He returns to his torment, alternating between long, slow licks and quick movements that leave me gasping. His fingers work inside me, finding spots that make me see stars, and whenhe curls them just right while his tongue does something devastating, I nearly scream.
“Please, I need?—”
“I know what you need.”
He increases the pressure, his mouth working me while his fingers thrust deeper, harder. The coil of tension in my belly winds tighter and tighter until I think I might break from the pressure.
“Come for me, kotyonok.” It’s an order, but his voice frays like he needs it as much as I do.
The combination of his voice and his relentless attention pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave with pleasure so intense it whites out my vision. I arch off the bed, crying out his name as wave after wave of sensation rolls through me.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down from the high. When the last tremor fades, he moves up my body to gather me against him.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, pressing soft kisses to my neck. “Absolutely beautiful.”
I’m still catching my breath when another flash hits—not violent this time, but wrong in a different way.
Different hands. Different mouth. A man’s voice saying my name, but not the name Dmitri uses. He keeps calling me Alexandra, but that feels different. Official. Like he’s reading from a file.
His touch is skilled but mechanical, like he’s checking off items on a list rather than making love. And there’s something about the setting… bright white walls, the smell of antiseptic, and the feeling of being observed.
“Excellent reflexes, Agent Volkova,” the man says, and I realize this isn’t intimacy. It’s evaluation.
I jerk away from Dmitri so violently that I nearly fall off the bed.
“Stop. Something’s wrong.”
He pulls back, concern replacing desire on his face. “What happened?”
“A memory. But not… not the kind I should have.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Someone else. Someone who called me by a different name.”
He moves up to gather me against him, pulling the covers over my exposed body. “Dreams can feel very real after intense experiences.”
“It wasn’t a dream. He called me Alexandra, but that felt wrong. Like he didn’t have any right saying it.”
His arms tighten around me, and I catch something that looks like panic cross his face before he schools his features.
“Trauma can create false memories,” he says carefully. “The mind tries to fill in gaps with information that doesn’t belong.”
My gut says it wasn’t a dream at all, no matter what he calls it.
“But it felt so real. Like I’d lived it.”
“The important thing is that you’re here now. With me. Safe.”
But his voice has taken on that careful quality again. He’s choosing his words too precisely.
“Dmitri.”
“Yes?”
“Who am I really?”
The question sits between us like a loaded gun. He doesn’t answer immediately, and that hesitation tells me everything I need to know.
“You’re the woman I’m married to,” he finally declares. “That’s all that matters.”
“That’s not an answer.”
