He relaxes gratefully. “Grab some glasses.”
We sit down at the table, which is beautifully set already. He’s got me sparkling apple juice and a side of pickles thanks to my new and embarrassingly stereotypical pregnancy cravings.
“Thanks for cooking for me.”
He nods. “Dig in. Those babies need to be fed and fed well.”
I cut into my chicken parm and the buttery, cheesy goodness wafts up towards me. I’m so worried about him that I have to force myself to take the first bite. But the moment all those spices hit my taste buds, I can’t put my knife and fork down.
“Well, if the whole Bratva pahkan thing doesn’t work out, you have a bright future as a chef.”
He smirks. He’s finished half his vodka but barely touched his entrée. I pretend not to notice.
“My parents haven’t noticed that anything is wrong,” I blurt out when I’m almost done eating. Uri raises his eyebrows and it makes me question if this is the right way to distract him. “Um… I mean, they bought the whole Cuba story.”
He nods. “They didn’t ask a whole lot of questions.”
“That’s because they don’t really care.” I shrug, he frowns, and I sigh as I lose that little nonverbal battle. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so bitter.”
“If what you’ve said is true, you’re justified in some bitterness, Alyssa.”
“Oh, it’s definitely true.” I snort and set my fork down on the edge of my plate. “Ziva was always better with them. She was the favorite child. Ironic, really, that she was the one who had to go and I’m the one they got stuck with.”
Upside? That distracted, troubled haze over Uri’s eyes is gone.
Downside? I’ve sucked myself into a conversation about my parents.
“Did they say that to you?”
“They didn’t have to. After Ziva died, they just kinda retreated into their part of the house and I retreated to mine. They stopped coming around to school events. They stopped celebrating my birthday. They stopped taking an interest in my life. They didn’t even show up to my college graduation. Dad called a couple of hours before and told me that Mom was having migraines so bad she couldn’t get in the car. Can you believe that?”
Uri leans in closer, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s amazing how much he can get across with those deep blue eyes, though. I feel like all of him is here, listening to me.
“Maybe part of it was my fault. I basically blamed them for Ziva’s death.”
“Why?”
“Because, when she decided to stop treatment, they let her.”
“Maybe they were trying to respect her decision,” he suggests.
I grit my teeth together. “It was our decision to make as a family. And it was our job to show Ziva that we had her back no matter what. She didn’t want to be a burden to us. That’s why she wanted to stop treatment. It’s the only reason she wanted to die. If they had just… just…” I break off as a sob robs me of the rest of my words. Even worse is the tear splashing onto my food and sizzling on contact. “Shit. Now, I’m crying. I feel like an idiot…”
“Why?”
I wipe my tears away quickly. “Because you’ve gone and prepared a lovely meal for us and I’m slobbering all over it.”
If he cares, he shows no sign of it. His eyes stay fixed on me. “You’ve never told me any of this before.”
“Because I don’t like talking about Ziva. Or my parents. To anyone. Not even Elle, and she practically lived in our house at one point.”
He leans forward and takes my hand. “I appreciate it, you know.”
“W-what?”
He smiles. “Your attempts to distract me. It worked.”
I can’t help but burst out with a teary laugh and roll of the eyes. “I hate when you see right through me. Glad I could comfort you with my dysfunctional family, though.”
“All families are dysfunctional, Alyssa. Happiness is what we make for ourselves.” He gets to his feet and offers me his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
That does have a nice ring to it. I take his hand and let him guide me back to my room. I know that Uri’s proper bedroom is on the third floor, near Lev’s—but ever since I’ve been upgraded to the ground floor, he’s been camping in the room next to mine. Which has left me with a serious lady-boner for the last few days. Knowing that he’s right there, one thin wall between us. Probably lying awake late at night just like I am, wondering where it all went wrong and what it’s going to take to make it all right again.
He holds my hand until we reach the bed. Then he spins me around and starts undressing me with patient, careful movements.
“I can take off my own clothes, you know.”
“I cooked dinner.” His fingers brush the nape of my neck, leaving shivers in their wake. “It’s only fair that you bring the dessert.”
I spin around slowly in his arms until he’s cradling me close to him. “Then let me feed it to you,” I say with a suggestive wink.
Uri’s eyebrows arch but he says nothing. Instead, he lets me return the favor, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off of him. His belt goes next, then his pants and boxers. When he’s naked, I put my hands on his shoulders and guide him to his back on top of the comforters. I follow, planting a knee on either side of his hips while his erection nuzzles at my wetness.
It’s easy to admire him from here. The smooth planes of his muscles. His hardness all over, the dusting of hair on his abdomen. He just exudes man. It makes me feel—well, it would normally make me feel…
My soft smile curdles. “Maybe we should switch positions.”
“Why?”
I look down at my protruding stomach. “I probably look like a fat cow from this angle.”
Uri’s eyes flare with anger as he jerks up towards me. “You look fucking perfect,” he growls in my face, breath tinged with the tang of vodka. “Don’t you ever talk about yourself like that again. You hear me?” He’s so emphatic that I find myself nodding. “Good.” He settles back down on his elbows, eyes still fiery. “Now—ride me, Alyssa.”
So I do. I slip him inside me and settle down until I’m adjusted around his girth. Then I ride him slowly, as per the doctor’s orders. We fit together perfectly, just like we always do. He hits every spot I’ve ever needed and a few I didn’t even know I had. I lose myself to it, to him, letting my head loll back and my hair waterfall down my spine, breathing each moan up to the ceiling.
“Slow” doesn’t last long, though. The more I get lost in his heat, his cock buried deep inside me, the faster I go, until we’re a blur of motion together and he rises up to kiss me with a hot, greedy open mouth. That’s when I come—fastened to Uri from head to toe, every inch of me plastered to every inch of him. He comes with me, spilling all the way inside with a guttural grunt that makes my toes curl and cramp.
I hold him close afterwards, breathing in his rich woodsy scent. “Will you stay with me tonight?” I ask. I don’t even give a damn about how needy I must sound, how pathetic. Sometimes, we women just need. This is one of those times.
“Yes,” he says simply, kissing my head.