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Obediently I drill into her with new energy. I’m driven by the climax I’m chasing, but also by seeing her lose control. Her nails bite into the flesh around my upper back, straight into the ink of my tattoos.
"Fuck!" I breathe huskily. The pain is sharp, it wakes up more of my awareness; my very cells are on fire. If this is the last thing I experience, I could die contently.
It's as if a storm goes off inside of her. Little electric tingles, muscles flexing, pulsing. "I'm coming!" she screams at the top of her lungs. As secluded as we are, there's a chance the resort guests hear her.
Her orgasm is the lighting of my fuse. Bracing my jaw, my neck bunching, I lean into her on the bed. I hook her ankles around my elbows to spread her wider, getting a few inches more of the traction I need. Massive pressure builds in my chest, darting into my lower core. Droplets of my own sweat stain the bed sheets, making darker designs on the fabric.
Grunting until my throat feels raw, I start shaking. My cock expands, the tip hot and heavy, pleasure immense enough to leave me lightheaded. I come in spurts, filling Galina up with each final thrust of my hips.
Both of us shudder together, like we've shed some sort of burden and can finally relax. All my muscles loosen, but my skull is tight. That's what happens when you connect with someone with your whole being. No part of you, body or mind, is left untouched.
Galina hugs me close. Her fingers run over my back, grazing the tender spots her nails dug in. She doesn't know she did that. She's a total prisoner to her body when she's turned on, acting without thought as she pursues relief. I understand of course.
Revenge isn't lust, but it's controlled me in the past just the same.
"I love you," I tell her, kissing her forehead.
"I love you, too." Galina takes me by the jaw, moving me so our lips press snugly. It's wonderful to lie on our bed and enjoy each other's quiet presence.
Eventually Galina shifts, then sighs. "What a workout," she giggles.
Sitting up, I gather her in my arms. She doesn't have time to ask what I'm doing until I've carried her, naked as she was born, out back into the sunlight. She sees the hot tub as we approach it and smiles. "You don't mind a change of scenery?" I ask.
"No, not at all."
Together we sink up to our necks in the hot tub. The jets are on, the bubbles rolling against our bodies. My muscles appreciate the sensation—I let out a soft sigh. Galina reclines beside me, her eyes shut, enjoying the moment.
Her thick lashes tickle her cheeks. There's a mild smile playing over her red-tinged lips.
There have been many times where I wondered what Galina was thinking. She's capable of being mysterious, her wit allowing her to mislead me when she had no other options. I've cursed myself for my inability to read her mind when it really counted. But this time, I don't have any trouble.
She's happy.
She doesn't have to say it out loud for me to know.
49
GALINA
He leaps across the room, his reflection copying him in the floor to ceiling mirrors. One spin, a second and a third, before he bends forward, arms stretching long enough they give him the illusion of being taller than he is.
When he finishes his last pirouette, Ruslan faces me with his eyes ablaze. Some of his dark hair is stuck to his forehead.
I clap enthusiastically. "That was wonderful, Ruslan!"
His smile deepens his dimples. There's pride on his face, but his voice still has the fragility of an unsure child. "Thanks. But I keep messing up on the pivot."
"You'll get it, just keeping trying."
Cocking his head, he frowns to himself. Looking in the mirror he does a few quick half-bends, like he's testing my theory. "You're sure that's enough?"
Putting my hands on his shoulders from behind, I study our reflections. Ruslan has changed in a short amount of time. It began the night he was forced to witness his father's death. The kindness that was always in his heart has crawled fully into the light, allowing him to trust others, and to trust that he, himself, will never be like his father.
Under my hand I feel the rough patch of skin where his tattoo used to be. It's amazing that a single session was all it took to wipe the ink away.
He locks eyes on mine in the mirror, searching me, waiting for my answer. I smile easily. That's what's changed for me—smiling comes as often as blinking these days. "Yes, it's enough."
Leaving my star pupil to drill his movements, I walk to the front of the studio. The walls are plastered by photos of my family. It was tragic how many pictures were lost in the fire, but thanks to my husband, I was able to get copies of some, as well as brand new ones.
