We stand frozen, barely breathing, as footsteps echo in the hallway outside. Heavy boots on thin carpet. Two sets, moving slowly.
They’re getting closer.
I feel her heart hammering under my palm where it rests against her ribs. Every breath she takes presses her back against my chest. My mouth hovers close to her ear, ready to whisper instructions if needed.
The footsteps stop outside our door.
I hold my breath. Daria holds hers. The seconds crawl by.
A voice comes then, muffled through the door. “This one?”
My fingers tighten on the gun.
“No. Two more down. 4C.”
The footsteps continue down the hallway. A door opens and closes somewhere in the distance, and then nothing. Just the faint creak of the building settling and the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
Not Bogdan’s men. Not our door.
This neighborhood has never been safe, which is why Daria could afford to live there. Drugs, debt collectors, angry ex-boyfriends… any number of reasons for armed men to come knocking on doors that aren’t ours.
Neither of us moves.
The adrenaline is still coursing through me, with nowhere to go. Daria is trembling against my chest, but when I check her face in the reflection of the window, I realize it’s not fear making hershake. Her breathing has gone shallow and fast. She’s arching back against me, probably unconsciously.
I know this feeling. It’s a desperate need to feel alive after a brush with death. The way danger heightens every sensation until even the smallest touch feels electric.
I slide my hand from her stomach to her hip. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away.
I move my hand lower, finding the hem of her dress and sliding beneath it. Her skin burns under my palm as I trace up the outside of her thigh. I take my time, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. She doesn’t.
I pause again when I reach the edge of her underwear, pulling back just enough to see her face. She turns her head, meeting my eyes over her shoulder. Her lips are parted. Her cheeks are flushed. I mouth a single word.
Yes?
She nods.
I spin her around and lift her onto the counter. She gasps, but I capture the sound with my mouth before it can escape. My tongue sweeps against hers as I push her dress up around her hips. She fumbles with my belt buckle, tugging at the leather until it opens.
“We have to be quiet,” I breathe against her lips. “They could still be nearby. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“If you can’t, I’ll help you.” I hook my fingers in her underwear and drag it down her legs, letting the fabric fall to the floor. “Understood?”
Another nod. I can see the need in her eyes, dark and desperate.
I reach between us and find her center, sliding two fingers through her folds. She’s fucking soaked. She lets out a soft moan, and I flatten my other hand against her mouth.
“What did I just say?”
She nods against my palm, smiling against my hand.
I work her slowly, circling her clit with my thumb while my fingers slide inside her. She holds onto my shoulders, digging her nails through the fabric of my shirt. I watch her face, reading every sensation as it passes. The way her brow furrows. The way she rocks her hips forward, chasing my touch.
“That’s it,” I mumble against her ear. “Stay with me. Breathe with me.”
I match my rhythm to her breathing. Slow when she needs slow. Faster when she grinds forward, demanding more. I curl my fingers, finding the spot inside her that makes her jerk against me.
