Page 107 of Vital Signs
He leaned in, lips brushing mine in a kiss that tasted like promise and forever. Soft at first, reverent, like he was afraidI might disappear. Then deeper as I responded, pulling him closer.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, Misha rested his forehead against mine. We sat like that for a moment, just breathing the same air, letting the weight of what we'd just said settle between us.
"I never thought I'd say that to anyone again," I said finally. "After everything... I thought that part of me was dead."
"It wasn't dead," Misha said, catching my hand. "Just buried. Waiting for the right person to help you dig it up."
All those years of numbness, of floating through a chemical fog, I'd convinced myself I was protecting what was left of my heart. But really, I'd just been waiting. Waiting for someone who could see past the track marks and the shaking hands to whatever was worth saving underneath.
"The bandage," he said suddenly, voice still thick with emotion. "From earlier. I should tell you what it was."
I pulled back slightly, studying his face. The vulnerability there, the nervous energy in his hands as he touched the edge of the bandage through his shirt.
"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to share," I said softly. "I can wait."
"No." His eyes met mine, steady and sure. "I want to tell you. This is important. War gave me a birth control implant. A small rod that goes under the skin and prevents pregnancy. It lasts for years."
"That's a big commitment," I said slowly.
"I know it's presumptuous," he said quickly. "We haven't talked about the future. But I was thinking about what we're building together. I wanted to show you I'm serious about us." He paused. "I know your recovery is fragile. That addiction doesn't disappear because we love each other. But I want you, even if it's messy and complicated."
I stared at him, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he was offering. Years of commitment. Years of believing in us when I wasn't sure I believed in myself. Years of planning for a future I'd never let myself imagine.
"What if I relapse?" My voice trembled. "What if I fuck this up? What if I'm not worth the risk you're taking?"
"Then we'll deal with it," he said simply. "Together. I'm not some naïve kid, Hunter. I know what I'm signing up for. I know recovery isn't linear. But I also know you. I know how hard you're fighting. I know how much you've already changed."
He reached for my hands, lacing our fingers together. His grip was firm, possessive. "I'm not going anywhere. You're mine now, and I protect what's mine."
The words sent heat through my veins, something dark and hungry stirring in my chest. This wasn't soft, romantic love. This was something fiercer. More dangerous.
"It's not presumptuous," I added. "It's smart. It's planning ahead for all the ways I'm going to have you."
His smile was sharp, predatory. "Years and years of it."
I pulled him into a hungry, desperate kiss full of everything I couldn't say. He responded immediately, hands tangling in my hair.
"You're mine," he growled against my neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. He added something in French about keeping me, breaking me, putting me back together.
"Yes," I gasped as he bit down hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck yes."
My shirt disappeared, torn from my body with impatient hands. When I reached for his, he caught my wrists, pressing them back against the mattress.
"Did I say you could touch me?" His voice made my cock twitch against my jeans. "You're going to wait until I decide what I want to do with you."
I tried to buck up against him, but he held me down, his weight settling over my hips. "I need you," I said against his mouth, already breathless and aching. "Please."
"I know you do. I can see exactly how hard you are for me already. But you're going to take what I give you, when I give it to you."
He released my wrists only to strip off his own shirt, then pinned them again before I could move. The position left me completely exposed beneath him, at his mercy.
"Such a good boy," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "Look how still you're being for me. Even when you're this desperate, this hard."
His free hand traced down my chest, nails scraping just hard enough to sting. When he reached my belt, he took his time, drawing out each movement until I was squirming beneath him, my cock straining against denim.
"Misha, please—"
"Shhh." His thumb pressed against my lower lip, silencing me. "You survived withdrawal for me. You can survive this."
