“You normally aren't awake this early,” he says, his voice rough. “I went on my run while I waited for you. Did my leaving wake you up?”
“No, I was sore,” I murmur, tracing a lazy circle in the water. “Figured I should try to fix what you broke.”
That gets a low chuckle from him, the kind that rumbles in his chest and sends a shiver up my spine. “You’re not broken, moya lyubov. Just new at this.”
I roll my eyes, though the smile betrays me. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
“Never, I love that about you.”
He crosses the small space between us, the air seeming to tighten as he moves. The heat from his body reaches me before his hands do. He leans down, bracing one hand on the rim of the tub, and presses his lips to my forehead. The kiss is warm and lingering, the kind that makes the rest of the room disappear.
“You should’ve waited for me,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Why? So, you could make things worse?” I tease. “No thank you.”
He huffs out a laugh, tilting my chin up to him. “You know I only make things better, Moya.”
My breath catches, the water suddenly too hot against my skin as he brushes his lips against mine, soft and fleeting.
Then—he straightens, peels off his damp running shorts, and steps closer to the tub.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs as he slides into the water with me.
The water shifts around us, gentle waves lapping at the porcelain as Aleksandr settles behind me. His knees brush my hips, and the faint sound of his exhale fills the quiet. The heat of him seeps through the water until I can’t tell where warmth ends and he begins.
For a while, neither of us speak. His hands rest on the rim of the tub, one on either side of me, caging me in without pressure. I can feel the steady beat of his heart through my back, slower now, syncing with mine.
“Come here,” he says, voice soft.
I lean back until my shoulders rest against his chest. He reaches for the small glass bottle beside the tub, uncaps it, and pours a thin stream of shampoo into his palm. The scent of rose and cedarwood rises between us as his fingers slide into my hair, slow and careful.
His touch isn’t demanding; it’s patient. He works through the tangles with gentle strokes, fingertips tracing my scalp until my whole body melts under the rhythm.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re still tense.”
“Hard not to be when the last time you touched me I forgot how to think,” I whisper.
That earns a quiet chuckle that vibrates against my spine. “Then I’m doing something right.”
He tips a cup of warm water over my hair, letting it cascade down my neck. It’s sensual in a way that has nothing to do with lust — just him taking care of me, his presence anchoring every part that still trembles from the night before.
“This,” I say, voice small as I lean into his touch, “is what marriage should be. You, me, mornings like this. No rush. No noise.”
Aleksandr hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my back. “If that’s what you want,” he says, rinsing the soapfrom my hair with another careful pour of water, “then you’ll have it.”
I smile faintly, eyes closing as the lather slips away. “Is there anything you want in marriage?”
He pauses, considering, then replies with infuriating calm. “Six kids.”
My eyes snap open, and I twist slightly to look at him. “Six?!”
“Five,” he counters smoothly, lips twitching.
“One,” I shoot back.
“Four.”
“Three?”
