At the top of the staircase I paused.
I looked west.
The temptation to simply stay in her room tonight was there — practical, efficient, easier access in the morning without the crossing of the house in the dark. It made logistical sense.
It was also an invasion of the one space I had kept entirely my own.
I turned east toward my bedroom.
I showered and came back down to find the dining room set and Olya moving between the kitchen and the table with quiet efficiency. One place setting. The chair across from mine was empty, her glass absent, her side of the table bare.
“Mrs Dragunov already ate,” Olya murmured, and withdrew.
The room was still.
It was the way I preferred it.
I began to eat. The borsch was good—rich and dark, the way Olya made it, the kind of warmth that was wasted on an empty room. My eyes moved to her chair. The quality of an absence that has a specific shape.
I should have added more clauses to the contract.
??????
Spartak saw me coming and moved away from her door. When I opened it she wasn’t in bed and she wasn’t naked. She stood at the window, curtains drawn wide open, her back to me and the dark grounds beyond the glass behind her.
“I started my period,” she said without turning. Her voice was hard and flat simultaneously—the voice of someone delivering information they expect to be punished for.
I paused.
Sixteen days married, then the Chechen delay on top of that. Ovulation followed the period—which meant a window, a timeline, a specific number of days to work toward. Inconvenient but manageable.
“Right,” I said, tugging off my robe.“But your mouth still works.” I moved toward the bed.“Lie down. Head off the edge.”
Her head snapped around.
The expression on her face cycled through several things in quick succession before settling on irritation.
And just like that, I didn’t give a damn about a little blood between us.
I looked back at her without concern.
Her eyes moved to the bed for a second before she walked toward me.
That anger and resentment kept her back stiff and her head held high.
“I think you’ve forgotten who owns you, Iskra,” I murmured as she moved into position. “I won't be inconvenienced by a little blood.”
Her hair fell down the length of the bed while her eyes stared up at me, her hands clenched at her sides. I moved to rest my cock over her face before shifting to place my balls on her while I began to unbutton her top.
I pried the material apart until her breasts were on show. When I began to massage them she didn’t react. Not until I started toying with her nipples—alternating between tugging and pinching before palming her breasts again.
I smiled when I felt the faint trace of her tongue lick my cock.
My hips moved forward, dragging my balls over her face, and when I pulled back she grabbed my cock like a well-trained toy. I felt her warm breath before she began to lick my length, her hands circling the head—pulling and pushing, mimicking a hole.
“Here is your purpose,” I said, drawing back to press my thumb down on my cock.
Her mouth opened and her head dangled off the edge of the bed.
