Page 71 of Voracious

She scrunches her nose up with a twitch as though it’s tickling her then sighs and falls against me.

“I’m hungry.”

She’s never said it before. If there’s something in front of her she’ll eat it, but this is a sign her appetite is fully back to normal after however many years on the street. She wraps her limbs around me as soon as I pick her up and her smile touches my neck. Ignoring Vlad’s attempt at being a protective big brother and Inessa’s dopey smile, I take my woman home.

Ana takes her contacts out as soon as we’re out of sight from anyone else. She never wears them longer than she feels she needs to anymore, part of me wishes she never shows those eyes to anyone else. That’s selfish as fuck when it must fuck with her vision and her eyes are always red from how long she wears them.

Stretching across the car, I hold her nape, massaging the side of her neck with my thumb.I can’t risk looking at her or I’ll collide into something. Her smile is in my periphery, it’s getting wider day by day and it’s started to reach her eyes. Reminding myself that she said she’s hungry, I keep on hand on my woman and the other chokes the steering wheel.

I’m old as fuck, I’ve helped raise three little shits into bigger shits as adults, four if I count Viktor. Something aboutAna always has me nervous, it’s the way she’s unbothered by anything, her acceptance of life and everything it brings.She never asks for permission to do anything and roots around the car for something to distract her mind. Finding the rosary my mother gave me when I was ten, she holds it with respect and awe. I’ve never seen her go to church, she’d probably burst into flames like the rest of her family, but I ask anyway.

“Are you religious?”

She lays the beads on her thigh and gently straightens them out as she ignores me. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft and melodious.

“No, I used to go to a gurdwara, a temple, they give out food to people and there was an older couple who talked about spirituality more than religion.” Ending on a sigh she leans back against my hand and turns her head to look at me. “I think I have to believe in something, if I don’t then I don’t get another chance for a life. I hope it’s reincarnation, imagine I die and then I’ll get to be something extraordinary.”

She already is extraordinary, there’s a delicate balance of childish maturity inside her, each side perfectly fitting together so she can go through life and cope.

Her eyes are still locked on my profile as I pull up outside the all-night diner and she talks more to herself than me.

“I have to have faith there’s something, anything, when I die. Otherwise, it will be the same as my life.”

My sweet lisichka. Tilting her chin up with my knuckles, I press a chaste kiss to her lips and my voice carries enough authority for the Grim Reaper to understand the order.

“You’re not going to die, build your life exactly how you want it.”

Telling Ana to stay seated so I can get her door, she nods and scrutinizes me as I round the car. This is how it should be, it’s my job to protect her and she’s spent too long having to do itherself.She pulls her contacts case out before I reach her door and my emotions contradict themselves knowing it hurts her and the pride at being the only who gets to see who she really is.

TWENTY-NINE

Ana

The moodiness doesn’t leave when we get back to his house. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him to go to the toilet because it’s rude to talk about people’s bathroom habits according to the shows I watched. Dima walks ahead of me, his back muscles rippling through his t-shirt with how tense he is. I want to press my finger against it and see if he’s still real, but I manage to keep my hands by my sides.

His back is to me as he takes a seat in the lounge, and I’ve only just picked my foot up when the gentle authority leaves his mouth.

“Come here, lisichka.”

The TV acts as a mirror and his eyes are locked on mine, telling me not to leave. That fluttering in my stomach comes back as I walk towards him, and he widens his legs when I get within arm’s reach. His hands go to my hips, pulling me to stand between his thighs and he looks from my eyes to his thigh in silent instruction.

When I don’t move, he pulls me to sit down and holds the side of my neck, his thumb pressed under my jaw, and he slowly traces below the bone until my head is tipped back. This isn’tremotely sexual, he’s organizing his thoughts and examining me, but his hands are gentle, and he presses his lips to my cheek, breathing out his anger.

I don’t want it to come back and try to fix it.

“Why are you pissed off?”

Stroking across my jaw so my head falls back to its natural position, he clenches his teeth then says into my ear, “I can’t stand the thought of anyone touching you.”

His hand flexes on my neck before he flattens it and strokes down my chest. He wraps his other arm around me, holding my hip and pulling me into his body. His chest vibrates against my arm as he declares in the deepest voice I’ve ever heard.

“Ty moya.”1

It doesn’t feel like the same ownership I’ve heard from other people’s lips, this is warmer, with care woven into the possessiveness.The skin over the three marks currently on my body itch with the memories and I swallow around the reminder of the pain.

“Are you going to brand me?”

My voice is weak as fuck, my skull radiating in pain while my back and stomach burn. Wrapping both arms around me, he kisses my crown and there’s no deceit in his voice.

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