She spreads her legs for me without hesitation, one hand sliding into my hair as I put my mouth on her. Her breath catches, and she arches up, meeting every stroke of my tongue like her body was made for this.
Maybe it was.
Her thighs shake. She pulls at my hair. She tries to say my name but ends up breaking apart on a harsh, breathless cry instead. I feel her come undone against my mouth, trembling as wave after wave tears through her.
When she stops shaking, I climb back up her body, kissing a slow trail across her stomach, her chest, her throat. She looks soft and dazed, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. I wish we could stay in this moment forever, that nothing else would even exist. I push the feeling aside. Later. I can deal with it later.
I roll her onto her stomach and pull her hips back. She gasps, grabbing at the sheets, but she doesn’t stop me. She never does. She wants this just as much as I do. I push into her again, slow and deep, and her whole body goes taut. Her perfect pussy grips me tightly. I take hold of her hips and start moving, watching the way her back arches, the way her fingers curl tight in the sheets. When she comes this time, she bites her lip so hard I see a mark bloom there.
I fall right after her, burying myself to the hilt, pressing my forehead between her shoulder blades. I try to breathe evenly and steady myself, but it takes a long time.
When it’s over, when she’s limp and spent and lying on her side with her head on my arm, the thoughts I was holding at bay finally hit me.
How long can I keep her safe? How long can I make her believe this is enough protection? How long can I keep the men hunting me from finding her?
She drifts to sleep with her fingers curled in the sheets, completely unaware of the weight pressing down on me. I lie awake staring at the ceiling until she rolls onto her other side and curls into a ball.
The next morning, I’m still wrecked by the thought that we won’t survive this. I sit at my desk, staring out at nothing in particular and trying to maintain some semblance of control over my life.
Davýd comes in without knocking, per usual. He takes one look at me and snorts. “You look like hell.”
I don’t answer or bother pretending otherwise.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, though I’m not really interested.
He drops into an armchair, elbows on his knees. “I’ve just been thinking about how good your girl was with Anya last night. I haven’t seen her like that since before…”
He doesn’t have to finish his thought.
“I haven’t heard her laugh in months. I was worried she never would again. None of the speech therapy or counseling has seemed to get through to her the way one evening with Molly did.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how bad things have been with her,” I say earnestly, suddenly feeling a new responsibility toward the little girl.
He rubs both hands over his face, his shoulders collapsing in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Being a parent is so fucking hard. Some days she acts like she doesn’t recognize me at all. I walk in the door and she hides behind the couch.” His voice cracks. “I’ve been feeling like I’m losing my daughter, too.”
The grief in him is raw. I’ve seen men less broken with bullets in their chests. He drags a hand over his eyes. “That girl used to run to the door when I came home. She used to talk nonstop. Now she barely makes a sound.”
I go still. He looks up slowly, finally focusing on me.
“She smiled. She actually smiled.” He swallows. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
I do, though, because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “Be a parent, I mean. I don’t know how you survive it.”
He smiles at me wryly, a look of understanding passing between us.
“I don’t think any of us truly make it out unscathed,” he says honestly. “But we don’t have a choice. The only thing you can do is show up and do your best.”
I nod and take a deep breath, worried that maybe Molly is right.
18
MOLLY
Samuil and I haven’t talked for a couple of days.
