Chapter 25 Polina
Polina
Two weeks into the compound’s routine, I know Lev’s schedule better than I should.
He runs at six, spends his days shut up with Tony in the conference room, and walks the perimeter by nine at night.
When we pass in the halls, we talk like the only problem between us is circumstance.
And I’ve been telling myself that arrangement suits me just fine.
By now, Dmitri’s men have eased up in small ways. They don’t trail us anymore, and they’ve stopped acting like a hallway conversation requires intervention.
That doesn’t mean they trust us. It means two weeks have passed without either of us doing anything stupid, and men like these mistake temporary compliance for progress.
At half past midnight, I follow the sound of impact down the east corridor. No one stops me. A guard near the stairwell glances up from his phone, sees it’s me, and goes back to pretending he isn’t paying attention.
The gym is a large room with rubber flooring and no windows.
Lev has his back to me when I push the door open, working the heavy bag, his hands wrapped in white and his shirt soaked through and stuck to his back.
He hasn’t heard me come in. I stand in the doorway and watch him move, holding my breath at the sight of him.
He turns to reset his stance and stops when he sees me. He pulls one hand wrap loose with his teeth and waits, probably expecting me to storm off.
“You’re favoring your left side,” I comment.
He glances down at his torso and replies, “I’m fine.”
I stalk across the room and push his shirt up without waiting for permission. A bruise spans two ribs, purple fading to green at the edges. I run two fingers along the lower margin to check for give. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away.
“Did Dmitri do this to you?”
He shakes his head. “Boris, but it’s not like that. Sparring got away from us both.”
“This is at least two days old.” I map the full extent of it with both hands. Nothing is cracked. He’ll manage. “You should have gotten it checked out.”
“I knew where to find you if it got worse.”
I drop his shirt and step back, and he watches me do it without moving. “I didn’t mean by me.”
“Polina.” His voice is quiet. “Why are you here?”
I breathe in deep as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” I admit, because it’s past midnight and I’m too tired to lie to either of us. “The two years. Every time I get it somewhere manageable, I turn it over again and it’s still the same. You stalked me, Lev.”
He doesn’t offer a reason or a justification. He lets it sit.
“I told you everything,” he says. “I’ll keep apologizing for it if that’s what you need. I am sorry, and I will be for a long time. But I can’t say anything new.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, throwing my hands in the air. “I couldn’t sleep, I heard the bag, and here I am. Make of that what you will.”
My eyes drop to his mouth for one second before I drag them back up. That’s all the signal he needs.
He closes the distance, one hand sliding to my jaw as he tips my face up to his. He looks at me like he always does—like I’m the most important problem he’s ever had. I still can’t decide if that should scare me or ruin me.
“You’re still angry,” he states.
My mouth goes dry, but I hold my ground, glaring at him. “Of course I’m still angry, you idiot.”
“Good.” He drags his thumb along my bottom lip and adds, “I’m not asking you to stop.”
He kisses me, and I fist his shirt and drag him closer. He lifts me by the thighs and pins me to the tile wall, and I lock my legs around his waist. Two weeks of distance collapse in four seconds.
His hand slides into my shorts. I’m already wet. He drags his fingers through me once before pushing two inside, curling them forward while his thumb settles against my clit. He watches my face as I tighten around him.
“Tell me what you want,” he orders.
“You know what I want.”
“You have to say it.” His thumb moves in a single slow circle just along the outside of that little bundle of nerves and stops. “Tell me.”
I grind against his hand and whimper. “Just fuck me, Lev. Right fucking now.”
“Ask properly, Polina.”
He’s completely composed, like my wanting him doesn’t touch him at all.
And it pisses me off.
I know what he’s doing.
He won’t give me what I need until I say it.
“Please.” I force the word out. “I want your cock inside me.”
He holds my gaze one more beat, then pulls his fingers free. The absence hits immediately. I reach for his waistband before I can stop myself. He lets me drag him closer. When my hand wraps around his cock, I stroke once, and he exhales slowly through his nose.
Finally. A reaction.
He pushes my hand aside and lines himself up. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, but he doesn’t move.
“Say it again, Polina. I want to hear you beg.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. My nails dig into his shoulder.
“I want you inside me,” I grit out. “Now. Please.”
He drives into me in one deep stroke, and I bury my face in his neck to keep from crying out. He fills me completely and stays there, his mouth close to my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I lift my head. He starts to move — deep, steady strokes — watching my face with ruthless focus. His hands clamp on my hips as he drives into me hard enough to push me up the tile with every thrust.
I bite my lip to hold in the sound.
“Don’t,” he mutters. “I want everyone in this building to hear you.”
His thumb finds my clit again while he keeps moving, and thinking stops being possible. His eyes never leave my face while I fall apart around him.
“You’re mine,” he says against my ear.
“You don’t get to say that.”
He thrusts harder.
“Stop me.”
The pressure builds low in my belly as he keeps the same relentless pace. I feel the control I’ve been clinging to for two weeks start to fracture.
“Let me hear you,” he murmurs, shifting the angle and hiking my leg higher.
I bite his shoulder when I come, hard enough to mark him. He drives into me twice more before finishing with his face buried in my hair.
After a moment he sets me back on my feet, steadying me until my legs hold. I pull my shorts up and lean against the tile, staring at the ceiling.
We end up on the floor with our backs against the bench, passing his water bottle between us.
The bite mark on his shoulder is already going red. He doesn’t mention it.
“I missed you,” I confess to the far wall.
“These two weeks. The talking. I missed having someone around who doesn’t turn every sentence into a status report.
” I take a drink and hand the bottle back.
“I hated that I missed you. I still do, right now, sitting six inches away from you, which makes no sense.”
He turns the bottle over in his hands and nods. “Tonight doesn’t change what I kept from you. I’m not going to pretend it does.”
“That’s the problem. If you tried to paper it over, I’d know how to react. Instead you’re telling me the surveillance was exactly what it was and refusing to dress it up.” I shake my head.
“I don’t know what to do with a man who won’t defend himself when defending himself would be easier. I can’t separate what you did from who you are to me. I’ve tried for two weeks. Every time I pull them apart, they snap back together.”
I look away.
“I can’t forgive one without deciding what to do with the other. And I’m not there yet.”
He doesn’t try to solve it. He just sits there, taking my tirade without trying to argue his way out of it.
That’s the part I can’t work out.
Whether he respects me enough to sit in it with me… or whether he’s simply run out of things to say.
Maybe both are true. Maybe that’s the problem.
Without another word, I stand and look at him.
He doesn’t ask for anything I haven’t offered.
I walk to the door and into the corridor. I make it four steps before I have to stop.
I collapse against the wall, clutching my chest. My eyes burn. My throat closes. The first tear spills over, and after that, I stop trying to hold any of it in. I press the back of my hand to my mouth and let the rest come, silent and ugly.
I’ve spent two weeks being furious at him and missing him at the same time, and tonight only made it worse.
And yet, for some fucked-up reason, I would do it again.