Page 46 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

He didn’t answer.Not with words.

I grabbed him by the collar.“I thought you were avoiding me,” I said, the words catching in my throat, coming out harsher than I meant.

He didn’t flinch.“I had to.My father…”

“Shut up,” I whispered, my voice tight.“Just kiss me.”

Dimitri’s mouth crashed into mine like a dam breaking, all hunger and heat and desperation.His beard was rough against my lips and jaw, scraping deliciously against skin I didn’t know could ache.I gasped, and he took the sound into his mouth like it was air he’d been starving for.My hands buried themselves in his coat, clutching hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.I didn’t care.

He slammed me back against the brick wall, knocking the breath from my lungs.And I loved it.The press of his body, and smell of his sweat clinging to his skin, made me lose all inhibitions.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered against my throat, his lips trailing down, nipping, biting.“I missed you so much, it made me sick.”

“Shut up,” I said again, this time softer, my head tipping back.“Just...keep kissing me.”

He growled low in his chest and gave me a kiss that rearranged my insides.Then his hand was there, squeezing the throbbing cock straining against the front of my pants.I gasped, clutching at his shoulders, grinding up into his palm without shame.It was too much, and still not enough.

I was ready to let him do whatever he wanted.Right there, against the shelves of dusty spools and rusted screws, when we both froze at the unmistakable sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs.

We tore apart like schoolboys caught in the pantry.My breath was ragged, my lips bruised, my heart doing triple time in my chest.I spun toward the shelves, snatching the first part I could see, something round and metallic, maybe a belt tensioner, maybe a goddamn soup can.I didn’t care.

The janitor, a man with a broom and an expression so bored it bordered on offensive, ambled in, picked up something from a nearby crate, and shuffled out again without so much as a glance in our direction.

I looked at Dimitri, ready to grab him again, but we heard another creak from above.Someone else was coming.

“Shit,” I hissed.“We can’t stay down here.”

Dimitri nodded, adjusting himself subtly while I held the spare part like it was the Holy Grail.We climbed the stairs two at a time, still flushed, still electrified.My heart hadn’t slowed, not even a little.

Back on the factory floor, the drone of the looms swallowed us whole again.Nobody even noticed we’d been gone.Life was spinning along just as before.

But then I saw it.Just below Dimitri’s jawline, right where the stubble gave way to skin.A purplish bruise blooming.Small, but too damned visible.

“Stop,” I said, grabbing his arm.He looked at me, startled.

“What?”

I reached up, fingers trembling, and tugged the collar of his shirt higher.“You’ve got a mark,” I muttered.“I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to do it that hard.”

His mouth curled up slightly.“I liked it.”

“Dimitri, this isn’t a game.”

“I know,” he said.But his voice was light, teasing, like he didn’t.Like he thought this was just another stolen moment.

I wanted to kiss him again.I wanted to scream that he was mine.That I didn’t care if the Party came, if the whole damn world burned.I just wanted him.

But I didn’t.

I wasn’t strong enough.

So I stepped away and went back to my loom.

And I worked like nothing had happened at all.

* * *

The factory whistle blew, long and hollow, like it hated us as much as we hated it.The looms shuddered to a stop, and the air filled with the collective exhale of the workers.They shrugged off the day’s labor like a bad dream, pulling on scarves and coats and raising their voices in easy laughter.

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