He buries himself to the hilt and I feel him let go, feel the pulse of him inside me, as warmth floods through me. My body clenches in answer, and the second orgasm drags me under—slower than the first, deeper, the kind that doesn’t crest so much as swallow you whole.
He collapses over me. His forehead between my shoulder blades, his breath scorching my skin. His hands loosen on my hips and I know there will be marks tomorrow. I’ll press my fingers into those bruises and remember this.
We stay like that. I don’t know how long. The dark makes time irrelevant.
When he finally pulls out and eases me onto the bed, I’m boneless. He arranges the blanket over both of us and pulls me into his side. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, still too fast.
My eyelids are lead. Sleep is pulling me under fast, and I should fight it, should circle back to the conversation he derailed so expertly, but my body has made its decision.
Just before I go under, I feel him shift. His arm tightens around me, and his mouth presses against my hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
My eyes flutter open. The room is still dark. He’s holding me like I might disappear.
Sorry for what?
But sleep takes me before I can ask.
23
NATALIA
Thank god for Plan B.
I wash it down with the last of my coffee, grimacing at the bitter swallow as I lean against the kitchen counter.
My body still feels used in all the ways that make my face heat when I think about last night for too long. My neck is tender where Luca bit me. My hips ache. There’s a lingering soreness between my thighs that makes every shift of my weight feel a little too intimate.
From the bedroom, I hear Luca move. He’s been restless all night. Twitching, murmuring things I couldn’t catch, pulling me closer in his sleep like I was something he was afraid of losing. When I woke this morning with his arm locked around my waist, I snuck out to the pharmacy and let him sleep.
The way he touched me last night wasn’t like the afternoon. The afternoon was discovery. Careful. Tender because I was new, and he wanted it to be right.
Last night, he fucked me like he was running out of time.
I press my thumb into the bruise on my hip. Purple blooms under the pressure, and my stomach does something complicated. Not pain. Not quite pleasure.
Something changed in him yesterday. Not just the memory he drew on paper. Something underneath it. Something he still isn’t saying.
My phone buzzes on the counter, yanking me out of my thoughts. Anna’s care facility. My throat tightens before I even answer.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Kozlov? This is Patricia Langford, Director of Care at Sunrise Meadows. I’m calling about Anna Petrova.”
Everything else falls away.
“Is she okay? What happened?”
“Ms. Petrova had a fall this morning during breakfast. EMS transported her to Summerlin Medical Center about an hour ago. She’s been stabilized, but the ER team is evaluating her for a likely hip fracture.”
My hand braces against the counter. Hip fracture. In a woman Anna’s age, with her cognitive decline, the words land like a blow. Surgery. Anesthesia. Rehab she may not understand, let alone tolerate. I know enough to understand how bad this could get.
“Is she in pain? Does she know what’s happening?”
“The hospital has her comfortable. She was confused at the scene, but that’s consistent with her baseline. The reason I’m calling is that Dr. Okafor and the surgical team need to speakwith you as soon as possible. Given Ms. Petrova’s cognitive status, she may not have capacity to consent. They can discuss surgical authorization with you by phone if they need to move quickly, but they also want you there in person as soon as possible for post-operative decisions, discharge planning, and rehab placement.”
My fingers grip the counter’s edge. I close my eyes.
