Chapter 18
NICO
She closes the door behind her and crosses the room, and the sound of the latch catching is the loudest thing I’ve heard all day.
Bare feet on the wood. The dress is one Sofia brought her — soft, dark, easy against her body. The chain at her throat.
I’m at my desk when she comes in and I don’t move. She’s early. Usually she comes in the deep hours when the household has gone quiet. Tonight there’s still noise below us, voices, the kitchen winding down, and she came anyway.
The room smells like her. It has for weeks. My cock goes hard the second she walks in. That’s weeks old too.
She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me without speaking, and the quiet between us has weeks in it.
She lifts her arms over her head and pulls the dress off in one motion. I didn't think I could get any harder. I was wrong. It's almost painful and I do not look away.
She’s in a bra. Cotton pants underneath, soft against her thighs. Her breath hasn’t changed. Her body is still.
She doesn’t look at the door. She looks at me.
I grip the edge of the desk behind me. My knuckles are going white. I know they’re going white.
“Tell me what you want.”
She doesn’t answer.
She lifts her right hand and reaches for me.
I stand.
I cross the room.
Weeks of her in my bed. Four inches between us. The door has stayed open.
Tonight she closed the door.
I sit beside her on the bed. Not in front of her. Beside her.
She turns toward me.
She puts her right hand on my chest.
The hand stays.
She kisses me.
The kiss is the library kiss with weeks of waiting in it.
My right hand goes to the back of her head. My left stays on the mattress between us. I’m keeping the left hand off her body until I’m asked for it.
She kisses harder.
Her tongue between my teeth.
Her right hand has gone from my chest up to the side of my neck. Her thumb is on my pulse.
I make a sound at the back of my throat I haven’t made in three years. Half-syllable. Raw.
My cock is pressing against my zipper hard enough to hurt.
She doesn’t stop. She makes a sound too, quieter, surprised, and I taste the surprise on her tongue.
I pull back one inch.
I put my left hand on her ribs, over the bra, and let the hand sit there.
“Mila.”
She doesn’t open her eyes.
“Say yes or no.”
A beat. Another.
“Da.”
Cracked. Her throat hasn’t made this sound in years.
I keep my hand on her ribs.
“You say stop and I stop. Any second. Clear?”
She opens her eyes.
“Yasno.” Clear.
I bring my other hand up to her face.
“If you need me to stop, tap my head twice. Hard. I stop. Any second. If something doesn’t feel right, tap me. Understand?”
She nods.
“Show me.”
She lifts her hand. A beat — I watch her decide — and then she taps the top of my head twice, firm.
My throat closes for a second. I hold still and wait for it to pass.
“Good,” I say. “I’ll stop the second I feel that.”
She nods again.
I bring my left hand around to the clasp at her back.
My fingers are at the clasp and I leave them there. Her breath goes shallow. Stays shallow. I keep my hands still. The light from the desk lamp is warm across her back.
Then her breath comes out, long and slow, and her shoulders drop half an inch.
I wait another beat. Then I unhook it.
I slide the straps down her arms. Slow. I let the bra come off slow enough for her body to register it.
She lets the bra drop into her lap.
Then her hands fly up.
She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her face away. The temperature drops.
I go very still.
Her eyes are closed. Her whole body has gone rigid.
I keep my voice low. Gentle.
“Mila. Look at me.”
She doesn’t.
“Please. Look at me.”
It takes her a long time, and then her eyes open, and she turns her head and looks at me.
Her arms are still crossed over her chest.
I don’t touch her.
I look at her face.
“Ty krasivaya.” You’re beautiful.
She shakes her head. Once. Hard.
“Da. Ty krasivaya.” Yes. You’re beautiful.
Her voice comes out broken. Barely audible.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You don’t... you haven’t seen...”
“I’m looking at you right now.”
Her eyes close again.
I move one inch closer. Not touching. Just closer.
“Mila. Posmotri na menya.”
She opens her eyes.
I hold her gaze.
“You are beautiful.” I hold her gaze. “What they did to you doesn’t touch that. What they told you isn’t true. You’re here because you chose to be.”
A beat.
“I’m not going to waste it.”
Her breath hitches.
“I want to see you.”
A beat.
“Only if you want me to. Hands stay where they are. Bra back on. Walk out. Any of those.”
I wait.
“Yours.”
She looks at me for a long time.
Then, slowly, she lowers her hands.
She sets them in her lap.
She’s trembling.
I don’t look down. I keep my eyes on her face.
“Can I touch you?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
“Da.”
I bring my right hand up. Slow. I cup the side of her face.
“You’re beautiful,” I say again. “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me.”
Her eyes are wet.
I don’t kiss her yet. I just hold her face and look at her.
Then I lower my mouth to her throat. Below the chain. The pulse there.
I take my time.
Collarbone. Sternum. The chain at my mouth.
I lower my mouth to her right breast, tongue on her nipple — she makes a small sound, surprised.
I suck gently.
She arches off the mattress.
The sound that comes out of her throat is bigger than the first. Something between a word and a breath.
My hips press into the mattress. I can’t help it. My cock is so hard it’s painful and the sound she just made nearly undid me.
I hold.
Mine.
I don’t say it out loud.
I move to the other breast.
My mouth. My tongue. My teeth, gently.
Her back bows.
Her hand goes to the back of my head. Her fingers are in my hair. She’s not pushing. She’s holding.
I keep my mouth on her.
I’m trying not to grind against the mattress. I’m failing.
Her voice. Low. Broken.
“Idi nizhe.” Go lower.
I lift my mouth and look at her face.
Fuck. She’s beautiful. Flushed. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are dark.
“Mila.”
“Da. Idi nizhe.” Yes. Go lower.
I move down.
Mouth on her ribs. Each rib slow. Stomach. The small dark line of hair below her navel. Hipbone.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants.
I look up at her face.
“Da ili net.” Yes or no.
She lifts her hips.
I take the pants off, then the underwear.
She’s on the bed in nothing but the chain at her throat.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
My cock is throbbing. I have to breathe through the urge to press my hips against her.
I don’t look down her body yet.
I keep my eyes on her face.
I move my mouth back down. Collarbone, sternum, ribs, stomach, hipbone. I have nowhere else to be tonight.
I kiss the inside of her right thigh.
She trembles.
Inside her left thigh.
She trembles again.
I move lower, between her legs.
She’s wet. She’s already wet and I haven’t even touched her yet.
Fuck.
I look up at her face one more time.
She’s watching me.
I lower my mouth to her.
I’ve barely touched my tongue to her when she goes rigid.
Her whole body locks.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
Not the sound this time.
Something else.
I lift my head immediately.
“Mila.”
She’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the ceiling. Her hand is over her mouth. Her other hand has gone to her stomach.
Her voice comes out muffled. Low. Fast. Panicked.
“Net. Ya... ya ne...” No. I’m... I’m not...
I move up the bed immediately. I don’t touch her. I sit beside her.
“Mila. Look at me.”
She doesn’t.
Her breath is coming too fast. Her whole body is shaking.
I keep my voice low. Calm.
“Posmotri na menya, pozhaluysta.” Look at me, please.
It takes her a long time.
Then she does.
Her eyes are wet. Her hand is still over her mouth.
“Skazhi mne.” Tell me.
She shakes her head.
“Skazhi mne, Mila.” Tell me, Mila.
Her voice comes out broken. Barely audible.
“I’m dirty.”
The words land in my chest like a knife.
I don’t move.
“You’re not.”
“I am. I’m... I’ve been... You shouldn’t—”
“Stop.”
She stops.
I move closer. Not touching. Just close enough she can see my face clearly.
“Look at me.” She does.
“You’re here. With me. That’s what’s real.”
I reach up slowly. I bring my hand to her wrist.
“Can I?”
She nods.
I gently pull her hand away from her mouth.
I bring her hand to my chest. Press it flat over my heart.
“Feel that?”
She nods.
Her tears come. Quiet. Her face is open. Nothing held back.
I bring my other hand up to her face. I wipe the tears away with my thumb.
“What do you want, Mila.”
Her breath comes out in a small rush.
“You. Tebya.”
“Please don’t stop.”
I lean in. I kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her mouth.
Soft. Gentle.
When I pull back, I look at her.
“Same signal. Still yours. Understand?”
She nods.
“Yasno.”
Clear.
I move back down her body. Slow.
I kiss her stomach. Her hipbone. The inside of her thigh.
I look up at her face one more time.
She’s watching me.
I put my mouth on her.
She’s soaked.
I groan against her. I can’t help it.
I lick her slow.
She makes a sound and my cock throbs hard.
I’m going to come in my fucking pants if I’m not careful.
I don’t care.
I lick her again. And again.
Her body arches off the bed.
I put my left hand flat on her hipbone. Not holding her down. Anchoring. I want her to feel where my hand is.
She makes a sound.
Bigger.
Not muffled.
The sound goes into the room and I nearly come from the sound alone.
Fuck.
I keep going.
I push my tongue inside her.
She makes the bigger sound again.
I pull back. I put my mouth on her clit.
I slide two fingers inside her while my mouth stays where it is.
She’s tight.
So tight.
My cock throbs. I want to be inside her so badly I can barely think.
Not tonight.
I curl my fingers and find the spot that makes her hips lift off the mattress.
She makes the sound.
Her hand comes back to her mouth.
I stop and lift my head.
“Ruka.”
The hand.
She doesn’t lower it.
I bring my free hand to her wrist. Gentle.
I pull back enough to look at her face.
“Mila. Khochu slyshat’. Khochu videt’ tebya. Pozhaluysta.”
Mila. I want to hear. I want to see you. Please.
She looks at me.
Her eyes are still wet.
“I want to hear you,” I say. “I want to hear every sound you make. Please don’t hide from me.”
She closes her eyes.
She lowers her hand.
She sets it on the bed beside her.
“Good girl,” I say quietly.
I put my mouth back on her clit.
I push my fingers back inside her.
I curl them. I find the spot again.
I don’t stop.
The orgasm is sharp.
Her throat opens before she can catch it.
She makes a noise I have never heard from her body.
Her hips lift. Her hand starts to go back to her mouth and then stops mid-air. It stays there, fist loose, not covering anything.
She comes.
Her body clenches around my fingers. The sound she makes is raw and broken and beautiful.
I keep my mouth on her until the shuddering stops.
When I lift my head, I look at her face.
She’s wrecked open.
Her hand is fisted in the sheet. Her chest is moving fast, the chain at her throat rising and falling with each breath, and her face is wet. The tears are quiet. She’s not performing anything for me. She’s just here, open, her eyes unfocused on the ceiling.
I’m still hard. I leave it alone.
I move up the bed and lie down beside her. I leave space between us. I bring my hand to her face and wipe the tears away with my thumb.
“Mila.”
She opens her eyes.
She looks at me.
“You’re beautiful,” I say. “And you just let me see you. Thank you.”
More tears slide down.
I wipe them away.
She doesn’t say anything.
I bring my hand to her back. I pull her gently against my chest.
Her face goes into my shoulder. My right arm goes around her. My left hand settles between her shoulder blades.
We stay.
We lie like that.
A long time.
Her breath evens. Then it slows. Then it goes long.
Her hand reaches for my belt before she’s fully asleep.
I catch the hand.
I bring it to my chest. Press it flat against my shirt over my heart.
“Net.”
No.
Her eyes open slightly.
She looks confused.
“Ne segodnya. Eto bylo dlya tebya.”
Not tonight. This was for you.
“But—”
“Not tonight.”
“You didn’t—”
“I know. Not tonight.”
She looks at me for a long time.
“Why?”
I bring my hand up to her face.
“Because if I let you touch me tonight, it becomes about me. And tonight isn’t about me.”
She’s quiet.
Then, so softly I almost don’t hear it:
“Thank you.”
I kiss her forehead.
“Sleep.”
She closes her eyes.
She settles against my chest.
Her hand stays flat over my heart.
I pull the blanket from the foot of the bed. I cover her with it.
We lie like that.
The lamp on the desk is still on.
I look at the woman asleep against my chest.
Her face is soft. The chain at her throat moves with her breath. Her right hand is on my ribs.
Milochka.
I can’t tell her yet.
When I do, I’m going to lose her.
I close my eyes.
I don’t sleep.