Page 61 of 10 Days to Surrender

“One.” His breath flutters against my collarbone. “I’ve dreamed of you every night since you left.” Closer now, lips skating my temple. “Two. I read every article you ever published.” Closerstill, teeth at my earlobe, heat blanketing every inch of me. “Three. I’ve slept outside your door every night this week.”

The flashlight gives one final whine and dies, submerging us in complete darkness. I feel Sasha shift beside me, his breath warm against my cheek.

“The second one’s a lie,” I mumble. “You don’t care about my writing.”

Sasha’s finger comes up to graze my chin. “I care about every fucking word that comes out of your mouth, Ariel. Even the ones that gut me. Maybe even especially those ones.”

Then his mouth finds mine in the darkness. It’s a messy kiss, fumbling like it’s the first time we’ve ever done it. When he pulls away, he stays close enough for our breaths to mingle.

“The others were true, too. I watch you sleep,” he rasps. “Count every breath. Memorize the way your lips part when you dream.” His thumb smears my ruined lipstick. “I missed you in my bones,ptichka.In the hollow places Yakov carved out.”

“I missed you, too,” I whisper. “Every damn day.”

His exhale shudders through me. “Then stop running from me.”

I feel trembly and insane all over. My fingers won’t stop shaking, not from cold, but from something else entirely. A chill that doesn’t have anything to do with temperature.

“Here’s three more,” I mumble. “I want you. I don’t want you. I don’t know how to be without you.”

I hear Sasha’s breath catch. “Maybe not everything is so easily divided into lies and truths. Maybe we’re just always meant tobe messy and conflicted. Maybe… maybe we can make it work anyway.”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, fueled by stupid hope and midnight dreams and the romanticism that my mama carved into my bones, the same way Sasha’s father carved hate into his. “Maybe we can.”

This time, it’s me who kisses him.

He drags me into his lap, the two of us fused at the mouth, with my belly as a surprising new presence between us. “Moya lyubimaya,” he growls between kisses. His hands shove the robe up my thighs. “So fucking perfect.”

“Sasha, I?—”

“Shh.” He nips my jaw. “Just let me…”

His mouth closes over my nipple through the flimsy silk. I arch with a whimper. The rational part of my brain—the one that makes pro/con lists and swore to keep boundaries—drowns in a flood of oxytocin and poor decisions.

His hardness at my inner thigh is huge and impossible to ignore. I reach down to palm him, loving it, hating myself for it, wanting it all too badly to care about the difference between those things.

Sasha is right—truths and lies are all so jumbled up; how could people who were raised the way we were ever hope to figure it out? We just do the best we can with what we have and try to let our better sides win.

My better side wants this so fucking badly that I can’t tell it no. As a matter of fact, as Sasha’s hands slip up my thighs to cup my ass and grind me against him… as his kisses flare hot likestreaking comets from one breast to the other… as he drags a finger across my aching pussy…

All I can say is “yes.”

I fumble to free him from his pants. He’s huge and thick in my hand, velvety soft but rock-hard. He groans as I wrap my fingers around his base.

I raise myself up and line him against me. I shouldn’t—weshouldn’t—but I want to so, so, so?—

Then the cellar door opens.

“Ariel? Sasha?” Jasmine’s voice slices through the haze. “Why is there salad in the front?—”

Flashlight beams blind us.

We freeze—me half-naked on the shelves, Sasha’s hand shoved down between my legs, his lips glistening. Jasmine’s choked laugh echoes down the stairs.

“Well.” She clears her throat. “Glad to see you’re… bonding.”

Then she turns and shuffles away.

Sasha’s chest heaves against mine. Slowly, so slowly, he helps me to my feet. The robe slithers back into place. My dignity, however, remains in tatters on the cellar floor.

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