Chapter 2
Alexei
For the first few moments, I’m convinced that I’ve fallen asleep on the plane and am now caught in a nightmare that’s taken a sudden turn into a wet dream.
What else can explain the fact that Alina’s soft lips are pressed to mine, her tongue venturing boldly into my mouth while her delicate hands cradle my face, even as the two doctors stand right outside the thin wall of this changing room, waiting to perform an MRI that will confirm her deadly diagnosis?
But no. No dream has ever felt this real. Not to mention, my head still feels like it’s been run over by a tank, the lack of sleep a leaden weight on every cell in my body.
No, scratch that. Not every cell. A bunch of cells are definitely alert and defying gravity. And as more blood rushes in that direction, igniting the violent fire that always burns in me for this woman, I forget all about said lack of sleep and our unfortunate location.
Because my Alinyonok is kissing me.
Kissing and touching me of her own accord.
A low growl rumbles in my chest, and I kiss her back, fiercely, savagely, gripping her hips hard.
I try to be gentle, I really fucking do, but she makes it impossible.
Instead of being passive and pliant in my embrace, she tears at my clothes, pushing at me with all the strength in her slender frame.
I let her push me where she wants, and my back hits the metal doors of the lockers with a clang.
The loud sound should’ve brought us to our senses, but nothing can penetrate the bubble of heat and madness encasing us—and certainly not once she unzips my pants and slips her hand inside, curling it around my throbbing dick while her mouth is still glued to mine.
That’s the point at which I lose it. Or maybe I passed that point long ago.
Perhaps when I first saw her. All I know is that as her slender fingers squeeze my shaft and begin to stroke up and down, my balls draw up tight and my vision blurs, my labored breaths roaring in my ears.
My hands act of their own accord, lifting her up against me and shoving aside her underwear as she wraps her long legs around my hips.
And then… fuuuck. Oh, fuck. My nerve endings buzz with electrifying tension as my cock sinks into her wet, hot, silky flesh, sliding in so deep that she cries out, momentarily breaking our kiss.
I groan too, trying to slow down, to hold on to any semblance of control, but as always, it is futile.
She’s back to kissing me—devouring me, in fact—and I am burning up, overtaken by the dark heat of it, the sheer fucking madness.
I don’t know what this is, why she’s suddenly initiating sex when she’s always claimed not to want me, but I don’t fucking care.
This is how I’ve always known it could be between us; this feral hunger is what I’ve always sensed in her.
She’s as desperate for me as I am for her, and for once, she’s not fighting it.
She’s not fighting me. Instead, the current battle is between our bodies.
Her tight, wet flesh clamps down on my cock as she rides me with all she’s got, milking me, trying to make me explode, whereas I’m trying to prolong this, to draw out the ecstasy prickling my spine, to make her explode first. And then…
fuck! I throw my head back as I lose—and win.
We come together, my guttural groan blending with her cry as we reach the peak and go over it, the pleasure crashing over us with a violence that leaves us both drained and shaking, our harsh breaths audible in the small room.
I don’t know what I expect in the aftermath.
Or maybe I do. Because with Alina, it’s always one step forward, two steps back.
Not to mention she’s likely embarrassed that we were almost certainly overheard.
But she surprises me. As our bodies separate, instead of pulling away and acting like I’ve just done something monstrous to her, Alina lays her head on my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist, leaning against me, letting me embrace her for another minute.
Letting us both pretend that this is the start of something new and wonderful, that everything is going to be all right.
And it will be. I’m determined to make it so. To that end… I gently pull away and lift her chin with the crook of my fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Ready for the scan?”
She nods, biting her puffy-from-our-kisses lips. But then she grimaces wryly and looks down at herself. “Actually… I think I could use a quick trip to the restroom first.”
Because my cum is dripping down her legs. Of course. I could use some cleanup too. I glance down at my cock, still wet from being inside her, and then I tuck it back into my pants and zip up.
I need to order us both a change of clothes, pronto.
The two doctors avert their gazes as we emerge from the dressing room. “Where is the bathroom?” I ask coolly.
Fasseau clears his throat. “There’s one by the reception area and one back there. I can take your wife to one, and Dr. Ingels will escort you to the other.”
Alina is already hurrying past me to the indicated bathroom by the reception, her face pink as she avoids looking at either of the doctors. Fasseau goes after her, and I let Ingels show me where the other bathroom is.
Maybe it’s all the endorphins from our impromptu encounter in the dressing room, or maybe it’s the fact that she initiated said encounter, but I feel better.
I feel… optimistic. No, that’s not it. I feel certain that everything will work out—that Alina will get well, and that she’ll grow to love me, as I’ve always known she would.
We just have to get through this surgery and whatever comes afterward.
Once inside the small, impeccably modern bathroom, I clean up the best I can and splash cold water on my face to fight off another wave of tiredness. I’m not going to rest until after Alina’s surgery is done. If she’s going to be awake while her skull is cut open, then fuck knows, so will I.
I will hold her hand through it all, and I will be by her bedside when she wakes for good.
Exiting, I tell Ingels to bring me to Alina. I assume, being a woman, she needs a little longer to clean up than I do.
He leads me to the bathroom by the entrance, and then we wait. And wait. And fucking wait.
After a couple more minutes, I turn to Ingels. “Where’s your colleague? Did he already take her in for the scan?”
Ingels frowns. “Maybe.” He steps up to the bathroom door and knocks on it lightly. “Mrs. Leonov? Are you in there?”
No answer.
“I guess he must’ve taken her there already,” Ingels says, looking a bit puzzled. “Let’s go.”
I follow him down the hallway again, a peculiar unease stirring in my chest. We find Fasseau in the MRI room, talking to two techs.
It doesn’t look like the machine is running—and Alina is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s my wife?” I ask sharply.
Fasseau turns to face me. “Oh, Mr. Leonov, hello. I was just wondering that myself. I asked Miss Weiss, our receptionist, to escort her here when she’s done. Is she not in the—”
I’m already running. No, I’m sprinting for the bathroom by the reception. It takes me only seconds to cover the distance at this speed, and then I’m pounding on the bathroom door and rattling the doorknob—which won’t fucking give.
“Mr. Leonov! Please, Mr. Leonov, let us get the key!”
The shouts of the doctors reach me just as I step back and slam my foot into the bathroom door, causing it to creak and crack.
I kick it again, ignoring the shock of pain radiating up my leg, and the door flies open, squeaking as it hangs partially off the hinges.
The doctors gasp at the destruction, as does the young receptionist who’s hurried over to watch the spectacle, but I don’t give a fuck.
Contrary to my worst fears, there’s no Alina lying passed out inside.
There’s nothing but a small open window looking out onto the tourist-filled street.