Sadie
I eat slowly because my sugar is still high and my stomach is fragile.
The clinical part of my brain won't let me shovel food the way my body wants to.
Small bites. Chew thoroughly. Give the insulin time to work.
The chicken is seasoned simply, rosemary and salt, and the rice is plain, the vegetables are steamed soft enough that I don't have to work for them.
Nick is in the chair by the window with his phone pressed to his ear talking to someone he calls Father Konstantin. He looks at me and smiles that small smile that melts me.
He ends the call. He puts the phone in his trouser pocket, and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Father Konstantin can do the ceremony at St. Elias," he says. "He needs two weeks for the banns. He says he can expedite, but two weeks is the minimum if we want it done properly."
"Two weeks." I set the fork down on the tray. "That's fast."
"It needs to be fast." He's watching my face, looking for something I don’t think he will find. "The protection starts when the marriage is formalized. Every day between now and then is a day you're exposed."
He's right. I know he's right. I should call Dr Mehta and let her know I probably can’t be at work for the next two weeks…
The thought of missing work irritates me, but the way his voice sounded when he said "my wife" ten minutes ago, makes the decision easier. It’s like the words had been living in his mouth for weeks and he was finally letting them out.
"Two weeks," I say again. "Okay."
His shoulders drop a fraction. "Okay," he repeats.
I push the tray toward the foot of the bed. My stomach is full and my sugar is leveling and the clinical checklist is satisfied. "I’m going to be your wife."
He exhales. It's not quite a laugh but it's close, a sound that lives in the space between relief and disbelief, and I realize that for all his certainty, for all his control and his precision, he was afraid I'd say no.
It undoes something in me.
I reach for him.
My hands find the front of his shirt and I pull in invitation. He comes. He always comes when I pull. He leans into me and I slide my hands up his chest to his collar and I hold him there, close enough that I can feel his breath on my mouth.
I pull him in until his mouth crashes into mine in the kind of kiss that comes after a day like this.
All teeth and hunger and the desperate need to prove we're both still alive.
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing the edges of my jaw like he's memorizing me, and I taste the faint salt of fear and relief on his tongue.
"Nick," I whisper against his lips, and he makes a low sound in his throat, something raw that vibrates through me.
He climbs onto the bed, careful not to crush me, but there's no hesitation in the way his body settles over mine.
The weight of him is perfectly solid, warm, and real.
I wrap my legs around his hips and feel him already hard against me through his trousers.
Heat pools low in my belly, chasing away the last echoes of the metallic taste and the cold concrete room.
His mouth moves down my neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point that still races from the day. I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "I need you," I say, the words slipping out unfiltered. "Inside me. Now."
He pulls back enough to look at me, those grey eyes dark with everything he's held back today.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as he peels it off.
The bra follows, his fingers deft despite the faint tremor in them.
When his mouth closes over my breast, tongue circling my nipple, I gasp and rock against the hard line of his cock.
The friction through my jeans is maddening.
I reach between us, palming him, stroking the thick length until he hisses and bucks into my hand.
"Off," I demand, tugging at his belt. He helps me, shoving his trousers and boxers down just enough.
His cock springs free, heavy and flushed, the head already slick.
I wrap my fingers around him, thumb sweeping over the tip, and he curses in Russian, low and filthy.
He doesn't waste time on my jeans. The zipper rasps, then denim and panties are dragged down my legs in one rough motion.
Cool air hits my wet folds, and I shiver.
Nick's hand is there instantly, two fingers sliding through my slickness before pushing inside me.
I clench around him, already so close from the adrenaline and the relief and the sheer need to feel him claim me.
"You're soaked," he murmurs against my throat, curling his fingers just right, stroking that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. "For me. Only me."
"Yes," I breathe, riding his hand. "Only you."
He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with the blunt head of his cock, rubbing it up and down my slit, coating himself in me.
Then he pushes in. Slow at first, stretching me open, inch by thick inch, until he's buried to the hilt.
We both groan. He fills me completely, the pressure perfect and overwhelming.
For a moment we just stay like that, breathing each other in.
Then he starts to move.
Deep, steady thrusts that rock the bed. Every slide drags against that sensitive spot inside me, building heat that coils tighter and tighter.
I meet him thrust for thrust, nails digging into his back through his shirt.
His rhythm falters when I clench around him, and he curses again, hips snapping harder.
"Look at me," he growls. His eyes are locked on mine, intense and possessive, like he's memorizing this too.
This moment where the world narrows to just us.
Sweat beads on his top lip; I lean up and lick it away, tasting salt and him.
He rewards me with a particularly deep thrust that punches the air from my lungs.
The orgasm hits me hard and sudden, crashing over me like a wave.
I cry out his name, body seizing around him, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure rips through every nerve.
He doesn't stop, fucking me through it, drawing it out until I'm trembling.
Then his pace turns punishing, short, brutal strokes that chase his own release.
"Come inside me," I whisper, lips against his ear. "Fill me up, Nick."
He shudders, buries himself deep one last time, and comes with a guttural moan.
I feel the hot pulse of him, the way he throbs and spills inside me, marking me in the most primal way.
His hips jerk a few more times, milking every drop, before he collapses half on top of me, careful not to crush my wrists.
We stay like that, his cock still twitching inside me, our breaths slowing together. His hand strokes my side, gentle now, tracing the curve of my hip. I turn my head and kiss his temple, feeling the ring on my finger catch the light when I move.
"I love you," he says quietly, voice rough.
"I love you too." I squeeze around him once more, just to feel him twitch.
A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest. He shifts, slipping out of me with a wet sound that makes me blush, and pulls me against him. Cum trickles down my thigh, but I don't care. I curl into his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Tomorrow there will be captains and consequences and a wedding to plan. Tonight there's just this: his arms around me, the ring on my finger, and the certainty that whatever comes next, we'll face it together.