Page 40 of Vasily the Hammer

I’m suddenly hit by the most palpable, undefinable emotion. It’s bliss at its highest level; that’s unquestionable. The way he grinds over me isn’t rough right now so much as it’s intense. There’s a need to it matching mine. When he takes one of my hands in his and leads them both up to my mouth, it’s like he knows that I just needed to bite down on something. I’m practically breaking the skin over his white knuckles, but his groan is of primal dominance.

But there’s also this grief. At first, I think it’s that fear of this ending, but then I feel it pounding more loudly against my mind until something shatters inside.

Not my pussy.

My mind.

“Vasya,” I scream into the pillow.

He shifts us to lock me into him, to pin me down and block me from escaping— not that I have a single bone left in my body to escape with— as he groans,“Zvyozdochka,”and empties himself inside me.

I swear he was right about that suction thing. It was so stupid and clearly made up, but I feel like I can taste him on my tongue.

And I know even less Russian than I do Spanish, but I know that word. It’s me, it’s what he calls me. I have no idea what it means, and I have no idea why he calls me that.

I can’t escape the horrific knowledge that he hasn’t called me that in a very long time.

I burst into tears.

“Vasya,” I sob again.

“Shh, shh,zvyozdochka,”he murmurs, rubbing my side and kissing my shoulder blade, his touches firm and soothing in equal parts.

Holding me together.

My next “Vasya” is softer as the ugliest part of my brain finally begins to settle itself so that I can come back into myself again.

“Shh,zvyozdochka. Ya tebya lyublyu. Ya tak sil’no tebya lyublyu, zvyozdochka.”

My breathing is still a mess, but the words fill me so well I have to ask, “What did that mean?”

“Fuck,”Vasily pants, making me realize this took just as much out of him as it did me. “Fuck,zvyozdochka.You know what it means.”

I frown.DoI know Russian? No, definitely not. The church service he took me to was in Russian, and as much as it gave me some peace, I think I would have liked it better if I’d understood it. But when I think about it, I realize I don’t need to speak Russian to understand the words.

I know exactly what he means, no matter the language he says it in.

“I guess you’re right. Yak tack silly to belly blue you too.”

Vasily goes very still above me, popping up on his hands to peel his body off mine. For one awful second, I think my attempt to speak Russian has called his ancestry into question or something.

But then he bursts into the most gut-busting laugh that keeps going even as he flops to the side. I do a little flip-flop myself, remaining on my belly but facing him, and the fact that whatever I just said brought him this much happiness eases the rest of my sick feelings away. He looks a decade younger lying there, with his arm tossed over his forehead, his chest jolting as little spasms of laughter escape between breaths, and I wonder if this was what it was like when we first met. If so, it’s easy to understand how we fell in love despite the circumstances that brought us together.

He peeks over at me from under his arm and flashes me a brilliant grin.

I melt all over again.

He lifts the arm that rests between us and drops it down on my ass in a firm spank that has me squeaking and squirming and feeling good all over. When he finally bundles me up in his armsand the blankets and whispers, “You are the very love of my life,zvyozdochka,never doubt the truth of that,” I pretend to ignore how foreboding the sentiment could be.

I shouldn’t, though, because in the ephemeral twilight that I eventually drift into, that vague realm between not-quite-awake and not-quite-asleep, long after Vasily’s breathing deepens with sleep because I’d already been abed for several hours when he returned home, another name creeps into my brain.

This isn’t a name without definition or context, though. This is a name with a face. This is a name with blond hair as pale as Vasily’s and eyes just as blue, a big, silly smile and an endless well of joy within.

I know him.

Oh God, he is my heart every bit as much as Vasily is.

I sit up, breathless. Panicked.

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