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I hesitate for a split second, the shadows of recent events tugging at me. But when I look into Samuil's hopeful eyes, I feel a rush of adrenaline. Suddenly, all my worries, my doubts, the haunting memories… they all fade away.
With a roar, I lunge at him. Our sparring intensifies. Every time he tries to land a punch, I deflect, dodge, or take it head-on. We create a rhythm of movements based on power and speed.
Finally, finding an opening, I unleash a barrage of punches. One, two, three, each finding its mark. Samuil grunts, trying to block my advances, but I press on, feeling that familiar fire ignite within me. My limbs move fluidly, each strike more confident than the last.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it ends. I step back, panting, my chest heaving. The sharp sting of sweat in my eyes is proof of the effort. Samuil, looking just as winded but with a proud gleam in his eyes, smirks.
"Told you," he says with a huff, wiping sweat off his brow. "I knew you had it in you."
I can't help but smile, my exhaustion making the gesture a little lopsided. "I guess I did. Thanks, coach."
He chuckles, extending a hand to help steady me. "Always here to push you, even when you want to punch me for it."
"Especially then," I quip, taking a deep breath. Despite the pain and the exhaustion, there's a newfound confidence blossoming within me. With Samuil by my side, I feel unstoppable.
The cold bite of the bottled water is refreshing against my parched throat. We sit on the plush mat by the massive window, the sprawling cityscape of Moscow stretched out beneath us. It's breathtaking, with golden domes, silver spires, and the winding Moscow River shimmering under the afternoon sun. The very heart of Russia, in all its splendor.
"That's where I grew up," I point, gesturing to a cluster of buildings on the distant horizon. I share tales of childhood mischief, of sneaking out at night with Viktor to raid the local bakery, and our wild sprinting escapes from the neighborhood babushkas who'd chase us with their brooms.
Samuil chuckles, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Over there," he gestures to a gritty but charming section of the city. "I got into my first fight. Was defending a friend. Lost two teeth but gained respect."
We share more memories, letting the nostalgia wash over us, but then I notice a shadow crossing Samuil's face. His gaze becomes distant, thoughts deep and unreadable. It's unlike him, so naturally, I have to prod.
I lean into him, playfully nudging, "Out with it. What's brewing in that mind of yours?"
He looks deep into my eyes, his own reflecting the hues of the twilight outside. "Remember when you spoke of a dream to experience life beyond these borders? Beyond the threats and constant watchfulness?"
I raise an eyebrow in amusement but let him continue.
"To maybe live in America?"
My heart skips a beat. "America?" The audacity of such a thought—uprooting from Moscow, my home—feels overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time.
He holds my gaze, unwavering. "Imagine, Ana, building our life on our terms. We could be in a place where we write our own narrative. Set up our own gym, train fighters, and maybe, just maybe, find a bit of a normal life."
A chuckle escapes me. "Us? Normal? But it is intriguing." I search his face, half-expecting to find this all to be a jest. Instead, all I encounter is heartfelt seriousness.
He interlaces his fingers with mine, the warmth of his touch grounding me. "Every day, I think of how we can rewrite our story, Ana. Why not start a new chapter? An American chapter."
The gravity of such a shift is undeniable. A fresh life, unfamiliar streets, new challenges, so much of the unknown. Yet as I peer into Samuil's eyes, glowing with hope, the idea seemsless intimidating. If there's anyone I'd embark on such a journey with, it's him.
"America," I whisper, the very name swirling with a mix of dreams and promise. "I’ll be the fiercest MMA coach that country has ever seen."
His laughter resonates throughout the room, causing a wide grin to spread across my lips. "I've no doubt about that."
The warmth of our bodies radiate a heat born not just from exertion but emotion. With the vast expanse of Moscow stretched below, it feels as though we're suspended in our own world. There's an intimate quietness between us, only interrupted by the sounds of our shared breaths and the din of the city below.
Resting my head on his broad shoulder, the immediate rush of Samuil's familiar scent engulfs me. The aroma is intoxicating, reminding me of nights wrapped in his embrace, conversations whispered in the dark, and moments when words weren't necessary. His presence has always felt like an anchor, grounding me even in the toughest times. My senses heighten, drawing me closer to him, and I revel in the sheer physicality of the man next to me. His body, chiseled and firm, has always been a source of both comfort and desire. Lifting my head, I look up into those piercing eyes that never fail to draw me in. The light from the setting sun casts them in a golden hue, making them all the more mesmerizing. "You know," I begin, a playful edge to my voice, "there's something else other than fighting that I feel recovered enough to do."
His grin is instantaneous, mischievous, and completely understanding. There's no need for me to elaborate further. We've always had this uncanny ability to read one another, to know exactly what the other is thinking without uttering a word. "Round two in the bedroom?" he teases, his voice dropping to that sultry tone I know all too well.
A chuckle escapes my lips, my heart rate spiking not from the earlier physical exertion but from the promise of what's to come. "You're on."
Chapter 30
Anastasia
The path from the gym to the bedroom feels electric, a trail of desire and anticipation. As we step into the dimly lit room, the ambient light from the city paints the walls in a soft, shimmering glow. The bedroom is another testament to Samuil's taste—minimalist yet luxurious. A massive king-sized bed sits in the center, draped in deep blue sheets that mirror the evening sky. Tall, mirrored wardrobes stand opposite the window wall, reflecting the city lights and adding a touch of depth to the room. Recessed lighting in the ceiling provides a soft illumination, creating a perfect cocoon for the night.
