Page 60 of Mayflower

I don’t care that it’s vanilla. Nothing feels as good as Maddy flush against me, closer than any human ever has been, holding on to me like she’s about to lose me again.

Maddy is the girl who makes the missionary position exquisite. Astonishing, right?

Everything morphs into a surreal cocktail of sensations. The warmth of her body. How tight she is around me. Her sensual mouth. Her demanding tongue. The whispers between the kisses, though I can’t make out the words because I’m dizzy and my cock is about to explode. So is my heart, and I think she’s saying something in Russian.

She doesn’t hold back when she comes. Not anymore. Maddy is unhinged. Or maybe that’s Milena. She moans loudly, arches her back off the mattress, lifts her hips, fucking herself into my cock to prolong her orgasm, then sets her feet on my hips to open herself wider for me and rubs her pussy impatiently as she brings herself to her second orgasm while I fuck her, amazed, amused, in total awe, enjoying the best view of my girl thoroughly using me for her pleasure.

I don’t stop moving after I come, even though Maddy has stopped moaning and clenching around my cock. I carry on for several long thrusts, until my limbs feel numb and my heart is ready to jump out of my chest and my body feels boneless and we are both sweating and Maddy’s hands, stroking my back, slow down and slide into my hair. Only then do I stop. But I don’t pull out right away. I kiss her shoulder and sag against her, letting her gentle touch do the magic of calming my heart.

I love you, I want to say, the words still scary and cowering in the corner of my heart. It’s easy to say them when she is panting in my arms and coming down off an orgasm and my face is buried in her hair. It’s a different story when a minute later, her pretty browns are on me, and I feel exposed like never before. This beautiful girl deserves all the praise and love in the world. And I have it for her, more than I can handle. I just have to practice more. Everything needs time, including bravery.

I finally move to lie next to her on my stomach, my forearms cushioning my head, and close my eyes.

My bed smells like her, her perfume, the fruity lotion that she uses, her coconut sunscreen. Her socks are on the floor by my bed. Her toothbrush is in my bathroom. She is here. She stayed here while I was gone. Our kid—I just decided I’m going to call Sonny that, ours—is coming over in an hour or so. The scenario is bewildering.

Maddy shifts next to me, and I feel the gentle touch of her fingers on my shoulders, tracing the tattoo lines. They move lower, to my back, then shift onto my left bicep, tracing the raven’s wing, then do the same to the right one.

“Look at you,” she whispers.

I smile, not opening my eyes. “Who are you talking to?”

“Shh. Talking to the raven.”

I stifle a chuckle. “Yeah? What about?”

“Telling him he is mine.”

My heart booms in my chest, making me open my eyes and rise on my forearms. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me for a kiss. I want her breathless, so that when I pull away, she has a moment to think before she repeats it.

“He is yours. If you are sure,” I say, just wanting to hear it one more time.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, Raven.”

“Even if I tell you what I did back in Port Mrei?”

She tilts her head, then leans to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Tell me.”

Not sure why I just said that. She told me she wants to know my stories. And if I don’t tell her my darker ones, how do I know that she loves the right person and not just the idealistic image of me?

“What if you change your mind about me?” I probe.

“I won’t. You should know better.”

“I killed many men back in Port Mrei,” I confess.

I expect a response, a judgment.

She treats me with silence.

“I never killed anyone until Zion,” I say. “When things went down right after the Change, a group of you went to the East Side. You didn’t see what happened. How Port Mrei revolted against Ayana. How the first dispatch of mercenaries came to Zion. What they did in Port Mrei to those who looted. What they did to the Savages who took Olivia. Even then I didn’t resort to the worst. We had people for that, the guards. But a week ago, I made it my mission to find Skiba. Because he dared touch you. He was supposed to protect you but turned out to be a traitor. If I had time, I would’ve tortured him. In the worst way. I’ve never done it before, but I would’ve done it to him.”

I go quiet and study Maddy’s face for reaction. But I can’t figure out what she thinks.

“I was twelve when I snuck away from a New Year’s party at our mansion, full of guests,” she says. “Into the wine cellar. I hid around the corner and watched my father as he tied one of the men who betrayed him to a chair. That man gave away some sensitive info that cost my father a lot of money. But most importantly ruined one of his close friends. That same man slept with that friend’s wife. He ruined a family—that was the story. So, my father tied him to a chair, then put a liquor bottle between his legs, and shot at it with a pellet gun. The guy bled to death. Some New Year it was.”

“You think I am like your father?”

“No, Rave. There is a difference between killing for cruelty and killing as a necessity or self-defense. My father once said that every person is capable of murder, it’s just a matter of circumstances. The Change became a perfect example. But my father uses cruelty as a weapon and scare tactics. He can be merciful. Oh, he can be. And kind. He donated millions to charity, you know? Built schools. Built a church in Russia. He belongs to a peculiar type of men who think they can decide who deserves to die and who is worthy of kindness. Both sides of them are extreme. It’s a God complex. You are capable of a lot of kindness, Rave—that’s what you and him have in common. Cruelty? No.”

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