Page 47 of Vital Signs
The orgasm ripped through me unlike anything before. It came from somewhere deeper, tearing me open from the inside out. Heat exploded low in my spine, spreading everywhere. I could feel myself clenching around his fingers, every muscle seizing. My back bowed off the bed, hands yanking his hair hard enough to hurt.
It went on forever. Each wave dragged me under, stealing breath and thought. I couldn't tell where the pleasure ended, and I began. Just sensation everywhere, inside and out.
"Voilà, c'est ça," Misha worked me through it, merciless. "Tout pour moi."
The French hit like aftershocks as pleasure finally, finally eased. When it stopped, I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I was wrecked, used, his.
I lay there shaking. Fucked open. Nothing left but him.
Misha slowly withdrew his fingers, and I shuddered at the loss. He pressed kisses up my body before settling beside me.
I turned my head to look at him. His pupils were still blown, lips swollen from my cock, hair a mess from my hands. He looked as destroyed as I felt, and that knowledge settled something in my chest.
Beautiful, I thought, but couldn't say.
I pulled him closer, letting him settle half on top of me. His heartbeat hammered against my ribs, as fast as mine. For a long moment we just breathed together, skin to skin, neither of us willing to break whatever this was. I threw my arm over my face instinctively, hiding. My throat worked as I tried to swallow past the sudden tightness.
"Hey." He gently pulled my arm away from my face. "You okay?"
"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than usual, scraped raw. "Just... fuck. Didn't think I could anymore."
"Your body just needs different things now." Misha kissed my jaw, tender and careful. "But I can give you those things."
I pulled him closer with trembling arms, still unable to meet his eyes. The weight of what we'd just done was starting to settle. The vulnerability of letting him take me apart like that. Of trusting him with parts of myself I'd kept locked away.
The exhaustion was pulling me under, drugs and exertion and emotional overload all demanding their due. But before I could sleep, Misha spoke.
"We're fucked," he said quietly.
I forced my eyes open, finally meeting his gaze. "Yeah. Completely."
"You're still using. I'm still—" He stopped, started again. "This is going to end badly."
"Probably." I tightened my arms around him anyway, pulling him closer. "But not tonight."
"Not tonight," he agreed, settling against my chest.
The winter night wasbrutal without the heater running.
"Can't run the generator," Misha said, rubbing his hands together. "Too loud. We can't risk drawing attention."
Smart. Also fucking freezing.
Which left us with one option.
"Body heat it is," I said, gathering the blankets around us.
Misha didn't hesitate. He pressed against my side like it was the most natural thing in the world, one leg hooking over mine while his arm settled across my chest. His fingers found the edge of my dragon tattoo where it curved around my collarbone, tracing the scales absently.
The contact sent my brain into overdrive. All I could focus on was his thumb drawing circles on my skin and the way his breathing tickled my neck. His hair smelled like expensive shampoo even after everything we'd done tonight.
This had to be foreplay, right? Except my cock wasn't getting the message. Still soft, still uninterested despite having thisbeautiful man draped over me like a living blanket. The fentanyl had done its job too well.
Something else was happening too. A low-level restlessness that had nothing to do with arousal. My muscles were starting to tighten, wound up in ways that meant withdrawal was creeping closer. But Misha's constant touching kept me from focusing on that creeping discomfort.
He shifted against me, and I thought he was just getting more comfortable until his hand stretched across my chest toward something on the floor.
"Your phone," he said, fingers closing around it.
