Thirty-Three
Rubin
“Make sure the doors are locked,” I said.
Besnik slid the heavy door in place and engaged the manual lock.
We’d made it to B block on the third floor, and other than the corpses littering the common area, it seemed safe enough.
The fourth floor, and the resources we’d stored there, were lost to us.
I gave a fleeting thought to Simone’s suggestion that we spread out supplies.
It had been smart, and I should tell her that, but all I could do was stare at Simone.
Her neck was starting to bruise, a smattering of purple where Lorik’s fingers had been, mapping out how she’d almost died.
“Water,” I called over my shoulder.
Damian appeared in a moment with a bottle of water.
“Drink,” I said to Simone.
My eyes watered, but I didn’t blink as I handed her the bottle and watched her drink all of it. She coughed but then swallowed it down.
“How’s your throat?”
“Burns,” she croaked, “but I’m fine.”
She wiped at her tear-stained face and then looked at me, trying to convince me she was fine. Simone was a master of deception, but she failed this time.
She glanced away, then looked at me. “You are tradhtare. You deserve to die. He said that.”
“You do,” I said.
Her eyes went hard. “So why didn’t you just let him kill me?”
“I already told you, Simone. Your life is mine.”
She looked at me through red, swollen eyes. “You’re not gonna hold that over my head anymore, Rubin. I’ve had enough of it.”
“You think I care? You’re sad because you almost died. I lost a man, a good one, all because you are a liar. But the fact remains you die when I say, not a single second before,” I said.
I’d killed Lorik without a moment’s hesitation because of that truth. I’d watched him grow up. Had eaten at his mother’s table.
Took his life.
Because of her.
She stared at me, head shifted, defiant, as honest as I had seen her in years. Too bad it took a near-death experience to strip away the artifice, but it was gone now, at least for the moment. I watched as she carefully reconstructed it. The soft, yielding Simone.
She met my gaze. “Yes, krye. May I sit down?”
I turned, walked away from her, and refused to look back.
Simone
Rubin was worried. He would call it a useless emotion, but I could see it nonetheless.
My eyes still burned and I fought to suppress a cough, but that barely held my attention.
Instead, I watched Rubin. He sat stock-still in the office we’d taken over.
It wasn’t as nice, if that word even applied, as the warden’s, but it had a bathroom too.
Rubin’s expression was hooded, giving nothing away, but he worried his thumb against his index finger. It was something he did all the time. I don’t think he even realized it, but it was a familiar motion to me. Except now there was an intent behind it.
A hilarious word for Rubin, who was the definition of intent. But this wasn’t his usual calculation. This was something more.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Drink some more water.”
“I’ve already had two bottles. We need to reserve what we can.”
“Drink more, Simone.”
I opened the bottle and took the tiniest sip, hoping it would placate him. That he said nothing, even though he watched me do it, gave me my answer.
“I’m sorry about Lorik,” I whispered.
He gave a disgusted scoff. “Lorik would have choked the last breath out of your lungs. Why are you sorry about him?”
“Because you had to kill him.”
“Did I?”
“You did. Not for me, but for you,” I said.
Something flashed in his eyes at that, but I chose to ignore it.
“I know your business. I know there are rules. But that doesn’t mean it was pleasant for you.”
“And it matters whether it was pleasant for me?” Rubin said.
“It does,” I responded.
I risked standing, walked to him, and lifted my hand. I left it hanging there, unsure what to do with it. I knew what I wanted to do. Knew the thought itself was insane. But I didn’t know how Rubin would take it, didn’t know how I’d look at myself after.
Fuck it.
I stroked my hand down his stubbled cheek.
His skin was soft and deliciously rough at once, and I squirmed at the thought of that cheek on the inside of my thigh.
I traced his bottom lip with my thumb, went to do it again, and he caught it with his tongue and bit my fingertip.
I let my finger rest there a moment, then pulled it free.
I kept my eyes on his as I leaned down, closer, closer. Just when I was about to brush my lips against his, he turned his face and glared up at me. He looked angry. He was warning me.
I ignored the sting of yet another denied kiss and leaned forward, pressed my lips against his throat instead. He swallowed, not nervous, not excited, but I kept my lips centered over the pulse at his neck. He pulled back again, his eyes bright with the question.
“What are you doing, Simone?”
I had no clue. I let my instinct and my desire guide me. I stroked my hand down his chest and curled my fingers into his waistband. I nodded, and he lifted his hips so I could drag the fabric down. I wasted no time and settled over his hardness.
I kept my eyes on him as I gripped him at the base and teased myself with his thickness, then took him inch by inch until not even a millimeter separated us.
I let out a low moan. He grunted against my neck but didn’t move.
It was the most delicious torture, and I found myself squirming, the sensation blowing my mind.
I rocked, experimental, then gripped his shoulders tight.
Did it again and again until I was panting, so lost in the feeling that everything fell away.
Everything except him. His broad shoulders under my arms, the slickness of his skin against mine, the way he pulsed inside me.
Hot, hard, incredible. I moved faster, more frantic.
If not for the harsh huff of Rubin’s breath and his fingers tight against my waist, I would have thought I was in this alone.
I dropped my hips, trapping him as deeply as I could, and screamed, uncaring of who heard.
Rubin grunted, seeming to consider, then tightened his grip on me and emptied himself inside me.
It was the most incredible feeling. I sighed and sagged against him.
Held him until my breath started to flow again, then pulled back ever so slightly to meet his eyes.
I couldn’t resist, and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.
He locked his eyes on mine, held my gaze for a long moment, then unceremoniously lifted me, seeming not to care about the evidence of what we’d just done spilling out of me. He pushed me aside.
“There are rules, Simone. Lorik broke them, so Lorik had to die. But that’s not the reason,” he said.
“What is?”
Rubin put his hand on my stomach, then dropped lower, tangling his fingers together and pushing through my damp folds. He stroked me idly as he spoke. “I told you your life is mine.” He pulled his hand away. “Now get out of my sight.”