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But I won’t.
For now.
Nicholas, Nadia’s husband and the doctor who saved her life and treated my minor leg injury, came to check on her earlier and said she’s healing properly, but she can’t strain herself.
It’s a miracle that she managed to survive after losing so much blood. The color has been gradually returning to her face, too.
I plant my elbow on the armrest and lean my chin against my fist. “It’s Kirill.”
That unusual blush creeps up her neck and cheeks again. Despite her short brown hair, she looks more feminine than most women.
The strap of her nightgown slips off her uninjured shoulder and settles on her arm. The small motion teases the creamy skin of her naked breasts, which are tipped with dark pink nipples. I know because I saw them when I changed her clothes yesterday.
A sight that’s engraved in my memories in spite of my futile attempts to erase it.
I must stare for longer than socially acceptable, because Aleksandra clears her throat. She appears oblivious to what I was hyperfocused on, though. Either she’s too naïve or too good at this game.
“It’s hard for me to call you by your first name.” Her voice is softer, but it has that husky undertone that made it easier for her to pretend to be a man.
“Then you need to get used to it. Say it. Kirill. It’s a very simple name.”
“K-Kirill.”
My lips twitch at the stutter, finding it surprisingly adorable on someone who couldn’t be accused of lacking a backbone.
“Say it again but more naturally this time. That didn’t sound like a wife who’s been married to me for two years.”
She purses her lips, obviously uncomfortable with the scenario I came up with, which is probably why I keep referring to her as my wife every chance I get.
Is this shit entertaining? Absolutely.
“Go ahead,” I nudge when she remains silent.
“Kirill,” she says with more force than needed.
“Again. Naturally.”
“Kirill,” she murmurs in a gentle tone that vibrates through my chest, then shoots straight to my dick, and my heart jolts.
Maybe I need to have Nadia and her husband look at it in case I have an internal injury. Or maybe I should stop having a front-row seat to Aleksandra’s side tit.
I flip a page as if I’ve been reading this classical book all along. “Don’t be a flirt.”
“You’re the one who told me to do it more naturally.” She crosses her arms and then winces when she probably triggers the pain in her injury. “Make up your mind.”
“If we were at camp, you’d be punished for that.”
“But we aren’t.”
“Watch it.”
“Pretty sure a husband doesn’t talk to his wife in that tone.”
“I do.”
“You…are you married?”
“I am.”
