His smile grows warm, not with triumph, but another, kinder pleasure. “Realism rather than reductionism,” he suggests.
Lili nods, agreeing.
There’s a sense of arriving somewhere: not compromise, but understanding.
She clears her throat. “Shame about the Thatcherism, though.”
“Please, don’t speak ill of the greats.”
Groaning, Lili kicks her leg out, intending to clip his shoulder. Aleksandr just laughs, grasping her foot and pressing a kiss to her ankle.
Her breath catches.
At the sound, Aleksandr looks at her. The air shifts, teasing playfulness draining away.
Holding her gaze, he kisses her ankle again. Not hesitant, but steady.
Giving her space to decide. Room to run.
Gently, Lili shifts forward. She pulls her ankle free, moving onto his lap, and kisses him.
It’s slow, warm with wanting. Aleksandr holds her face as he deepens the kiss, parting her lips. Lili sighs into it, the warmth of his bare chest under her palms unfurling a soft, gentle ache for him inside of her.
Almost hesitant, her hands move further down to the taut skin of his stomach, brushing over the cotton of his pants. She pauses, drawing out of the kiss. “Can we... “
Aleksandr runs his thumb over the curve of her jaw. “Whatever you want, Lili.”
It stings as she sinks down onto him. The pressure, the heat, the sear of it, like an injury she’s testing too soon. Her fingers tighten, nails digging into his shoulders. Aleksandr does not flinch.
She can’t take all of him, and her chest snaps fast with the pace of her lungs, body resisting. Under her sweater—hissweater—one of his hands settles on her waist. He steadies her; not pushing deeper, but letting her settle for a moment.
Taking an inhale, Lili tries to sink down further, but her breath hitches. It’s not that she’s shaking, just—
“Do you want to stop?” he murmurs. Against the slope of her neck, his fingers are so gentle she could cry.
“No,” Lili whispers. She rests her forehead against his. “No, I want this.”
Rolling her hips, she encourages her body to open for him, for her. She gasps, grasp tightening in his hair, as he shifts a bit deeper. A wince runs through her.
“I’m alright,” she murmurs, before the concern in his eyes grows. “I’m alright.”
She spreads her knees wider. Each slow, careful roll of her hips lets her sink down more, brings him deeper inside her, a fullness that feels like what she’s been looking for.
As she moves—slow, adjusting—there’s the warm press of his lips against her neck; the loose fit of her borrowed sweater pulled aside; and the sense that he wants nothing from her buther. Her breath hitches again, instinctively wanting to shy away.
I’m okay, she thinks, trying to relax through it.I’m okay.
When his mouth finds hers again, it’s like he’s giving her air, instead of taking it. It breaks her a little—the thought that she might want him to give her things, rather than only take.
Heat curls in her stomach. A whimper catches in her throat.
“Tell me what you need,” he breathes, against her lips.
It’s harder somehow: letting herself be soothed by gentleness, rather than roughness. But Lili swallows back against it, and begs her body to stay soft, to relax, to take this chance.
“Just—just you,” she whispers.
There’s something, like tension, but closer to release, revealed in his eyes.
