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Like always, I swallow every drop when he comes, owning his release just like he owns mine. Coming like this takes the edge off, but it doesn’t slow him down. If anything, it makes him greedier for me. Hauling me to my feet, he swings me into his arms and carries me into the shower. He holds on to me with one hand, splaying his fingers over my waist as he opens the tap with the other. While the water heats up, he kisses me, making sure to shelter me from the cold mist of the drops with his body.
When the spray is warm, he takes me underneath it, entering me with one thrust and then pausing to let me adapt. The heat that burns me up inside is different, greater than the pleasure of earlier. It’s the kind of ecstasy that steals my mind. It robs me of my senses and makes me forget everything else.
After a few beats, he starts moving slowly, working himself deeper. My moans spur him on. My whimpers make him punch his hips harder, but it’s when I scrape my nails over his shoulders that he plunges inside and owns me. The tiles are cool against my back. Every thrust moves my body up the smooth surface. The ridges of the tiles’ corners grate my skin, but I’m barely cognizant of the discomfort. As long as he’s driving me toward an unbearable peak, every other sensation is mere background noise.
He palms a breast and tweaks my nipple. The sensation ignites more sparks in my core. He stops kissing me to look into my eyes. Drops cling to his dark lashes, glistening like diamonds against the backdrop of his blue irises. The color is arresting, but it’s the fierceness of the possession sparking in their depths that I focus on. It’s the all-consuming love reflecting back to me that holds my attention as he slips a hand between our bodies and finds my clit. He rubs the pad of his thumb in the way that always brings me to my knees, and when my legs buckle, he pivots his hips and comes just as I break and my inner muscles lock around him.
To say I see stars is a cliché, but that’s what he does to me. The pleasure ripping through me is like an explosion of meteorites blasting through the atmosphere. When I close my eyes, the white-hot pinpoints of the stars as they burn out in the sky are like the static noise on a television screen. But that’s not what causes the height of my euphoria. What drives me to that point is the bond between us. It’s always present, no matter what we do, but I feel it strongest like this, naked in his arms, vulnerable and exposed. This is when both our bodies and our souls are bared.
Pressing his forehead against mine, he says with a tremulous breath, “Katyusha.”
The endearment washes over me, filling me with warmth.
He kisses my lips, catching the bottom one with his teeth. “You make me crazy. Sumashedshim.”
“Sumashedshim,” I agree.
His voice is gruff. “Say you want me.”
“Vsegda.” Constantly, always, eternally, forever.
A glint of satisfaction lights up his eyes when he pulls away to look at me. “Your Russian lessons are paying off.”
Lethargic, I lean against him, letting him carry my weight. “Mm.”
“Come on,” he says, his voice tender. “Let me take care of you.”
After he’s washed my body and my hair, he wraps me up in a fluffy towel and pats me dry before taking me to bed. He serves me dinner there, feeding me small bites and petting my hair as if I were the kiska—the kitten—he calls me.
When I’m sated, he pours us each a glass of wine. After a few sips, he lets me nap. It’s close to midnight when he wakes me with a kiss on my shoulder.
“Katyusha.” His deep voice penetrates my sleep. “Wake up, my love.”
Blinking, I rub my eyes. “Is it morning already?”
“No,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “It’s almost midnight. Come.”
He helps me from the bed and holds my robe open for me. When I’m protected against the cooler air of the night, he takes my hand and leads me to the rooftop terrace.
Folding his arms around me from behind, he rests his chin on the crown of my head.
“Look,” he says.
