Page 47 of Salvation

Her blush deepened, but pleasure glinted in her eyes. “Not a dream anymore.”

“No,” I agreed, voice dropping lower. “Not anymore.”

When she came back over to the bed, I shifted to make room for her. Instead of climbing back into bed, she stood beside it, staring down at me.

“We have the whole house to ourselves,” she said, her voice taking on a husky quality I was quickly becoming addicted to. “All day.”

“That we do.” I reached for her, fingers hooking into the hem of my shirt where it hung at her thighs. “Any ideas how to pass the time?”

She caught my hand, but instead of pulling away, she used it to guide me to the bare skin beneath the shirt. “One or two,” she admitted, the playfulness in her tone mixing with something darker, more urgent.

I tugged gently, pulling her back onto the bed and into my arms in one fluid motion. She came willingly, settling across my lap, her smaller frame fitting against mine like she’d been made for me. My hands found her waist, slid beneath the shirt to trace the curve of her spine, marveling at the softness of her skin beneath my callused fingers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmured against her neck, tracing a path of kisses from her shoulder to her jaw. “Every inch of you.”

She shivered under my touch, her head falling back to give me better access. Her fingers threaded through my hair, guiding me where she wanted me, newfound confidence in her movements that thrilled me to my core. Last night had been urgent, passionate -- the breaking of a dam after not only years of restraint but also being careful of her injuries the past few weeks. This morning was different, slower, more deliberate. We had time now. All the time in the world.

I pulled back enough to help her remove the shirt, leaving her gloriously naked in the morning light. The contrast between us was stark -- her pale, delicate frame against my larger, heavily tattooed body. Ink crawled up my arms, across my chest, telling the story of my life in the club. Her skin was unmarked save for the yellowing bruises from her ordeal and the silvery scars on her wrists from years ago -- reminders of her own journey, her own survival.

I lowered her carefully onto the mattress, hovering above her, supporting my weight on my forearms. My thumb traced the outline of the bandage still wrapped around her ribs, a physical reminder of how close I’d come to losing her.

Her hands sliding up my arms to my shoulders, pulling me down to her. When our lips met, it was like coming home -- familiar yet still new enough to send electricity racing through my veins. I took my time exploring her body, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch against me, what made her whisper my name like a prayer.

Even though she’d healed, I still worried I might hurt her. My touch became featherlight, gentler than I’d ever been with anyone, treating her like the precious thing she was.

“Okay?” I asked, watching her face carefully.

“Perfect,” she breathed, the tension leaving her body as I continued my careful exploration.

When I slid inside her, it was with a slowness that bordered on reverence. I whispered her name against her skin, promises spilling from my lips that I’d never thought I’d say to anyone. Forever. Always. Mine. She answered with words in Russian -- endearments I didn’t need to translate to understand, their meaning clear in the way her body moved with mine, the trust in her eyes as they held my gaze.

“I love you,” I told her as we moved together, the words so long contained now flowing freely. “I love you, Yulia.”

“I love you, Kye.”

She came apart in my arms with a soft cry, her body tightening around mine, drawing me over the edge with her. I buried my face in her neck, overwhelmed by the intensity of it -- not just the physical release, but the emotional one. Years of wanting, of holding back, of telling myself the arrangement was enough -- all of it washed away in this moment of perfect connection.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, her head on my chest, my arm curved protectively around her shoulders.

“We should probably get up eventually,” Yulia murmured against my skin, though she made no move to leave the warm nest of our bed.

I tightened my hold on her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Eventually,” I agreed. “But not yet.”

Not yet. We had time now. All the time in the world.

We lay in comfortable silence, my fingers tracing idle patterns on Yulia’s bare skin. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the smooth expanse of her stomach. Her body was a map I was learning by heart, every scar and freckle a landmark to memorize. The morning had stretched into afternoon, but neither of us seemed inclined to leave our sanctuary. The world outside, with its demands and dangers, could wait a little longer.

Yulia’s breathing had slowed to a peaceful rhythm, her body relaxed against mine. The sunlight had shifted, painting new patterns across the rumpled sheets. In these quiet moments, my mind wandered to possibilities I’d never allowed myself to consider before -- a future not just of survival, but of building something new together.

“Have you ever thought about having a baby?” The question slipped out before I’d fully formed it in my mind, born from the contentment spreading through me like warm honey.

The change in Yulia was immediate and visceral. Her body, seconds ago soft and pliant against mine, went rigid. She pulled away slightly, not enough to break contact but enough to create distance between us. When I looked down at her face, the color had drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale as bone china. Her eyes, which had been warm and languid with afterglow, now darted away from mine, fixing on some point across the room.

“Yulia?” I pushed up on one elbow, concern threading through me at her reaction. “What is it?”

She sat up fully then, drawing the sheet around her like armor, her slender fingers clutching the fabric so tightly her knuckles turned white. Several long seconds passed, the silence between us growing heavier with each tick of the bedside clock.

“I can’t,” she finally said, the words barely audible. “I can’t have children.”

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