23. Natalia

23

NATALIA

When Andrey pushes through the front door, I half-expect it to be raining. For lightning to flash behind him and the power to flicker out.

He looks like a ghost.

His eyes are drawn and haggard, his face paler than I've ever seen it before. His fingers twitch and paw at the empty air by his sides as if he's desperately looking for something to cling onto, but finding nothing.

A second ago, Misha was telling Aunt Annie about the new trick he taught Remi, but now, the table is silent as we all stare towards the door.

It's Aunt Annie who breaks the silence. "Andrey, you're just in time. Pilav made us steak and roast veggies. Join us."

My jaw drops when he nods and takes the seat at the head of the table. Remi wriggles his way between the table legs to give Andrey's hands a quick sniff and a shy lick before he slinks back to lie on Misha's feet.

"How was your day?" Annie asks.

I'd say something, but I'm too busy staring at the dark circles under his eyes. He's death warmed over.

Andrey folds his napkin in his lap. "Fine."

"Do you want some potatoes?" I blurt. It's not my most elegant conversation starter, but Andrey nods, so it must not be all bad.

I load his plate and pass it to him. His lips move as if to say, "Thank you," but no sound comes out.

Aunt Annie catches my eye with a questioning gaze and a raised brow.

I shrug. I don't have any more answers than she does. With a sigh, she drops it and turns her attention to Misha. "How were your lessons today, young man?"

"Ugh, can we talk about something else?"

I haven't forgotten about the snippet of what I overheard him and Andrey discussing, but I won't embarrass him by prodding if he isn't ready for me to know. I want him to want to come to me about it.

"I caught the last bit of your lesson," I pipe up. "You did great!"

Misha scowls. "Since when is a C-minus great?"

"Since it's not an F." I toss my napkin at him. "And stop feeding Remi under the table. He's already had his dinner."

Misha grins sheepishly at me. "I didn't think you could see that."

"I see everything." With a nervous laugh, I add, "So there's no point hiding things from me."

If he catches what I'm trying to get at, he shows no sign of it. He just ducks under the table to pet the whining dog.

I look over at Andrey. At some point in the last few minutes, his face softened. He's still pale, still tired, but he looks more alive with every passing second.

He doesn't say much, but he stays with us for dessert. When the dessert plates are cleared away, I'm almost reluctant to stand up. I have no idea what magic brought and kept him at this table, but I'm worried we won't find it again for a long time.

For once, it doesn't feel hard to be near him. I want to hold onto it for as long as I can.

But then Misha yawns. "Okay, time for bed," I announce. "You have an early lesson tomorrow morning."

"Can I skip it?" he groans.

"Only if you want to say goodbye to those C-minuses."

"I hear a C-minus is ‘great,'" he sasses. "No one will care if I'm only good tomorrow. How do Ds sound?"

"Like I'm too tired to deal with you tonight." I ruffle his hair and push him and Remi towards the stairs. "Goodnight, boys."

I watch Misha slip another potato to Remi before they climb the stairs together. Then Aunt Annie pulls me in for a hug before she makes her way to bed, too.

When I turn around and find Andrey standing in the doorway behind me, I jump.

"Um, well—" Every thought that pops into my head makes ‘Do you want some potatoes?' sound like Shakespeare, so I lift my hand in a wave. "—goodnight."

I climb the stairs, aware of the sound of his footsteps behind me. Then again, his room is just a few doors down from mine. It's not like he's following me.

"Natalia."

My breath catches in my throat at the same time I feel Andrey's on my neck. He's standing right behind me—only inches away—wearing that oaky musk like a suit of armor.

I swallow. "It was nice to have you with us for dinner."

"It was a pleasant evening."

‘Pleasant' isn't exactly ‘sexually-charged' or ‘two enthusiastic thumbs up,' but it's better than nothing. And nothing is what I'm used to.

"Where were you? When you came in, you looked…" I let that sentence trail off because insulting him isn't going to turn the evening around.

He hesitates, and no one is as surprised as I am when he actually answers. "I went to visit Maria's grave."

The truth. How strange.

"I haven't been back there since the funeral."

My heart thumps erratically against my chest. I'm torn between wanting to know everything and wanting to forget I asked at all. But he's here, he's talking to me—and I don't want it to end.

"Are you—How did it feel to be back there?"

He's heartbroken, you idiot. He loved her, and now, she's dead, and you're making him talk about it. Way to go.

He reaches out and curls a lock of my hair through his fingers, freezing my lungs. "But… necessary."

Friends can touch each other. That's normal. Just like the flutter in my stomach and the sizzle in the air between us: perfectly normal.

Considering how close we are, it's very hard to avoid his eyes. I can see myself reflected back in them. Forcing my gaze lower doesn't help, either. It puts me at eye level with his lips.

He just visited his dead first love. Give him space. He needs space.

Hell, I need space.

I put my hand on his chest and push him gently away. Or maybe it's me pushing myself away—I can't quite decide. "I'm sorry. You've had a long day, so I should?—"

"I was saying goodbye. It was time to let her go."

I feel like a tinder box ready to explode. It's hard to think when he's this close. "Are you okay?"

"Should I not be?"

"I don't know what you should or shouldn't be, Andrey. I stopped knowing that a long time ago, if I ever knew it in the first place. I'm just asking as, you know… as your friend."

He smirks. It's sadder than his norm, but it still does what it's always done: scramble my thoughts into incoherent white noise. I can't think when he smirks like that. I can only be.

"Are we just friends, lastochka ?"

My eyes flutter shut and in the space of that tiny, two-second window, his lips brush against mine, softer than a whisper.

I press my hands to his chest, trying to find the strength to push him away. "Of course we are. I?—"

But before I can define this newfound friendship of ours, his hand curls around my neck. I'm sucked into his ether, pulled into his embrace. His lips fall against mine and there's nothing soft or whispering about this kiss. It's loud and unyielding.

The kind of kiss that pulls you out of your body.

The kind that makes the thoughts into white noise, and the white noise into nothing at all. Blissful, easy silence.

When he finally releases me, I'm breathless and completely confused.

I selfishly wish the kiss had left Andrey looking as unkempt as I feel. But he just smiles down at me, not so much as a hair out of place.

"Did that feel like a kiss from someone who just wants to be your friend?"

"No," I admit. "But I've been wrong before."

He places his hand against my heart. "I think you can trust this feeling, little bird."

I want to. So badly.

"Were you really going to let me go?" I blurt out as my back hits the wall. "Before, I mean."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you were right: this life, this world… It isn't for someone like you. I couldn't help thinking that, if I had let Maria go earlier, she'd still be out there somewhere, alive."

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes, but I bite them down, determined to see him clearly. "That's why you kept pushing me away."

"You're better off without me."

I stab my finger into his chest. "That's not your choice to make."

He nods grimly. "I realize that. In any case, I'm done trying to push you away. Actually, I'm not letting you go."

I breathe, but my pulse never slows. "Tell me why."

"Because as I sat there, Natalia, I remembered what I am: a selfish fucking bastard. And you're mine," he growls, dipping his hand into the front of his shirt and pulling out the gold pendant that used to belong to my mother.

"You're still wearing it?"

"I haven't taken it off since you gave it to me, lastochka. " His fingers slide along my jaw. "It's a part of you. And so am I."

A tear traces its way down my cheek. "I told you what I need."

"All or nothing."

"All or nothing," I echo. "Can you give it to me?"

"I will." His jaw clenches. His eyes blaze. "Or I'm going to die trying."

He tips my chin up and our lips crash together. I'm lost in the taste of him, distantly aware that we're moving, that the door is slamming closed and my clothes are falling away piece by piece.

By the time he spreads me out on the bed, I'm wearing nothing but my panties.

He works his way down my body with his hands and his lips until he peels the last scrap of fabric away. His breath fans across my bare skin, warming me at first and then leaving goosebumps behind.

I'm too aroused to worry about my stomach. How could any woman be self-conscious when a man like this looks at her like that?

His eyes burn, simmering with building heat. He pulls off his clothes—slowly, damn near teasing me—and settles in at my side, kissing my ears, my neck, my breasts, my stomach.

I wait for the tide to break. For the beast to rear its head and take me roughly, the way I'm used to.

But Andrey doesn't seem to be in any kind of hurry. As his mouth explores lower—past my belly, the crevice of my hip—a moan rises in my throat. By the time Andrey settles between my thighs, I'm quivering. He tastes me with the same endless patience, licking and kissing until I'm battling dual desires—the urge to push him away against the desperation of drawing him closer.

The wave breaks, and it's hard to know when one orgasm stops and another begins. It feels like it's all variations on the same melody, rising and falling as his fingers and tongue surge and taunt me. I'm wrung dry before we've barely begun.

Andrey's lips are glistening with my desire when he looks up at me again.

"Andrey…" I breathe. "I don't think I can take more…"

"Give yourself to me, Natalia. Just surrender."

He leans over me and the pendant hangs in the air between us. Never has jewelry been so sexy on a man. Wrapping my fist around the chain, I use it to pull him down towards me.

Giving in has never been so easy.

I spread my legs, hugging his hips with my thighs as he slides inside me. We rock together, and I was wrong. I can take more.

And more.

And more .

By the time he comes, our bodies are slick with sweat. There are claw marks on his chest. Bruises on my hips.

It's only when we collapse together that the doubts begin to creep in. What if this time is no different than all the others? What if he changes his mind?

As if he can hear me thinking, Andrey slips his fingers through mine.

The thoughts become white noise.

The white noise becomes stillness.

And in that stillness, one thought pulses like a heartbeat.

This time is different.

It has to be.