Page 66 of Devotion

I flex harder, clamping my hands down on her waist, pushing deeper.

Starting her off on another wave, making her throw her head back, crying out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. The insides of her thighs shake as she locks her knees into my sides.

“Oh, no…no more…not yet…” She drops to my chest, a look of absolute wonder in her eyes.

I can relate.

Every neuron in my brain is surging, flaring in the glow of her love.

Just like that, we’re both spent. For a little while at least.

As my mind begins to drift, the lack of sleep finally taking its toll, I marvel at the feeling of her curled in my arms, nestled against me. It’s a strange feeling. Something I have wondered about. Seen many times.

But never for myself.

Is this what normal people feel like? Is this what love feels like?

Distantly, I feel her grunt softly, sliding into the groove of my arm beside me and draping a leg over me, leaving our disaster soaking into the sheets. And I hear her mumble, slurred and far away, “Ciro…I trust you with my life.Moye serdtse…”

And I’m falling, lost in sweet oblivion, wondering what those words mean.

12

VANYA

Asoft static scratch wakes me.

Slowly, I stir from a deep sleep, the deepest I have had in a long time. A deep breath reminds me why.

His scent fills my head, faint cologne. Our sweat and sex still on us.

Images play through my mind, rousing me again, making me smile. I will always want more…

Glancing at the window, it’s dark. Not a sound reaches us on the third floor. No traffic. Must be the middle of the night.

I stretch languidly, running my hand down Ciro’s smooth stomach. I feel the slow rise and fall of his breath.

He is still sound asleep.

Yet when I reach the edge of the sheet draped across him, he is certainly awake in one way. I am just contemplating sliding that magnificent column into my mouth when I hear the scratching sound again.

“Shit,” I hiss, flipping over and off the bed.

Radio.

Scrambling for my phone, I swipe it open. No messages. Signal is still down.

“Van?” Ciro mumbles as I dash to the kitchen through the hallway, reaching the shortwave, turning up the dial.

Low static.

Then a click.

Another.

Changing the station, I wait. Another click. A pattern. Sent periodically by automated signal to inform us which station to listen to for emergency.

Three changes later I stop, catching the last of a few words. Ciro rests his hands on my shoulders as he joins me, pulling me back to lean against him as I sit in front of the speaker.

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