“Mine,” he mumbled as his rhythm changed and he spilled inside me. “There's nobody but you, Mrs. Sidorov.”
Then he kissed me like he’d lost his damn mind.
For a while,my wife didn’t say anything. She had not one smart comment, not one sharp little comeback, not even a dramatic sigh or eyeroll. She just lay there beneath me, damp skin cooling under mine, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips parted as they drew in soft breaths. Her fingers were still tangled in the sheets, but the fight had gone out of them, had gone out of her whole body.
I should’ve been satisfied. I was, somewhat. I mean, the part of me that liked to win had won. I got to hear my name connected to hers, not because a paper said so, but because she finally surrendered enough to say it.Theory Grace Miller-Jones-Sidorov. My pretty, petty, perfect wife.
But looking down at her now, seeing how soft and distant she looked, a different feeling spread through me. I wanted her, wanted this so badly that I wanted to be careful. Ineededto be careful.
“Theory,milaya,” I said, brushing my thumb across her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered, but they didn’t open all the way. She made a little sound that wasn’t a word. I lowered my mouth to hers and just kissed her for a second. I could still feel the trembling in her legs. She was curved against me in the way she’d been since she stopped pretending she wanted to get away. I wasn’t sure I liked the quiet, not after all that had happened to her. Tonight was intense. I had pushed when she had pushed because that was what we had talked about. We had tested it in smaller ways before tonight.
She liked being chased. She liked being overpowered by someone she trusted. She liked the fight as long as she knew exactly who was catching her, as long asIwas catching her.Me. Only me forever, now. Still, I worried about triggering her. My wife had survived a man who hurt her because he wanted to break her. So, when she gave me this part of herself, I didn’t take that lightly. I couldn’t.
“You with me?” I asked.
She sighed, then nodded once. I eased off her slowly, watching her face the whole time. She frowned a little at the loss of my weight, then turned her head toward me.
I pulled the sheet up enough to cover her and tucked it beneath her arm. “I know, baby.”
She sighed again, louder.
“You okay?” I asked.
Swallowing, she nodded again. “Mm-hmm.”
“No, not mm-hmm, Theory Grace. Words. I need to hear at least one,” I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her.
Her eyes finally opened. Barely. “Don’t piss me off, Targen.”
I smiled before I could help it. “That’ll work. You still mad at me?” I asked.
Her mouth curved. “Probably.”
“There goes my baby,” I sang my off-key rendition of Usher.
Her smile widened but then disappeared. She looked at me like she was trying to remember where her attitude went.
I smoothed her hair back. “Damn, shorty. Don’t go looking for it yet. It’ll be there when you get ready.”
“You right.” Her eyes closed again.
I got up, went into the bathroom, and took a quick shower. Before I dried off, I turned on the tub. She liked it hot, but not too hot. She wasn’t trying to dry out her skin, she’d told me. I found the lavender oil she liked but added only a little. She said too much made her feel like she was being attacked by a garden—my baby definitely had a way with words. Then, I grabbed two towels from the warmer, drying myself with one, before wrapping another around my waist.
When I went back, she still hadn’t moved. The sight of her in our bed did something to me. Whatever I felt, I knew it wasn’t lust, at least not primarily. I liked the fact that she looked worn out from our session. I liked even more that she looked safe and content. And she looked mine, like she belonged to me in a way I had been chasing since I got back from Siberia.
“Come on, pretty one,” I said gently after I had pulled on briefs and shorts and stuffed my feet into slides.
She didn’t open her eyes. “Where?”
“Bath.”
“I can’t move.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
She made another soft sound when I slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Her head fell against my chest as I lifted her.
