Chapter 15 Mina
MINA
The plane hums. The map creeps across black water. I watch the thin line crawl and know it is only a guess. The rest of this night is a guess. He was right about that. We don’t know what comes next. We only know we are here.
I let that settle in my chest. It feels like a knot at first. Then it loosens. A little. I picture my boys asleep under thick blankets in a room that smells like soap and wood. My mother arguing with a kettle. Guard women circling outside. Everyone safe.
Roman sits next to me instead of across. His knee brushes mine. No words. He pours a small amount of champagne and more water and sets both on the table. His fingers are steady. The plane shifts. He does not.
“You were right.” The words taste strange and honest as I say them. I’m not sure if I like that combination. “We don’t know what will happen. We should enjoy what we can.”
He studies my face. “What does that mean to you?”
“Live in the moment.”
“We can do that.” He lifts my left hand and studies the ring. It sits there like it has always known my finger. He kisses the base of my thumb. The kiss is not a test. It is a question. I nod because my mouth is busy trying not to shake.
He kisses me then. Slow. Careful. Not because I am fragile.
Because he knows I’m tuned tight and wants to retune me.
I lean in for more. Heat runs up the back of my neck and across my scalp.
His hand slides to my jaw. He pauses. He is asking again without asking.
I say yes against his mouth because I don’t want to speak and stop this.
“Tell me to stop anytime,” he says against my lips.
“I will.”
His palm cradles my jaw. My fingers slide to his collar and learn the line of muscle beneath the fabric.
He tastes like the champagne. His kisses go deeper, like he’s tasting his favorite fruit.
I press closer. The armrest gets in the way, and he laughs under his breath.
I do too. It breaks something brittle inside me that needed to break.
I swing a leg over his lap and settle there. He is strong and solid under me. I feel grounded for the first time in a long time. I’m not sure how he does it—how he makes me feel safe even now.
The truth is, the night I met him at Rope, I felt safe. Reckless, yes. Wild, yes. But safe in a way I had not felt in years. Maybe ever. He looked at me and I knew that while he was in the room, nothing bad would reach me there.
That certainty scared me more than the club ever did.
It made me feel young in the worst way, like a girl playing at being grown.
I did not know how to sit across from a man like that and hold a conversation without giving myself away.
So I took the easy out instead of facing a post-sex conversation.
I crawled out the bathroom window and told myself it was because I had gotten what I came for.
It was my ego. Leaving was simpler than speaking to someone like him.
There is no sneaking out now. We are married. He’s not going anywhere and neither am I.
His hands travel the safe places first. Spine. Waist. The curve where my dress fits and then lets go. No rush. We have hours. We can take our time and still feel greedy for it.
I touch his hair. It is rough where it’s salt and softer where it’s pepper. He makes a low sound when I scrape my nails lightly at the nape. I file that sound away to use again. He maps my shoulders with his mouth. I tip my head so he can.
He stops at the line of my scar and kisses just below it. “Come here.”
“I am here,” I say, but I move tighter to him anyway. He checks the door with that glance that reads the world. He presses a button. The cabin lights dim one more step. The shade slides down over the window. The hum deepens. The rest of the plane goes away.
It’s just me and him now.
I want skin. I say it with my hands. He understands. He unbuttons. Slow again. He’s not teasing me. He’s setting a pace that keeps my head clear. I help. We make a mess of the shirt and his pants on the cushion and forget it. Same with my clothes.
I slide my hands under his shirt where it’s rumpled around his waist. His skin is hot.
He is cut and thick and built to take hits.
I trace over a scar I do not know. It’s small and round, and I want to know if it was made by a bullet or a stab wound, but asking now would ruin the mood.
He shivers when I touch there. He does not tell me the story.
Tonight is not for old stories. Tonight is for a new one.
He reaches into the drawer in the side table without taking his mouth from mine. A small packet appears. He tears it open with a movement so practiced it barely exists. Relief rolls through me hard enough that it almost hurts.
We will be careful this time. I’m on birth control, but I was when we met, and that had twin consequences, so I’m happy for more protection this time.
He pulls my hips to him, and for the second time, I wonder how that’ll fit.
When he wedges against me, it feels like heaven.
I glide up and down his length, letting him spread my wetness across the condom before entering me.
Finally, I settle myself onto the head of his cock and start the excruciatingly slow journey of taking him inside.
Roman’s jaw is tense as I take him inch by inch.
He watches my face for anything but yes.
My eyes sting for a second from the rush of it.
I blink and ride it out. He wipes a tear with his thumb.
It is not sadness. It is pressure leaving.
He kisses me until the heat becomes unbearable and we both must breathe as I sink all the way down.
And then, he’s unleashed.
I do not want poetry. I want this. I want the feel of his hands. The way he rocks up into me rougher and harder with every stroke. The way he says my name like it’s the only word he knows.
He shifts and presses and changes the pace until I am off-balance in the best way. The impact of his thrusts sends my body spiraling inside myself. His length hits every spot I need hit, and his pubic bone does the rest to my clit. I can’t breathe, and I don’t care. Something big is coming.
The world goes white around the edges and then comes back with sound. I’m beneath him now, on my back on the seat. The edge of my orgasm shines in my bones. I hold on to his shoulders and ride this out, begging, “More, harder!”
“Always,” he vows and proves it. Our bodies smack together, wet, hard, loud.
I come hard enough to bite my lip. He kisses where I bit and swears under his breath in Russian, then in English like he’s trying to pick the right syllables for the moment. My voice wobbles. “Come for me!”
He growls, “Fuck, Mina, now!” He buries his face in my neck and holds still where he can, but his body jerks inside of me. I hold still around him. The plane hum fills in where the noise was. We don’t move for a minute. I like that minute more than anything before it.
When we separate he takes care of the details.
Quick. Clean. He tosses the evidence into a small bin and closes the lid.
He brings a warm cloth from the lavatory and hands it to me without being precious about it, and we dress.
He hands me water next. His chest rises and falls like a man who finished work that mattered.
It did.
I curl into his side and listen for footsteps that do not come. No one knocks. No one asks if we want anything. The cabin stays ours.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Better than okay.”
He checks anyway. He looks at my eyes. He watches my mouth. He wants to be sure I am not saying it for him. I like that about him more than the ring. “We will not pretend here. Not when it’s just the two of us. Not when it matters.”
“I promise. I’m great, Roman.”
He kisses my forehead, then brings a blanket from the cabinet and shakes it out over our legs. He drags a finger down the side of my thigh. Not to start something. To keep me anchored. It works.
I rest my cheek on his shoulder. Silence folds around us. Not empty. Full.
I have been with other men in the past who feign intimacy. I know what that looks like. This isn’t that. Roman, for all his flaws, isn’t the type to fake anything. He says what he means. He doesn’t shield me from the truth. Only from harm.
I like him. That scares me. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing to like someone like him. But how much do I really know about him? Most of what little I know about him came from Vitaly, and most of what he told me was bullshit.
I owe it to Roman to get to know him on his own terms. This isn’t a traditional marriage by any means, but maybe we can make something that works for us.
The sex definitely does.
Roman brushes my hair back from my face. “Sleep.”
I shake my head. “If I sleep, I will see the wrong things.”
“Then watch the window. It’s a nice view.
” He keeps talking until my breathing matches his.
Not about plans. About small things. Where the sun will be when we land.
What the first step down the stairs will feel like in this heat.
I let those pictures stack up until they feel real. My eyes close without asking me.
Before I drift off, I mutter, “Tell me a secret.”
“I do not keep many.”
“You keep all of them. That’s your job.”
He laughs. “I wanted to be a teacher once. Before any of this was forced upon me.”
“You still teach. Different students.”
“I need better students.”
“You have me.”
“I have yet to need to teach you anything.” He kisses the top of my head.
“What did you want to teach?”
His smile reads surprised. “Chemistry.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s fascinating.”
“I bombed my high school chemistry class.”
He laughs and looks away. “Bombs are how I got into chemistry in the first place.”
I snort at that. “Well, that makes sense, I guess.”
“Why don’t you doze off for a while? We may not sleep much when we land.”
“That seems smart. Just not sure if I can.” I touch the ring with my thumb. Warm metal. A simple circle. It is not magic. It is a tool. Like the plan. Like sleep.
Roman rests his head against the back cushion and closes his eyes. Not asleep. Resting. I’m not sure he ever sleeps. He doesn’t look like it. He has those sleepy hound dog eyes I’ve always liked.
His hand never leaves me. I look out the window and try to see the curve of the world. I cannot. I can see my face faint in the glass. My mouth looks soft. The line on my jaw is only a line. My eyes are a different woman’s eyes. Brighter. Tired. But alive.
I slide my fingers between his and drift away.