"No." His hand strokes my hair. "It makes you human. It makes you someone who survived something terrible and fought back. That's not monstrous, that's just survival."
"I don't feel like I survived. I feel like I'm dying slowly."
"I know."
We stand there, me crying into his chest and him holding me like I'm something precious instead of something broken.
Eventually the tears stop, and the shaking subsides. I'm left hollow. Exhausted. Empty in a way that has nothing to do with physical tiredness. I pull back and look up at him. His face is closer than I expected. Close enough to see the small scar above his left eyebrow. Close enough to see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes.
Close enough to kiss.
I don't know who moves first. Maybe both of us. Maybe it's just gravity pulling two damaged people together in a way that has been inevitable since the moment he walked back into my life. His mouth is on mine, gentle at first, testing, then the kiss grows harder, desperate, like he's trying to breathe life back into me through sheer will. I kiss him back, pouring everything into it. The rage. The grief. The guilt. The terrifying relief of not being alone anymore.
His hands find my face, cradling it like I might break, like I'm something worth being careful with. "Sofiya," he whispers against my lips. "I want…” His voice trails off.
"I know."
"This complicates everything."
"I know."
"I'm on your list."
"I know."
He pulls back, just far enough to look at me. Really look. "And you still want this?"
"I don't want anything except not be alone right now. Can you give me that?"
Something shifts in his expression. A flash of something I can’t identify. "Yes." He kisses me again. Slower this time. Thorough , like he's memorizing the taste of me. The shape of my mouth. The way I respond to his touch.
We make our way to the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches and the need to feel something besides the crushingweight of what I've done. The shirt he gave me is gone and the sweatpants pool at my feet a second later. I can feel the length of him, hard and insistent, pushing against me through his own sweats. He grinds against me, moaning low in his throat. I lift his shirt, having to stand on my tiptoes until I simply can’t reach any higher. He helps me by reaching behind him and jerking the shirt over his head , then he lays me down on the bed, slowly covering my body with this. He's careful with me, gentle in a way I didn't expect.
His hands trace the X on my back—the scar that matches his tattoo. His fingers are reverent. "I'm sorry," he whispers against my skin. "I'm so sorry for what they did to you."
I don't have words, so I simply reach up and stroke the matching scar on his face. Something passes between us at that moment. Something I don’t have the strength to deal with, so I just pull him closer.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say, kissing him with all the desperation in my body.
He surges over me, kissing his way down my body, kissing every inch of skin he finds. He flicks my nipple with his tongue, hands caressing down my body, leaving no part of me untouched. It’s like he can’t believe I’m really here, underneath him.
He lowers his body down the bed, using his wide shoulders to push my legs farther apart. He wastes no time, pushing a thick finger in me before pulling it out and adding a second finger. I hiss with pleasure and pain as his mouth latches on my clit without mercy. I don’t know if it's the adrenaline or him but I’m dangerously close to coming in mere seconds.
Volk pauses for a minute, raising his head to look at me. “Ready to come?” he asks, his eyes teasing. I take him in, the evidence of my arousal glistening on his face, the way he’s slowly grinding his hard cock into the mattress.
I nod, and before my head is done moving, he’s latched his mouth on me again, pausing every few moments to lick me from top to bottom before sucking my clit again, causing my legs to shake wildly. Then I feel a finger push into my lower entrance, and the slight burn sends me over the edge. My mouth opens in a silent cry, and he is forced to hold my jerking hips down. He groans as I come, pushing his mouth harder against me, like he can’t stand to miss a drop of me. When I’m shaking with aftershocks, he slowly raises himself over my body.
I watch, mesmerized, as he reaches down and strokes himself once, twice. At some point he put a condom on. I missed that, but who can blame me.
“I want you to know that when I fuck you, that’s it. There is no going back. You will be mine for however long I have left,” he says, and we both know he really meansuntil you kill me.“Do you understand?”
I nod.
“No, Yelena, I want to hear it,” he says, his voice leaving no room for compromise.
I gasp at his use of my real name, trying to get away from him.
“No! You’re mine, and that means the real you. Not this performance. Save that for men like Aleksandr who are too stupid to realize you’re worth hundred women, not a piece of arm candy.”
