and his Albanians; I don’t care about Daniel Elwood’s debts; I don’t care about the Justice Killer roaming around town like a poor man’s superhero trying to right every wrong he can.
This—her—us—that’s all that matters.
I spin her around and press her up against the wall. I can see just enough in the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door to notice how her breath fogs up against the tile walls in here. She’s moaning, meaningless words, half-gibberish.
“Ple—more—Mat…”
I ignore the words coming out of her mouth. This is a conversation with our bodies, not our mouths.
My hand shoves down the front of her pants, finds her wetness. I spread her lips apart and slip my fingers inside of her. It draws a gasping whimper from her—music to my ears.
I’m hard as a rock behind my zipper. I free my length with one hand. With the other, I rip down her jeans and panties in one swoop, knock her thighs apart to give myself room, and slide into her.
It’s like fucking heaven.
Her hand reaches back and seizes my hip. Not to stop me, but to pull me in deeper. The first thrust is pure bliss. The second is even better. The third is like the highest high I’ve ever felt.
And on and on like that, each one better than the next, sweat dripping from her to me and me to her as our bodies collide. Heat and moans and the wet smack of skin on skin. It’s all so overwhelming, every nerve ending on fire, every sensation alight, until it’s too much to bear and we both come as one, in a single shuddering, panting collapse.
Afterwards, I’m pressed flush against her, my chest pinned to her sweaty back. I take in a long breath.
Then I step back and disentangle myself from her.
“Matvei, I—” she starts to say, but I cut her off as I pull my clothes back together and zip my pants up.
“No. Don’t say anything. Just… don’t,” I finish.
She looks at my face in the darkness for a moment but says nothing. Thank the fucking lord. This was bad enough. I was weak enough to seek this out, to drag her into this closet and fuck her like my sanity depended on it. Like I needed her.
The worst part of all that… is that maybe I did.
A nurse appears at the mouth of the hallway just as we step out of the closet. “There you are!” the woman calls down.
Victoria looks up and turns ghost-white. She adjusts her clothes and turns to the nurse. “S-sorry.”
Almost pointedly ignoring what she’s just seen, the nurse says, “Your nephew is all bandaged up and ready to be released. If you’ll please follow me …”
I trail behind the two of them, willing myself to ignore the ache still lingering just below the belt. That encounter did more for me than any other women I’ve been with in recent memory, and it takes all my strength to get it out of my mind and return to the real world.
Nikolas is sitting on his hospital bed, a purple lollipop between his lips and his legs swinging back and forth. His eyes are glued to the television in the corner of the room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looks completely unscathed.
The doctor steps forward and says, “I’ve written out instructions on how to treat his burns for the next few weeks. I’d like for him to come back in for a follow-up. Will that be all right?”
“That’s perfectly fine,” I answer. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome,” the doctor smiles, ruffling Nikolas’ hair. “Alright, buddy, you be good and stay away from that stove now, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says politely. Victoria helps him down from the bed and they walk hand and hand back to the car with me.
The ride back is peaceful, but I can’t stop thinking about Victoria.
I want so badly to hate her. I want to put her in her place and show her, just like the night in the safe room, that she has no power over me. That I hold all the cards here.
But she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and I get a glimpse of her smooth skin and long neck, and I immediately fantasize again about marking her as my own.
What is happening to me?
When we return home and Victoria finally gets Niko into bed, she comes back downstairs and finds me in the living room.