LUKA #3
Then again, finding the rhythm that makes her body soften into the mattress instead of tightening against it. I keep my movements steady, unhurried, my tongue moving over her clit with patient pressure, my mouth closing around her softly when she starts to tremble.
Nina whispers, “Oh.”
That one small sound goes straight through me.
I lift my eyes to her face while I continue. Her head is turned slightly to one side on the pillow, eyes closed now, lips parted, the lines of fear slowly leaving her forehead. One hand comes down to my hair, not pulling, only resting there as if she needs to feel that I’m real.
I slide one finger inside her carefully.
Her hips shift toward my mouth.
I keep my other hand firm on her thigh. “Easy.”
Nina says, “I’m okay.”
I believe her, but I still keep it slow.
My finger moves in a gentle rhythm while my tongue circles her clit, and gradually her breathing changes from anxious and uneven to soft, broken pleasure.
The room is quiet except for that, her breath, the faint sound she makes when I curl my finger inside her, the rustle of the sheet under her hand.
This isn’t like the times we’ve had sex before.
This is quieter, more intimate, and somehow more dangerous because it feels like care, and care has always been the thing I avoided naming.
I add a second finger only when her body is ready for it.
Nina moans softly, then winces a little.
I stop at once. “Head?”
She opens her eyes, dazed and annoyed. “No. Don’t stop.”
I say, “Answer properly.”
Nina breathes out. “My head is fine.”
I hold her gaze for a second, then lower my mouth again.
This time, I keep one hand pressed lightly over her lower stomach, holding her still so she does not jolt herself.
I use my tongue slower, deeper, taking her into my mouth until her fingers tighten in my hair.
Her thighs tremble around my shoulders. Her breath breaks, and I can feel her trying to keep herself quiet even though no one is near enough to hear.
I don’t tell her to be quiet.
Tonight, I want her to know she does not have to perform control for me.
I keep going until the pleasure finally overtakes the fear.
Her body tightens around my fingers, her hand gripping my hair as she comes with a soft, helpless sound, and I hold her through it, mouth still on her, gentling the pressure as the orgasm moves through her. She shakes, then melts into the bed in a way that looks almost painful in its relief.
I kiss the inside of her thigh once, then carefully ease my fingers out and reach for the towel on the bedside table.
She lies there with her eyes closed, breathing slowly.
Better. Much better.
I clean her gently, pull her shorts back up, and cover her with the blanket before lying beside her on top of the covers.
She turns toward me immediately.
Her hand finds my shirt.
Nina murmurs, “Stay.”
I say, “I’m here.”
She opens her eyes halfway. They are heavy now, soft with exhaustion and pleasure. “I want you.”
I close my eyes briefly.
That sentence should not affect me as much as it does.
I want her too. Painfully. My body is hard, my restraint thin, my mind full of every way I could have her if she were well.
But she has a concussion. She was unconscious two days ago.
Her head still hurts when she laughs. She needs sleep more than she needs me inside her, even if she does not want to admit it.
I cover her hand with mine. “No.”
Her brows draw together. “No?”
I say, “You are recovering.”
“I’m fine.”
I give her a look.
She sighs. “Fine. I’m mostly fine.”
I say, “That is not enough.”
Her fingers curl weakly in my shirt. “You’re rejecting me in your own guest room.”
“I’m stopping us before I do something Mirov will stab me for.”
Nina says, “Mirov doesn’t need to know.”
I say, “Your head will know.”
She looks irritated, but she is too relaxed to make it convincing. “You are being responsible.”
I say, “It is unpleasant.”
“For both of us.”
“Yes,” I say.
Her eyes drift closed, then open again with effort. “When I’m better?”
I look at her face, at the sleep already pulling her under, at the stubbornness still surviving at the edge of it.
I say, “When you are better, I will not be this reasonable.”
A faint smile touches her mouth. “Good.”
Her hand loosens on my shirt.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
She falls asleep facing me, one cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes dark against her skin, the tension finally gone from her body.
I stay beside her and don’t move.
I tell myself it is because she might wake frightened.
I tell myself it is because Mirov said she should be monitored.
I tell myself many things that are practical, disciplined, and easier to survive than the truth.
But the truth is lying in my guest room, wearing the clothes my mother bought, sleeping peacefully because my mouth made her forget fear long enough to rest.
The truth is that I imagined forever today and didn’t hate it quickly enough.
I watch her sleep until the room begins to lighten, and I know with a certainty that should frighten me more than it does that my old vows are no longer holding as firmly as they once did.