34. Then we make that safe. （Aleksander） #2
There is no tremor in her voice now. I look back at Yuri. “She hears everything.”
He nods. “Everything.”
When he leaves, the kitchen seems smaller.
Tamara turns toward the window, but there is nothing to see except darkness and her own reflection in the glass. I step behind her and set my hands on her shoulders.
“Your hands are still shaking.”
“I know.”
She says it like it’s an inconvenience, like her body has failed to meet the standard she set for it. I slide my palms down her arms until I can cover her fingers with mine.
“Come to bed.”
“All right.”
I lead her to the first-floor bedroom Yuri had set aside for us. A corner lamp throws soft shadows over a room furnished with the efficiency of a temporary safe house: king bed, white covers, one chair, no personality. Nothing in it belongs to either of us.
Maybe that is for the best.
We undress in silence.
Tamara moves as if she has forgotten I have eyes. Sweater. Trousers. One piece after another dropped over the chair until she is standing in front of me in only her underwear, her blond hair loose over one shoulder, brushing the curve of her breast.
My body forgets everything except the fact that she is my wife and nearly naked in front of me.
Then I remember tomorrow.
The school.
The car.
The boy.
My hands close once at my sides.
She catches me looking and smiles faintly. “I thought married people did this.”
“What?”
“Undress in front of each other.”
She says it like it’s something ordinary. Domestic. Almost careless. But her eyes dare me to make it less than that.
“They do,” I say, forcing myself not to move. “And then some.”
The faint smile deepens. Then she reaches into the bag, takes one of my T-shirts, and pulls it over her head.
Of course she chooses mine.
Of course that undoes me more than the lace did.
We climb under the covers, and she comes to me without hesitation, curling against my side with her cheek pressed to my chest. Her body is warm. Soft. Still trembling.
I wrap my arm around her and brush my mouth over her temple.
“I can’t turn my brain off,” she says. “It keeps cycling. What if tomorrow—”
“Stop.”
Her head lifts.
I tighten my arm around her waist, not hard. Just enough to bring her back to the room. “Spiraling won’t help.”
“Neither will lying here in the dark.”
“No,” I say. “But I’m here.”
She puts a leg over me, pulling me closer. “I don’t want to think for a while.”
I roll her onto her back, settling my weight over her. “I have an idea how to distract you.”
Her gray eyes are luminous in the darkness. Haunted. “Show me.”
I kiss her because words feel inadequate. Because she’s here and real and falling apart in ways I recognize from my own darkest moments. My hand slides under the shirt she’s wearing, finding warm skin that makes her gasp into my mouth.
This isn’t supposed to be about sex. It’s supposed to be comfort. Connection. A way to quiet the thoughts screaming through her head. But her body responds to mine with immediate heat, her legs parting to let me settle between her thighs, and comfort becomes something more complicated.
“Sasha.” My name sounds desperate on her lips. “I need—”
“I know what you need, trouble.” I strip the shirt over her head, tossing it aside. Moonlight paints her skin silver, turning her ethereal. “Let me give it to you.”
My mouth finds the small heart tattooed on her wrist. I press a kiss to the ink, feeling her pulse hammer beneath my lips. I kiss up her arm, across her shoulder, down to the hollow of her throat. “We’re going to find a way.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I seal the vow with my mouth on hers, swallowing her gasp as my hand slides between her thighs. She is already wet, and the knowledge nearly breaks what discipline I have left.
I work her with my fingers, watching her face as pleasure builds. The haunted look in her eyes fades, replaced by a hazy and unfocused expression. Her lips part on silent moans that I capture with my mouth, hips rocking against my hand, chasing sensation instead of drowning in thought.
“That’s it, my love,” I murmur against her ear. “Let go. Stop thinking.”
She comes with my name on her lips, her body arching into mine, and I drink down every sound. Before she can catch her breath, I’m positioning myself at her entrance. She’s slick and ready, and when I push inside, we both groan at the sensation.
“Yes.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “God, yes.”
I start moving, slow and deep, watching her face. The tension that’s been carved into her features since this afternoon finally eases. Her eyes close, not in grief but in surrender.
This is what she needs. To feel something other than fear.
Her heels are digging into my hips, pulling me deeper. I comply because denying her anything feels impossible right now.
The rhythm builds. Her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my back, holding on as if she has decided, for this hour, not to fall alone. The sounds she makes drive me harder, faster, chasing more than physical release.
My hand slides between us, finding her clit, and she shatters. The feeling of her clenching around me destroys what’s left of my control, and I spill myself into her, driving her through the aftershocks.
Eventually, her shaking eases, though sleep is still far away. I keep my hand moving slowly along her spine, counting the minutes by the softening of her breath.
There are things I can do.
I can stop Kalinin’s men. I can block a car. I can put enough force between that boy and David Kalinin that no one gets close to him without my permission.
I know how to do all of that.
I do not know how to give Tamara back eight years.
I do not know how to make a child recognize a mother he never knew existed.
Tomorrow, that may matter more than anything.
Tamara’s voice comes once more in the dark, barely there.
“Sasha?”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t let me make it worse for him.”
The words move through me like a blade. I close my eyes and hold her closer.
“I won’t.”