Chapter 42
KONSTANTIN
"Yes," Nora says.
We leave the conference room together.
I keep my hand at the center of her back as we cross the quiet hall, touching only the green wool of her dress. The security director waits near the elevator with the separation package logged inside Nora's bag. He asks where she wants to go.
"Home," she replies.
Hearing her call the residence home affects me more deeply than simple relief. Relief would mean she survived. Home means she intends to share the mornings that follow.
In the underground garage, our car waits. Nora chooses the rear seat and slides across the leather until her thigh touches mine, fastening her belt without help. Once the door closes, privacy glass seals us inside warm darkness crossed by bars of garage light.
I've spent six days refusing to imagine this ride.
Her hand rests near mine on the seat, the silver wedding band still beside the small curve of her knuckle. She wears it tonight because she chose to stay, not because a guard report, legal signature, or witness required it.
I turn my palm upward.
Nora places her hand in it.
Under the slow sweep of security lights, we leave the garage.
Although the snow has stopped, plows have raised pale walls beside the road.
Beyond the winter glass, shop windows and traffic signals move past with pedestrians bent into their coats, while our joined hands rest between us without needing to become evidence for anyone.
"Are you tired?" I ask.
"Yes."
Her thumb traces the base of mine.
"Do you want your own room tonight?"
Nora looks over as passing light catches the brown hair pinned loosely behind one ear. "I want our room. If you ask me another version of whether I'm sure before we reach the house, I may become violent."
"You have had a difficult week. I'll risk it."
The corner of her mouth lifts.
At the residence, she keeps hold of my hand through the private elevator. The pale oak walls return our reflections in softened strips, her green dress beside my charcoal suit. We look married before either of us moves closer.
When the doors open onto the upper floor, Nora leads me toward the marital suite.
Since the breach, security has cleared every service panel, wall cavity, lock, and length of wiring. At the suite, the door now records her chosen access separately from mine. No camera, microphone, or second object followed the reservation card.
I tell her this before she touches the handle.
"I read the final sweep," she says. "I know."
Under her thumb, the lock releases and the door opens.
Across the sitting room, warm lamplight reaches cream fabric, black wood, and the chipped blue plate she brought from her apartment.
Her crooked lamp stands beside it, defiantly wrong for the room.
Beyond, white linen remakes the bedroom.
Nothing remains from the invasion except our knowledge that someone entered.
With the separation papers still inside, Nora sets her bag on the table.
"Do you want another room?" I ask.
She turns toward me, reaches behind her back, and lowers the zipper of her dress by several inches. "I chose this one."
The air leaves my lungs.
For weeks, wanting her has lived beside medical rooms, smoke, anger, and the possibility that touch would ask for more than she wished to give. Now desire returns without guilt to dilute it. My cock hardens inside my trousers as Nora slips one shoulder of the dress lower.
She watches the reaction cross my body.
"Lock the door," she says.
I do.
Behind me, the latch engages. Nora's breathing deepens while I cross the sitting room, though she doesn't retreat. I stop within reach.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want my husband to stop looking at me as if I might disappear."
"You could."
"I kept the papers." She steps closer, placing her palms against my shirt. "I also came home."
Up my chest, her hands move with enough heat to pass through cotton and awaken every place her fingers travel. One after the other, she opens two buttons.
I let her undress me.
As the shirt parts, Nora pushes it from my shoulders and watches dark hair appear between the open edges, followed by the harder lines of my stomach.
Across my right ribs, the passage scrape has faded to a narrow red mark.
Avoiding it, her fingertips move lower to trace the pale band of skin normally hidden by my waistband.
She looks at me with open appetite.
Under her attention, I become aware of every physical fact. The weight in my cock. The pull of muscle when I breathe. The cold point of her ring against my abdomen. Her fingers open my belt, brushing the coarse hair below my navel before the trousers loosen around my hips.
Nora bends to press her mouth low along my left side. The kiss lasts one breath.
I catch her face between my hands.
"My turn." She releases the belt.
Made from heavy winter wool, the green dress fits over her breasts before narrowing at the waist. Since the conference room, its clean fall below her knees has made me think about lifting the skirt. With the zipper open, the neckline parts over a narrow black strap at her shoulder.
I move behind her.
Gathering her hair away from the fastening, Nora offers me the exposed warmth of her nape. I kiss the small bones there while lowering the zipper to her waist, feeling each tooth release between my fingers.
The dress opens.
From her right shoulder, I slide the dress first. On the left, I guide the wool over the place that struck concrete at the park, where the discoloration has faded. After testing the arm, Nora nods when the movement causes no pain.
Fabric passes over her hips, dropping around her feet.
Under the dress, black lace follows the full curve of her breasts, sheer across the upper halves with an opaque band below. Against the fine pattern, her nipples press visibly. Matching panties rise high at her waist, their edges lying smooth above the round line of her hips.
After weeks of looking, I know the small changes pregnancy has made. Her breasts are heavier than they were on our wedding night, with faint marks where the bra held their weight. Below her navel, softness has gathered over an abdomen that remains nearly flat, and the sight tightens my throat.
When Nora turns, lamplight touches her from shoulder to thigh.
Brown hair has loosened over one side of her face. With her lips parted and eyes fixed on mine, she steps out of the dress.
I want to kneel before her. I also want to lift her over my shoulder, put her on the bed, and prove with my body that she's returned.
Wanting her this much feels almost like reverence because every hunger in me still answers to her.
"May I take this off?" I ask, touching the clasp between her breasts.
Nora covers my hand and opens it herself.
In my hands, the lace falls apart. She draws the straps down her arms and drops the bra onto the dress, freeing breasts made full by pregnancy and darkened nipples already tight in the warm room.
I cup them both.
Nora arches into my hands. As my thumbs pass lightly over the peaks, her eyes close and a quiet sound escapes her, unguarded by anger or an open door. "They're sensitive," she says. "Don't be too gentle."
I lower my mouth to her right breast.
Against my tongue, the nipple firms. I draw it between my lips and increase the pressure until her fingers close in my hair. As her body moves toward me, one arm supports her back while my other hand holds the weight of her breast, keeping my mouth where she presses it.
Her breath shortens when I use my teeth.
"Like that."
I give the other breast the same attention, slower this time, learning the pressure that makes her thighs shift. The scent of her skin has changed since pregnancy, warmer through her usual soap. I breathe it against the damp circle my mouth leaves around her nipple.
Nora pulls my head up.
Her kiss is hungry from the first contact. She opens my mouth with hers, tasting herself from my tongue while her hands drag over my shoulders. I grip the backs of her thighs and lift her, waiting.
She wraps both legs around my waist.
The lace between her thighs presses against my hard cock through the loosened trousers. Nora rocks once, deliberate. Wet heat reaches me through the fabric.
"Bedroom," she says against my mouth.
I carry her there.
The room smells like clean linen with cedar from the low fire. Snow reflects city light onto the dark windows, turning them pale at the edges. I put Nora down beside the bed before removing the rest of my clothing while she watches.
My trousers fall. The briefs follow.
My cock rises hard against my stomach, thick with blood, the head dark in the low light. A drop of fluid shines at the slit. Nora's gaze moves down the length, lingering on the veins under the skin before she reaches for me.
Her fingers close around the base.
The first stroke strips thought from me with humiliating ease. She draws her hand upward, thumb passing through the wetness at the head before her palm travels down again. Her grip is warm, firm, and entirely too slow.
"Nora."
"I missed this."
She strokes me once more.
I catch her wrist, bringing her palm to my mouth. "On the bed."
Desire brightens her face.
Onto the white linen, Nora climbs and settles near the edge. I draw the black lace down each leg until she's bare before me, and her thighs open without instruction.
Pink skin deepens in color between them, wetness shining along the folds of her pussy. A dark curl of hair remains above it, trimmed close to reveal the swollen point of her clit. When I separate her with two fingers, more slickness gathers at her entrance.
I lower myself between her knees.
Nora reaches for me at once. "I want you inside me."
"You will have me." I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh and move upward without touching where she wants me most. Her hands tighten in the sheet. The pulse beside my lips beats quickly.
"Konstantin."
"First, I need to know how my wife tastes when she chooses to come home." I open her with my fingers before putting my mouth on her.