I yank off her sweater, unhook her bra. She removes my undershirt and works open my belt buckle, all the while moving her lips across mine in a frenzy.
I stand, picking her up with me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and we continue to kiss as I carry her to the bedroom. I lay her gently in the center of the bed and unbutton her jeans as I toe off my boots. She kicks off her boots and lifts her hips for me to pull off her jeans and panties. I shove down my jeans and step out of them. Her hands are all over me, stroking along my shoulders and up my neck, pulling me down to her. She wraps those long, lean legs around my back and uses them to draw my hips down to hers.
I grab a condom from the bedside table. She takes it from me and rips it open. We are working in perfect collaboration now. Our goals perfectly aligned. Our need for each other equally desperate. Wanting to make sure she's ready to take me, I kiss down her neck to her breast and pull one nipple into my mouth.
She's impatient, though, and she reaches from my cock. I kneel up so she can roll the condom over my erection. She pulls me to her entrance. Guides me in.
I sink into her heat like I'm coming home. Like it's where I belong. Like nothing will ever keep me from claiming this perfect pussy as my own. Forever.
“I want you,” Kira moans.
“You have me.” I devour her mouth with a kiss, plunging my tongue inside to fuck her with matching thrusts.
She rocks her hips to keep time with mine, meeting me, taking me deeper, riding me on the downswing.
She is everything. Moonlight. And winter water. Snowflakes swirling in tiny eddies at the beginning of a storm. She is beauty and light and darkness and death all at once.
With each thrust I’m baptized in her energy. Her divinity. Her essence that becomes something erratic and wild.
I try to keep it, to hold it. I chase it down the path, knowing I will never fully possess it yet desperate to keep trying. To die trying.
“Kira,” I choke. I’m in a state of religious ecstasy. I’m worshiping at the altar of love. Of alchemy. I need her to make me whole again. To make me anew. Someone else, worthy of holding her, of keeping her forever.
She seems to be right there with me. The way she claws my arms. The frantic cries that come from her lips. Like she needs this more than she needs her own breath or blood.
“Yes.” She cries out in English then in Russian. “Da. Da-da-da-da-da. Da!”
There’s no kink involved in this coupling. No finesse. Nothing but wild, animalistic need. A feral claiming of bodies as if we could tear past the physical and claim each other’s souls.
My balls draw up tight. “I’m going to come,” I warn her, unable to slow myself, unable to think past my own driving need to take care of hers.
“Yes! Come!” she urges me.
I pound in and out of her as all the blood rushes below my waist. I choke on a breath, and then I’m hurtling over the edge, into oneness. Into infinite space. That floating, bodiless, wild realm where everything and nothing exist at once.
When I return to Earth, Kira’s in my arms. I’m still rocking into her, but gently now, a slow deceleration. A communion. A love-song lullaby that I want to last forever.
When it ends, neither of us says a word. I roll us to our sides, and we remain there, bodies intertwined. Hearts entangled.
Souls permanently stamped with the imprint of the other.
Chapter Fourteen
Kira
At bedtime, Maykl grabs two towels and tells me to follow him.
“Is there a pool? Where are we going? Do I need my boots?”
“Boots yes, but not a coat. It’s a hot tub.”
Hot tub. I love it.
Since our explosive sex this afternoon, things have shifted even more between us. I feel far less like his captive than his cherished lover.
Thoughts of escape still flit through my mind, but each time I dismiss them faster. I’m more and more committed to staying and letting things play out with Maykl. I still don’t know what that means or looks like, but I want to find out.
We leave the apartment, trailed by the two brigadiers outside the door. We take the elevator to the top floor, then take a short flight of stairs to the rooftop.
It’s freezing cold, but steam rises in a thick fog from one area of the roof.
Maykl stops when we hear female laughter.
“Who is it?” a male voice calls out.
“Maykl. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was up here.”
“It’s all right. We’re dressed. It’s a party!” the female voice calls out in English with a Russian accent.