"Not fast enough."
She sets down the spoon and turns to face me, her expression serious. "They'll come when they come. Pushing won't help."
"Easy for you to say. You know who you are."
"Do I?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I've been Maya the hermit for three years. Sometimes, I forget who I was before."
I step closer, drawn by the vulnerability in her voice. "Who were you?"
"Someone who trusted the wrong people. Someone who thought she was smarter than she was." She meets my eyes. "Someone who ran instead of fighting."
"Running kept you alive."
"Maybe. Or maybe it just delayed the inevitable."
I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to hold my gaze. "Nothing is inevitable. We make our own fate."
"That's very philosophical for a man who can't remember his own name."
"I remember the important things. Like how you taste. How you sound when you come. How you look at me like I'm not just a broken man with a violent past."
Her breath catches, and I see desire flare in her eyes. "Sasha…"
I kiss her, slow and deep, and she melts into me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and the stew on the stove is forgotten.
We barely make it to the bedroom. Clothes come off in a trail from the kitchen, and by the time we fall onto the bed, we're both naked and desperate. I take my time anyway, kissing every inch of her skin, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.
When I finally slide inside her, we both go still, savoring the connection. Then I start to move, slow and deep, watching her face in the lamplight. She's beautiful like this, open and unguarded, her pleasure written in every line of her body.
"Harder," she breathes, and I oblige, changing the angle until she cries out.
We move together, finding a rhythm that's perfect, building toward something that feels bigger than just physical release. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I drive deeper, and the small bite of pain only heightens the pleasure. I can feel every inch of her wrapped around me, hot and slick, and perfect.
"God, Sasha," she gasps, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat. I lean down to taste the salt on her skin, feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips.
I shift my weight, hooking one of her legs over my shoulder to get even deeper, and she makes this sound, half moan, half sob, that goes straight through me. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and I can't resist palming one, rolling her nipple between my fingers until she arches into my touch.
"Look at me," I command, and her eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. "I want to see you when you come."
She holds my gaze as I increase the pace, harder, faster, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. Her inner muscles start to flutter around me, and I know she's close.
"That's it, baby. Let go."
When she comes, her body clenches around me like a vice, her back arching off the bed, my name torn from her throat in a cry that's almost feral. The sight of her, the feel of her pulsing around me, the sound of her pleasure, it's too much. I follow her over the edge with a groan, burying myself deep as I empty inside her.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied. She traces patterns on my chest while I play with her hair, both of us too content to move.
Her breathing evens out gradually, her body going heavy and relaxed against mine. I hold her close, one hand splayed across her lower back, and listen to the quiet sounds of the cabin settling around us.
But sleep won't come for me. My mind keeps circling back to Pavel, to that memory fragment, to the certainty that I know him from somewhere. The pale eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The nervous energy. The way he looked at Maya.
I know that man.
The knowledge sits in my gut like a stone, cold and heavy. Maya sleeps peacefully beside me, trusting me to keep her safe, and I lie awake staring at the ceiling, whispering into the darkness, "I know that man from somewhere."
9
LENA