29. Katya

I was all done thinking about the big dumb ox, done with thinking in general. I just wanted to feel something. Feel him in me, on me, and shut my brain off for once.

Still, the ‘fuck me like you hate me’ made him pause, then start again, angrier than ever . I don’t care what that means , I lie to myself.

I place my legs behind his knees, pulling him in closer, our bodies fitting as closely together as possible and I look at him, waiting.

There’s the barest trace of a grin on it, like he’s going to make me wait for this. He’s going to tease me until I need him, until I beg him, until I’m the weak one again.

Fuck that.

I’m going to wipe that grin off his face this time.

I put both hands on his chest, both to the left, and hook his leg with my right, and somehow judo/foreplay him to the side, his weight falling left, my body rising right until I’m on top of him. I’m staring down at him, with the barest of grins as I grab his cock and guide him inside me.

I’m a mess of emotions but I don’t care.

This feels right .

This is what I needed— catharsis— and release for everything, not just sexual release. I swear if he tries to flip me and dominate me again, I’ll slap him in the face.

The frenzy rises between us, rocking together, I lean back wanting more of him in me, “More,” I tell him and his hands on my hips rolls them towards his cock, pushing inside me another delicious inch.

“Wait,” he says and I slap him in the face, his head turns right at the blow and I sink deeper to kiss him, not in apology, not from fear, but just to soothe his inevitable anger, then I wiggle down on his cock another inch. God, he feels so good.

We’re both just on animal instinct now, I can’t get past how good he feels as I rock back and forth on his hips. I can’t stop myself from burying my face in his neck and sinking my teeth into the soft skin there.

He moans and flinches, his hands pull my hips further down on his cock, another inch at least and I keep sliding up and down it, biting into him with every thrust.

He’ll be wearing my marks on his skin for days, I think to myself, rocking harder into him. My pussy flutters around his cock as his thrusts up and his breathing gets more and more urgent.

I keep fucking him as I start to fall apart, moaning loudly as I orgasm on him, clamping his cock inside me as my body quivers and feeling him spurt and release up into me, his body stiffening until I collapse onto him, sweaty and breathing heavily on his floor, near his bed.

I fall asleep somehow, satisfied with the physical and emotional release I just had but wakeup still on the floor, and when I reach out for a warm, naked body, it’s not there.

I try to get my bearings really quick. The room smells like sex and I’m sticky with sweat and between my thighs with Yuri.

I hear the sink running and Yuri talking on his phone, muffled, agitated.

His warm spot is next to me, even if he isn’t. he must have just got up and that woke me.

He wasn’t going to leave before we talked. Not again.

Leave my room and door in splinters —okay, I can deal. But leave without talking to me? Fuck no.

I looked at the splintered door—kindling for the fireplace—will I be sitting alone on front of the fire or will he be here with me?

I listen closely and from his half of the conversation, I gathered there was an attack on another safehouse, successfully repelled, and they were questioning the men left alive.

That’s important but not as important as this.

He walked out, fully dressed but when his eyes met mine, a startled look came across his face for an instant, as if I caught him sneaking away. He wanted to leave while I was asleep and that made me angrier, but I tried to stay calm and suppress that anger. He would beat me in an anger contest, easily, so I needed a different tactic.

Vulnerability and empathy are the strongest forces in the universe. Bigger than hate and even love. But I had to keep my voice steady and not cry so I just wrung my hands and tried to talk slowly and hold back the tears— I’d have time for them later.

“Yuri, I know you must leave but I must try one more time because I love you. And there’s no changing that for me. You need to stop blaming yourself for Dmitry, it’s so easy to do, and if you do it, we can actually be happy together. We can be better than these last few days—and those have been the best of my life. Don’t you want that?”

Again, that slightly startled look before he turned his face into stone again. “I’m not the only one nursing his pain and guilt. You blame yourself for Dmitry too and refuse to believe you belong anywhere— in the Bratva you were born into, by my side, anywhere. Your guilt has been corrupted by years of living under your father and these feelings, beliefs you don’t belong in your birthright. Your birthright. For what? You did nothing wrong; you yelled at a drunk asshole for being a drunk asshole. He deserved it. Is there any place you do belong, or will you run from everything as long as you can? You’re half the reason I can’t take my eyes off the ball. Worrying about you and if you’ll run away again. Run from your birthright. Run from me.”

He stooped to give me a dry, chaste kiss on the cheek, “I’ll be back tonight. We’ll both think about it, okay?”

And then he was gone. I sat there stunned for a long time.

He was right.

He had thought about me as much as I thought about him.

He knew me better than I knew myself. He was right about me, and both of us really had the same wound, and it formed around Dmitry. I never felt good enough after he passed, and Yuri felt responsible for it. Neither of us had ever really gone past that.

I promised myself to think about it and let that go, as much as possible. But there was more at stake for me now.

I was pregnant and this baby deserved a choice, one that neither I nor Yuri had.

Thinking about this was like staring at the sun—too dangerous so I tried to keep busy and let my subconscious work it out for me. But I will have some sort of answer for Yuri tonight. I had to. He was willing to talk about it and be vulnerable to himself. That was progress.

I felt lighter. It felt possible that both of us would figure this out together. Hope is a wonderful drug.

I kept busy by deciding to move into his bedroom, which had a lovely view of the lake through its sliding glass doors, which also led out onto the porch. Then the layout became strange. Another door led to the master bathroom— which also had access from the hallway, so not really a private master bath. I wanted to ask the architect what he was thinking but it was just odd and eccentric and gave the place some character I told myself.

It really was a beautiful room, and I should have taken this one from the start, but I made it Yuri’s recuperation room after the accident.

I should have been more selfish then, like him.

I was still angry at him and seeing the rifle in the corner of the room, decided to try to let off steam with it. I went outside and placed a target on the garage and imagined the silhouette of a man with concentric circles inside him was Yuri.

It helped.

The first shot was way off— about five feet to the left because the rifle kicked my shoulder, and I wasn’t properly braced for it. The second shot I was careful and hit the target. After another half hour, I could hit the thing pretty good, though the half dozen holes in the garage said otherwise. I put it in my bedroom.

A little better every day , I told myself. My mantra. No neighbors showed up to yell at me or see what was happening, which was what I figured— it was out of season for the lake homes and I was basically alone out here, except for Maxim in the apartment over the garage, but he seemed to keep weird hours that weren’t very consistent and only came to see me for the occasional meal, or to raid my refrigerator. Yuri was either gone or a shut-in in that apartment. I pretended not to care most of the time.

I went shopping and Max was curiously gone when I got back and had to unload all the groceries by myself.

I decided on a large, homemade meal of beef stroganoff, but the proper Russian way, with sour cream gravy and light egg noodles. I was sure once the smell was permeating the place, Max would be right along.

I didn’t love cooking, but it would take up the day otherwise occupied by thinking and some dinner company that wasn’t Yuri would be welcomed. If Yuri showed up, I might give him the dog bowl that I bought even though I hadn’t found a dog to go with it yet.

I was in love with the big jerk, but that didn’t mean I would give him endless chances to figure out he loved me too, and this ‘love is the death of duty’ thing he has in his head is wrong.

We can figure it out together.

But on the other hand, this baby shouldn’t be forced to grow up in his Kolesova Bratva, especially if it’s like me and doesn’t belong. But it wanted pickles right now, so life decisions could wait.

The groceries were all put away, the food was simmering, I had eaten and decided to make a fire and sit on my ass awhile, as the pasta cooked. There was wood and I made a little two-by-two Lincoln log fort and stuck kindling under one corner. Air flow was the key to a good fire, and this would be pretty good. Then I remembered all the kindling Yuri had created from my bedroom door and went to go grab some of that. It was light and unpainted and should have been perfect.

I went upstairs and started gathering some of the splinters in my arms when I noticed two great big feet poking out of the blankets in my bed. Dirty boots, caked with mud, and I knew this was not Yuri. This was not Maxim either. Neither of whom would make a mess like this in my room and in my bed. I would kill them. I stood up slowly, the feeling was like I was underwater, my body and limbs heavy, sound distorted, and everything not quite real. There was terror in my belly, but I had to move, see the face I knew I didn’t recognize, then run like hell out of here.

As I stood very carefully, very slowly, I saw a big arm clawing the sheets, covered in streaks of blood. All I knew was this arm was not Yuri’s and not Maxim’s and they surely would have told me if they dropped someone off.

It sure as hell wasn’t goldilocks in my bed.

“Don’t wake Vanya, he needs his rest after Yuri’s men shot him up,” a high-pitched voice tells me.

I knew that voice.

Chills run up my spine.

Petya.

“I bet I can find us another bed that’s empty. We are getting married, after all. You don’t mind if I sample the wares beforehand, right? I’ve already bought the cow, it’s time you give me some milk.”