After he’s left, I wander upstairs, intending to go straight to my room. But somehow, I end up in front of Alyssa’s door instead. Nikolai’s words keep reverberating in my head. As much as I hate to admit it, Alyssa has become a distraction.
I thought that sleeping with her would curb my desire, but it’s had the exact opposite effect. The more I have her, the more I crave her.
I made a promise to myself a long time ago that, when it came to my older brother, I would do everything in my power to prove him wrong.
Today is the first time I’ve intentionally broken that promise.
Instead of moving on like I ought to do, I rip open her door and walk in. She’s spread diagonally across the bed, having kicked her cover sheet right off. Which is why I can tell immediately that she’s naked.
She’s sleeping on her side, her breasts squished between her arms. Tiny, fragile—fucking beautiful. My semi turns into a raging hard-on. My body is demanding it gets the fix it’s looking for.
Might as well make use of the pill. This will be the last time.
But unlike the first few times I made that promise to myself, I don’t believe it anymore. It’s become laughable at this point. I strip down and get into bed beside her. I caress her gently until she’s half-awake and blinking at me in confusion.
“Uri…?”
There’s an open-eyed innocence in the way she says my name. It does shit to me that no woman’s words ever have before.
I kiss my way down to her breasts and suck on her nipples until her body is wrapped around mine. She starts kissing me back, her tight little body pushing closer and closer.
Apparently, she hasn’t had enough either.
So for the second time in one night, I push myself inside of her. I mean to be fast and hard. I mean to split her down the middle, get mine, and then cast her aside. That’s what’s for the best, right? That’s the kind of man my Bratva and my responsibilities demand that I be.
But my body has other plans.
We rock back and forth together—slow and measured. Gentle. Tender. At one point during the fucking that doesn’t feel like fucking, I meet her eyes and hold her gaze.
I tell myself this doesn’t mean anything. I tell myself what I told Nikolai: she’s just my plaything. I’m in control.
But my heartbeat is strumming a different song. And it sounds like a warning.
It’s saying…
You’re fucked.
34
ALYSSA
You’re gonna be okay, Alyssa.
Those were the first words Ziva said to me after her diagnosis. The doctor walked out of the hospital room and the first thing she did was grab my hand, look me in the eye, and say those words.
That’s when it struck me that I was the one crying even though she was the one dying.
I didn’t even question it at the time. All I could think was, How was I ever gonna be okay without her?
Towards the end, she made me promise to live for the both of us. Travel the world, Aly. Throw yourself into life. Be brave. Be curious. Be wild. Be reckless. Do it all. Really live, okay? Do it for the both of us.
That’s what I always thought I was doing. Traveling was my way of keeping my promise to Ziva. But lying here in a bed that’s not mine, in a house that’s not mine, I’m forced to reconsider.
No—meeting Uri has forced me to reconsider.
Because the truth is, not until a few days ago did an ugly thought start to fester in the back of my mind: Have I been hiding behind my career? I may have seen almost a hundred different countries, but have I made any new friends? Have I had any significant relationships? Have I explored my sexuality? Have I discovered who I really am?
Last night, I wore a vibrator to dinner and had public sex with a man I’ve only known for a few weeks. Sure, there was an element of recklessness, of danger, but none of it felt uncomfortable. None of it felt wrong.
It makes me wonder if Ziva’s death caused me to recede so far within myself that I started to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. The amateur therapist in me seems to agree.
Although, when it comes to the topic of Uri Bugrov, even the amateur therapist in me is stumped.
The man changes moods so fast that he gives me friction burn. He went from totally ignoring me for two days, to taking me out for a very sexually charged dinner, to dismissing me abruptly right afterwards, to waking me up in the middle of the night to have more hot, sweaty, yet surprisingly tender sex.
How the hell am I supposed to keep up with that?
I was so annoyed with him last night after he basically sent me off to my room like a naughty child that I fell asleep all riled up and determined. I was not gonna spread my legs for him ever again. I was gonna draw a line in the sand. I was gonna start saying no!
So of course, he’d decided to slip into my bed when I was at my most vulnerable and fuck me into changing my mind.
It’s just… the sex was so different last night. For the first time, it felt like we were sharing control. Our eyes were locked together as we finished at the same time.
He left my bed almost immediately after, but this time, it didn’t bother me. Probably because I knew it would most likely happen again. I wanted it, too. That’s what I woke up thinking. That’s what I’ve spent the last half-hour contemplating.
But I’m getting awfully sick of tossing and turning and contemplating problems that have no obvious solutions, so I drag myself out of bed, get dressed, and go downstairs. I’m rounding the corner into the kitchen when I hear something crash.
“NO! I don’t want… I don’t want—”
I rush into the kitchen to find Svetlana standing a few feet away from Lev, who’s on the floor twitching violently and shaking his head fast.
“Master Lev—”
“I don’t want it!” he yells again. “Cornflakes! I want cornflakes!”
Svetlana’s eyes are wide and agitated. Every time she tries to take a step towards Lev, he just starts shaking harder, forcing her to back away further. “I’m sorry, Master Lev. We ran out—”
“No, no, no, no…”
I jump forward and put my hand on Svetlana’s shoulder. She turns to me helplessly and lowers her voice. “Mr. Bugrov said specifically that I wasn’t to give him cornflakes for breakfast today. He told me to give him something more substantial, so I made a quiche and—” She looks at Lev regretfully.
“It’s okay, Svetlana. Let me try.”
She backs off instantly, relief brightening her face as she makes her getaway. I inch a little closer to Lev, who hasn’t stopped rocking in place.
“Lev. Hello? Lev, buddy?”
He jerks slightly in my direction, so I know he hears me. But he doesn’t lift his head, nor does he stop the shaking. “Lev, I’m right here,” I murmur. “I’m right here. Just listen to my voice, okay?”
He stiffens. Says nothing. But I could swear the shaking slows, just a bit.