We broke apart in the mud, and then we put each other back together, one thrust at a time, until we were nearly whole again. Whole, but rearranged, as if some of my broken parts were glued to his and his to mine.
He lowers his head slowly and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s get you out of the mud.” His voice is kindness and whispers. He slips out of me and straightens the panties and boxer shorts. “Come here, rodnaya.” He tugs me off the ground and up into his arms, and for a moment, he just holds me.
Sunshine filters through the pine trees, lighting up the water droplets and making the forest sparkle.
He kisses the top of my head, loops an arm around me, and steers me back into the cabin.
There’s a sadness to him—like he’d been holding all that anger in place between us before, and now that it’s fallen away, he mourns something.
Or someone.
Maybe he regrets breaking his promise to her.
Has he chosen me? Or was this another one of his mistakes?
I can’t bring myself to ask. It feels too nice to have his arm protectively around me. To have him whispering sweet things to me. To ride the post-orgasmic bliss as far as it will take us.
He takes my hand when we get inside and leads me to my bathroom upstairs where he peels my soaked t-shirt from my body, then crouches down to lower my panties and his boxers, tugging them off my ankles.
I stand there, soaking up his attention, letting it seep into all the cracks and crevices he split open these past few days.
He turns on the water in the shower and helps me in, then strips out of his clothes and joins me. Dirt, pine needles, and tiny leaves turn the water at my feet into mud soup. Dima’s smile is soft as he helps clean the dirt from my forehead and my hair. He picks up the bar of soap and runs his hands over me. It’s sensual but not sexual. He has a semi, but I don’t think he’s seducing me.
It’s more like… he’s asking forgiveness.
Making it up to me.
There’s an ease between us. Like neither of us want anything from the other; we’re just content to be together. To exist in the same energy. To commune, I guess.
I shampoo my hair while he soaps his body. We change places, so he can rinse.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly when he opens his eyes and finds me watching.
I was admiring how beautiful he is, in awe to find myself feeling so close to him. I nod.
“There’s a frozen pizza I could put in the oven for dinner.”
I smile. It’s so comfortable and familiar. So ordinary. Like we’re long-time live-in lovers instead of neighbors with no benefits. A captive and her captor. “That sounds nice.”
“You finished?” he asks, hand on the water nozzle. When I nod, he turns off the shower and pulls open the curtain. He grabs the closest towel and hands it to me, like a gentleman.
I wrap it around myself and stare at the filthy clothes on the floor. “Looks like I’m back to wearing the damn dress.”
“My torture,” he murmurs, as he dries his body in swift, efficient movements. His admission sends fluffy cotton candy clouds of pleasure floating through me. Except I still sense the sadness in him. Weariness. Defeat. Or am I misinterpreting contrition? He wraps the towel around his waist and picks up the heap of our muddy clothes. “I’ll get these washed and turn the oven on.”
I stare after him, trying not to spin out on domestic chore porn.
Things have changed between us, yes. But as sweet as Dima’s being, I don’t think he’s happy about the change.
He’s just not angry anymore.
13
Dima
I go down the stairs and turn on the oven, then lean my ass against the counter and stare at the wall. What am I doing?
What in the hell am I doing?
I can’t do this with Natasha.
And yet… I had no choice. Hanging her out to dry would’ve been unconscionable. I’ve already been crueler to her than I can face.
Seeing her broken and knowing I was the one who broke her? That gutted me.
I’ll have to live with that shit until the day I die.
So yeah, I don’t see any other way around this. I need to put her back together. Try to heal the wounds I’ve inflicted before I set her free.
The guilt over the way I’ve treated Natasha mingles with the guilt I feel over breaking my vow to Alyona.
I’m still yours, I promise her. I’ll always be yours.
Strange how, despite my gnawing guilt, the bond with Alyona feels stronger than usual. Maybe it’s because my memories of her have come so near the surface. Being intimate with someone again brings it all back. What it was like the first time. How we learned each other’s bodies. How I would’ve died if it meant she could’ve lived out her youth.