Ivan braces himself on his forearms and shoves back to meet me, matching my rhythm, taking everything I give him. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by his grunts and my harsh breathing. Sweat drips down my spine. My thighs burn with effort. I do not slow down.
"Harder," he demands. "I want to feel this tomorrow."
I grab his hips hard enough to bruise and give him what he wants. Harder. Faster. Driving into him with everything the past week has built up in me—the fear, the adrenaline, the desperate relief that we are both still alive. He drops to his elbows, changing the angle, and when I hit that spot inside him he howls.
"There—right there—fuck, Maksim?—"
I pound that spot mercilessly. His hand shoots between his legs, fisting his cock, stroking himself in frantic counterpoint to my thrusts. I can feel him getting close from the way his body clenches, the way his rhythm stutters.
"Come," I order. "Now."
His whole body seizes. He comes with a ragged shout, spilling onto the sheets beneath him, his ass clamping down on my cock so tight it triggers my own release. I slam in one last time and hold there, pulsing into him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me shaking.
I collapse on top of him, both of us breathing hard, slick with sweat. My cock is still inside him, softening slowly, and I cannot make myself pull out yet. I want to stay connected. I want to feel him around me for as long as possible.
"We won," he says into the pillow, his voice muffled and sated.
"We won." I press a kiss to his shoulder blade, tasting salt. "And that was my victory celebration."
He laughs, the vibration traveling through both our bodies. "If that is how you celebrate, I should win things more often."
Eventually I ease out of him and roll onto my side. He turns to face me, and for a moment we just look at each other. Filthy. Exhausted. Triumphant.
I pull him against my chest.
The aftermath is quiet.
We lie tangled together on the ruined sheets, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Ivan's head rests on my chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my stomach. I can feel his heartbeat against my ribs, gradually slowing from the frantic pace of moments ago. The first grey light of dawn is creeping through the curtains, painting the room in soft shadows.
I feel complete. Settled in a way I have never felt before, not even at the cabin. We won. We survived. And the man in my arms chose me over everything else—over safety, over strategy, over the careful distance that should have protected us both.
"We should shower," Ivan murmurs against my skin. "We smell like smoke and sweat and sex."
"In a minute." I tighten my arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I am not ready to move yet."
He laughs softly and presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "Neither am I."
The silence that follows is comfortable. Familiar. The silence of two people who have moved past the need to fill every gap with words. I could fall asleep like this, I realize. Despite the exhaustion of the past week, despite the danger that still surrounds us, I could close my eyes and drift off with Ivan in my arms and feel safer than I have ever felt in my life.
The burner phone rings.
The sound is jarring, a sharp electronic trill that cuts through the peace like a blade. We both freeze, the warmth of the moment evaporating instantly.
No one has this number. No one except Lev, and Lev would not call unless something was very wrong.
Ivan pulls away from me and sits up, his expression shifting from sated to alert in the span of a heartbeat. He crosses to the desk where the phone is vibrating against the wood and looks at the screen.
"Unknown number."
"Do not answer."
"If someone has this number, they already know where we are. Not answering will only delay the inevitable."
Ivan stares at the phone. It continues to ring, the sound filling the small room with an urgency that feels deliberate. Designed to force a response.
He answers.
"Yes."
