19. Baptism Of Vodka #2
Dominik tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. “Bo?e ?wi?ty,” he mutters, some part of it a prayer, the rest of it a curse. When he finally looks at me, still straddling him, flushed and shaking, a disbelieving grin cracks across his face. “The counter is soaked.”
He tips his chin to the carnage on the counter before I can assume something else that is probably equally true.
I try to burrow into his shoulder, muffling the helpless laugh that bursts out of me.
Finally, I take in the scene, the set of shot glasses tipped over along with the bottle, still wobbling, vodka running off the edges of the counter like water, the sound of it hitting the linoleum in a stream. A total mess, like us.
“Vodka, everywhere. Fitting, really.” I tip the bottle upright like it will help anything now, it’s already empty. He laughs at the futile gesture, as the impact splashes vodka on us both with a thud. I realize my dress is drenched, handprints smeared across his shirt, the counter slick.
“How did this happen?”
He dips his finger into the puddle, makes the sign of the cross along each shoulder, then a teasing dab in the center of my chest, and one last dot on my nose.
He grins, pulling me back into him with a kiss hot enough to spark the vodka-soaked kitchen into flames.
For a minute we just sit there, tangled, laughter tapering into stillness, the shock lingering with something heavier underneath it all.
Dominik exhales, presses a kiss to my temple, softer than anything that came before.
“I don’t think the bed could have handled that anyway.”
That sets me off again, laughing so hard I nearly slide from the counter. He catches me before I can, both of us shaking with it, helpless, unable to stop
Back in the bedroom, I knot a towel around myself, hair damp, body humming with exhaustion and aftershocks. I’m barely steady when Dominik comes in behind me, brushing past without hesitation, dropping his towel before sliding under the covers like it’s typical.
I freeze. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” he says, stretching. “I sleep naked.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re a dad. That’s a lie.”
He grins, unabashed. “I used to, before. Tonight, I will.”
The sight of him sprawled there, long lines, warm skin, heats me all over again. “Well… it is the first time I’ve actually managed to get you fully naked. We never seem to have the patience for that.”
“Maybe that means something,” he teases, voice low.
I drop my towel and slip under the covers.
His arm comes around me instantly, pulling me close, our bodies slotting together with simple ease.
Skin to skin, heat rolling off him, the steady beat of his heart against my back.
It should be calm, it should be enough. But after only a few breaths, I feel him pressed against me, hardening, insistent.
“Dominik,” I warn, half-laughing. “We just got clean and comfortable, don’t start with your wild ideas.”
But before I can convince myself otherwise, I arch my body into him, the line of my spine pressed to his chest, my thighs parting just enough to make the invitation clear.
His breath catches, a growl rumbling low in my ear. “I don’t expect I’ll get much sleep with you around.”
We don’t stop. Not when midnight passes, not when the sheets twist and the pillows end up on the floor, not when my legs shake from holding on and his voice cracks into curses that sound more like a plea.
It isn’t hard to see why someone would fall for him.
In the shadows, in the heat, in the way he laughs even as he groans into my shoulder, in the strength and tenderness that crash together like storm and sun.
When I meet his gaze in the dark, when I see the way he looks at me like I’m a dream made real, it rattles me to my bones.
It shakes me with the enormity of it and still, I can’t look away.
At some point, in the space between breaths, he whispers Kocham ci?…
I love you, a confession he can’t hold back anymore.
The nervous deflection rushes to my mouth, but he stops it with his lips, kissing the words away, smiling like he’s scared I’ll break the spell if he lets me speak.
Later, when we move together again, careful and breathless and laughing into each other’s skin, he says it again, firmer this time, to prove he really said it. To me, or to him, I'm not sure.
When sleep finally drags us under, it’s only for a few short hours. The morning light cuts across the room, his arm still heavy around me. I press a kiss to his throat, breathing in salt and heat and every memory of the night.
Before I can stop myself, in the smallest whisper, “Chyba si? zakochuj?… mi?o?? czai si? za rogiem.” I’m falling in love with you…
For a moment I think maybe it was just for me, something whispered into his skin. But then I feel his throat move under my lips, the faintest rumble of words.
“I must be dreaming,” he says to the air. A pause, then rougher, amused: “Or hallucinating, from the vodka.”
I smile up at him, caught, satisfied. His eyes soften, then he kisses me, slow, tender and into my mouth he murmurs, “Kochana, did you just say—”
“Chyba si? zakochuj?…”
The groan he gives is ecstasy mingled with torture, then he’s rolling on top of me, his hands sliding along my wrists until they’re pinned above my head.
I open for him, my legs curling around his waist, hunger sparking hot again as he enters me—then the alarm blares.
We both groan in frustration and a pair of exasperated sighs follow.
“I’m sure they’d be okay if we were a little late,” I murmur, pressing into his chest, arching my back and pulling him in with my legs, sending a shiver of pleasure through him as he thrusts back in response, a little game of dare we’re playing with each other.
“With you?” He huffs a laugh, though his body is still taut with wanting, a small rhythm picking up that I lean into.
“There is no 'a little late'." He moans, beginning to lose the war my body is waging against his protests, before hissing out his next sentence, still struggling for control.
"Hours would go by before I knew it. Zosia would think we left her forever.”
He rolls back with a regretful groan, breaking our connection, then taps my hip with his palm, playfully “Up, up, up. Out of this bed demon, before I get a young priest and an old priest.”
I burst out laughing, stretching far more extravagantly than necessary as I roll away. He huffs a noise and bites his lip at the sight, dragging a hand down his face, the other covering himself like it might hide how ready he still is.
“Ignore him,” he mutters, glaring at his own body. “He doesn’t listen to reason or schedules.”
I’m still laughing as I dart out of the room, naked and glowing, his gaze burning against my back.