She stroked her knuckles down the side of my face. “You’d also never fucked me before tonight, either, and you managed to smash thatcompletely out of the playground. Multiple home runs—is that a thing?”
I flushed, her praise firing up the reward centre of my brain. “Let’s make it a thing.”
Carrying her to my ensuite, I ran the shower, checking the water was warm before stepping inside with her. Positioning her under the spray, I stood back and just admired the sheer perfection of her form. Swimming had kept her lean, lithe and strong, but she still had a feminine shape, in the curve of her breasts, the swell of her hips and thighs. I’d seen her naked in many Tickle posts, had just had her naked and writhing on me, but there was something special, vulnerable … intimate, about showering with her.
She cracked open an eye, grinning lazily, her hair in wet, silky strands over her shoulders. “Soap me up, Hubby.”
I complied with pleasure.
Her body was squeaky clean, and my hands knew every inch of her skin, still tingled from the sensation of massaging bubbles over every curve of her. Clad in a towel, she made herself right at home, rummaging through my underwear drawer and finding herself a pair of my boxer briefs. I watched, entranced by the sight of her in my room. And then, when she let the towel drop and bent at the waist to tug her chosen pair over her taut legs and backside, my cock stirred again. I kept that information to myself as she strutted out of the bedroom with a wink back at me, covered to mid-thigh by one of my T-shirts.
“I’ll be back, Hubby. Just going to get something,” she said, ducking through the door. Her muffled admonishment of, “No, Abs, you can’t come in. Mummy and Daddy are having grown-up time,” had a smile bursting, unbidden onto my mouth.
It soon vanished as reality snuck back in. We’d just had sex. Consummated a marriage that, on paper, was real. It needed to remain real for at least two years, and what could happen in that time to people who were exploring new feelings?
It was a minefield of epic proportions, and she was a woman whowas emotionally vulnerable tonight. That made me an arsehole for letting my control slip enough to allow it.
Where was she? It had been several minutes since she left. Seeking her out was out of the question. What if she wanted space, to have her own quiet freak out about what we’d just done?
I’d agreed that we could pretend for the night, but tomorrow things had to go back to the way they were. For her security … and for my sanity.
The door opened, and she reappeared, anticipation on her face, and a plate of fairy bread in her hands.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, and this just feels like the perfect late-night snack.” She settled herself cross-legged on the bed, the plate between us. “And it’s one of the few recipes that I can pull off without a hedge.”
I jammed a piece of fairy bread into my mouth to stop myself from correcting her. I groaned, because she was right. She could pull it off.
“You really have perfected this one. I think we need to add that to your visa application. In fact, we should suggest to the government that being able to make fairy bread become a prerequisite on our citizenship test.”
She grimaced through her own mouthful. “I’m starting to get a bit worried that we haven’t heard anything back about the application.”
As if it were magnetised, my hand found her knee, and I gave her a reassuring squeeze. I let it rest there as I said. “Bureaucracy always works at a snail’s pace. But if you like, I’ll call them tomorrow and get an update.”
She rested her head against my shoulder, jaw working as she chewed. My lungs felt like they’d been inflated with helium. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, enjoying the warmth of her against me. Enjoying even more the way she snuggled closer into me
“Is it wrong that I sort of would rather not know?” she asked, sleepiness blurring the edges of her voice. “Because if it’s bad news … it’s better to let them take their time in acting on it.”
She picked up another piece of fairy bread.
“Why didn’t you tell me that your family was a risk when we were making our list?” I asked, then immediately wished that I’d kept myunthinking mouth shut, when she stiffened and pulled away from me. She set down her nibbled bread, eyes fixed on her hands.
“I hate burdening people with my shit,” she confessed quietly.
Heart aching for her, my fingers itched to drag her back into my arms. But she’d pulled away, and I should respect her desire for space. “It’s not a burden,” I rasped instead. “You are not a burden, Irina.”
Her head lifted, her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, found mine. “I spent all my childhood worrying about how I might be punished if I showed even the slightest sign of weakness, of … not complying with my uncle’s demands. I taught myself to never rely on others, to keep all my worries inside.” She rapped on her chest, and I couldn’t keep my hands to myself a moment longer. I gripped her trembling fist in both of mine, clutching it to my chest instead.
“You don’t have to do that with me.”
She shook her head. I gripped the back of her neck, holding her face still. “I’m not kidding, Catnip. You do not have to hold onto everything yourself. I want to help you.”
She snorted, a tear slipping from her eye. “You’ve already helped me more than you ever needed to.”
I swiped that tear away with my thumb. “It’s not a need. It was never a need. Iwantto help you. But I can’t help you with things I don’t know. So … will they try to force you home?” I swallowed back a sudden pang of fear. “Have they already been trying?”
She shook her head. “No … Not yet anyway.”
Bogdan ‘Lupucojoc’ Rusnac would be going on my list first thing in the morning, and now that she’d told me about him, I wouldn’t feel guilty if I did some digging into him and hisClanuri Interlope.
