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“The boys, they are happy, yes?”
Rose looks away from Shane and Ilya on the dance floor. They’re not even dancing, basically just swaying and looking at each other with goofy expressions.
They’re adorable.
“Yes, it certainly seems that… way?” It’s not meant to be a question, but when she looks at the woman next to her, the words seem to lose their way somewhere between Rose’s brain and vocal cords. She is… gorgeous doesn’t cover it. She’s ethereal. Her eyes are grey, and Rose, who is normally not inclined to indulge in fanciful thoughts, thinks they look like Lake Erie on a stormy day. Which is Rose’s favorite view of the lake.
“You are not sure?” the woman asks, a smile playing in the corner of her mouth.
“Uhm—what?”
“You say like a question. Like you are not sure.”
“No, no, I’m sure, I was just—” Rose pauses and takes a deep breath and forces her brain to produce coherent words. What the hell is happening to her? “They’re happy,” she says, definitively. “They deserve to be,” Rose tacks on, just in case this woman is somehow not in Shane and Ilya’s corner.
The woman laughs, and Rose’s insides squirm in a wholly unexpected way.
“Yes. This is true. They… how do you say? They deserve to have all the happiness.” She’s watching the boys on the dance floor with a fond smile, and relief floods Rose. Whoever she is, she’s not here to take anything away from Shane and Ilya.
“I’m Rose,” she says, offering the woman her hand.
“I know,” she laughs. “Rose Landry. I’m Svetlana.”
Right. Rose deflates. She likes her job. Truly. But god it sucks sometimes to never meet people on neutral ground, without them thinking they know her.
“You are Shane’s friend. Ilya told me. He invited you?”
Svetlana takes Rose’s hand to shake it. And Rose forgets she was sad about being recognized. Tingles rise where they’re touching, an electric current running up Rose’s arm, igniting little fires along its way until they hit her cunt, which throbs with a sudden, odd need.
Svetlana is looking at her, head tilted slightly, and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. She is answering a question or something?
Oh right.
“Yes, he wasn’t sure how people would act. I guess he thought it could be nice with a buffer. Just in case. So here I am.” She shrugs.
“Hmm. That is good. It is nice to have… what did you say, buffer? I tried to be buffer too for Ilya with his family.”
That’s when it clicks. This is Ilya’s friend, the one Shane says was there for Ilya when he had no one else. For some reason, Rose pictured her as more maternal and less…sultry. Less goddess-like and drool-inducing. Which is when Rose realizes she’s been staring at the woman in silence for an awkward amount of time.
“Uhm—I—”
“Would you like to dance?” Svetlana interrupts.
Rose opens her mouth to respond, to tell her that no, of course not. She doesn’t… She’s not a lesbian, a fact she has bemoaned many times when some man she dated turned out to be of the “not all men but definitely this one” variety. But Svetlana is already tugging on her hand, and Rose’s feet move of their own accord as she follows the other woman onto the dance floor.
It’s just a dance anyway, it’s not a big deal.
Right?
Except Svetlana’s dress is backless, revealing an expanse of smooth skin, the fabric shifting tantalizingly with each step just over a pert ass, and Rose’s thoughts stutter to a halt. She wants to touch, wants to slide her hands over that skin, wants to press her lips against it and see if it feels as soft as it looks, and she doesn’t fucking understand what is happening to her.
The song is fast, and they begin moving in tune with the music, and of course, Svetlana looks gorgeous as hell as she sways and spins, curls bouncing and hips swinging. For the first time in a very long time, Rose feels wrong-footed and clumsy. It’s disorienting. But she can do this. She has danced thousands of times, on and off camera, and muscle memory kicks in. They’re just women, dancing together, something she has done with her friends many times and it never meant anything.
And then the music changes, a slow song that has no business showing up at an award show afterparty. She should file a complaint with the DJ or—
Svetlana’s hands slide around Rose’s neck, and Rose doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s suddenly hyperaware of her own hands and hesitates for a few heartbeats before gingerly placing her hands around Svetlana’s waist.
The fabric of Svetlana’s dress is thin and soft and she’s so damn close.
The scent of her perfume envelopes Rose. She smells like bergamot and honey, sweet and tasty and Rose is dizzy with the effort of resisting the urge to lean in and lick Svetlana’s neck to see if she tastes as good as she smells. When Rose shifts her hands just a smidgen, her thumbs brush over bare skin, and her heart stutters in her chest.
She shakes her head, trying to snap out of this—this ridiculous mood or whatever the hell she’s experiencing.
“—alright?”
It takes her a moment to realize Svetlana is speaking to her and another moment to remember how to respond.
“I’m sorry, what?” She needs to lean a little closer to hear over the music and noise around them, and Svetlana’s curls brush her face when she does. It’s a soft tickle, almost imperceptible, but her body reacts like each hair is a live wire, and she shudders with sudden need.
Perhaps she has had some kind of mental break brought on by exhaustion or the latest offer for another lame movie contract. Aside from Svetlana’s hands around her neck and Rose’s grip on the other woman’s waist, they’re not even touching, and yet, Rose’s nipples are tight, her skin is on fire. Her cunt is wet and needy, and Rose idly wonders how the hell she’s more turned on by not touching this woman than she’s been by the touch of many men.
“I say, are you alright?” Svetlana repeats, her breath warm against Rose’s ear.
“I think I need some air,” Rose gasps, stepping back from Svetlana. She spins towards the exit, and she’s not running away, she’s just moving at a very fast clip and practically falling out the door to the balcony.
It’s blissfully empty. The night air is warm, and Rose leans over the railing, heaving in breaths of air, trying to focus on the glittering lights of the Vegas skyline below her. What the actual fuck was that? Her body is still tingling with want. She closes her eyes and searches for her missing equilibrium. She has never felt like that around a woman, has never wanted to—
“Are you thinking of jumping?”
Rose startles, whipping her head around to the woman who, despite her heels, has still managed to sneak up on her. Svetlana is next to her, her back against the railing, with her elbows resting on it.
She’s not wearing a bra, Rose’s unhelpful brain supplies, and Rose blinks, once, twice, before she tears her gaze away, face burning with a furious blush. She is literally no better than the men who gawk at her own boobs.
Svetlana’s smirk makes Rose consider whether jumping is a viable option after all. Surely that would be a better death than the slow torture of death-by-stupidity she’s currently experiencing.
“I… am sorry,” she finally manages to get out. “I have no idea what is happening, and I’m acting like a buffoon.”
“What is buffoon?” Svetlana asks, the confused crease between her eyebrows unreasonably adorable.
“It’s a… I don’t know. A fool? A person who is doing stupid things for incomprehensible reasons.”
“Ah. Glupiets. I do not think you are, how you say, buffoon. I think perhaps you are worried, yes? You are famous, and a lot of people want to talk to you. Is normal to be worried. And I know this might be difficult to believe, but I promise I am not wanting to take advantage. So, no, I do not think you are glupiets.”
“In that case, you are a very generous woman, because I have been acting like one since I met you,” Rose responds, voice flat. “And I’m sorry. I am not normally this—” She gestures around them. “Unhinged.”
Svetlana bites her lip and heat coils once more in Rose’s gut, images of being the one to nibble on Svetlana’s lip flittering through her mind.
“Not unhinged. I think maybe scared, yes?”
“I’m not—” Rose cuts herself off because yes, she is scared. She normally thinks of herself as a brave woman, someone who faces things head on, but whatever she is feeling now fucking terrifies her. “Ok yes, maybe I’m scared. It’s just that—” Once more, she stops talking. What if it’s all in her head and Svetlana just laughs at her and runs to the tabloids with a story of the insane Rose Landry coming on to her at the hockey awards after party? What if—
Her thoughts stutter to a halt when Svetlana tugs on a lock of Rose’s hair.
“Hmm, soft,” she hums. “So tell me, what are you thinking, Rose?”
Rose likes the way her name sounds in the other woman’s mouth. Soft. Seductive.
“I’m… I’m not gay.” It takes a herculean effort to form words, but she manages it.
Svetlana laughs, and Rose wonders if there is anything at all the woman does that isn’t sexy.
“You Americans and your labels. I think you are very beautiful. I would like to kiss you. Gay, straight, the labels do not so much matter.”
Rose swallows, the words pinging around her brain like an out-of-control pinball machine. I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss you. I would like to—
“Is that alright?”
Her eyes drop to Svetlana’s lips, and she nods.
Svetlana slides sideways, squeezing in between Rose and the railing, and the earth tilts sideways or something because, fucking hell, she is so close and smells so good and Rose is dizzy with want.
Her hands frame Rose’s face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. “Krasivaya,” she mumbles. “Beautiful.”
And it oddly doesn’t feel like she’s only talking about Rose’s looks. It’s as if she is looking inside Rose and seeing all her secrets, which is fanciful and probably foolish, but that doesn’t change anything; it still feels that way. Rose delicately traces the edge of skin at Svetlana’s waist, finding it just as silky-soft as she imagined.
Unbidden, a phone conversation she had with Shane a couple of years ago pops into her mind. You can keep my big lesbian secret, she’d laughed, hoping it would help him. Her makeup artist had given her a questioning look, and she clearly remembers snorting, God I wish. And she had. Many times, she had wished she could just be attracted to women and never have to deal with another man again. She has kissed some girls at parties, experimented in theater school like everyone else, looked at other women and thought they were beautiful.
But she has never felt that she’s gay. Has never wanted a woman. Until this moment, standing here with Svetlana, her entire body buzzing with the urge to pull the other woman closer and taste her.
“Why—” She clears her throat and tries again. “Why me?” It’s not really what she wants to ask, and it comes out small and insecure. But Svetlana’s right, it’s always in the back of her mind when someone approaches her. Is it her or is it her fame? Ever since she was a kid who was kidnapped on screen and became a household name, she has wondered—is anyone really interested in her as a human being? It’s a strange feeling to be known by so many and yet always feel so damn alone.
“Why you?” Svetlana repeats and bites her lip again, which is honestly really unfair with how sexy it is. “You are very pretty.”
Rose’s heart drops. There it is, her looks. All she’ll ever be. And it’s ridiculous, Svetlana doesn’t know her. How could she possibly have a why that doesn’t revolve solely around Rose’s looks? She has no reason to be disappointed. But she is. She drops her hands from Svetlana’s waist and steps back.
“Right. Well, I should—”
“I was not done.” Svetlana grabs her hand before she can turn and make a run for it. “You are very pretty but is more. Is—I do not know how to say. Ilya tell me about you. How you are Shane’s friend. You make him feel safe. I like this. Our boys, they need love. And then I meet you and—” She shakes her head, which makes her curls bounce, and Rose idly wonders what Svetlana might look like below her with those curls spread out on a pillow, and what the ever-loving fuck is going on with her brain?
“Like I say, I meet you, and something is happening, yes? You feel it too?”
Rose nods mutely, because she does feel it. Something is happening, and she can’t explain it, but it’s there.
“So, I do not know all the why. But I know I want to kiss you.”
“Ok.”
Her heart is beating so loudly in her ears that she can barely even hear her own response.
“Ok?” Svetlana repeats, hand tipping Rose’s face up to look her in the eyes.
“Ok.” Rose is shivering now, scared and turned on at the same time. She’s unsure of anything really except that she wants this. Whatever this is.
Svetlana leans in, slowly, giving Rose every chance to back away. She pauses right before their lips touch.
“You are sure?” Her breath washes over Rose’s face, warm and intoxicating, and Rose leans toward her.
“Yes, I am sure.” She closes the gap between them, and time stops.
It actually fucking stops, the way it does in books and romantic movies, screeching to a halt, and Rose’s reality is soft lips barely touching hers. And then Svetlana moves and time moves with her, and they’re colliding, her hands in Rose’s hair, tilting her head for better access as she deepens the kiss.
And Rose’s whole world combusts.
She has never.
Never
Ever
Felt like this kissing anyone else.
She wants to melt into Svetlana, disappear into the kiss, and never surface. Wants this fire to consume her until she is nothing but ash floating on the wind. Her hands are trembling, and she stops thinking and lets them wander, traces the swell of hips, the dip of a back, the globes of the most perfect ass she’s ever seen. The feel of soft skin beneath her fingertips makes her dizzy with want, heat pooling in her core, head spinning.
When she presses Svetlana closer, the woman gasps into their kiss, gripping Rose harder. It’s the sexiest sound Rose has ever heard.
She wants to hear it again.
Svetlana abruptly breaks the kiss, leaving Rose feeling as if she’s lost something and she needs to get back right now. Hand on Svetlana’s neck, she pulls the woman close again—
And the goddamned door to the balcony bursts open, a rowdy group of people from the party stepping outside.
They jump apart and lean against the railing in almost perfect unison, pretending to look at the lights of the city beneath them.
Rose dares a glance at Svetlana, who is looking about as disheveled as Rose feels. Svetlana catches her gaze and slides just a fraction closer.
“1422,” she mutters under her breath.
“What?”
“My room. 1422. If you want to…” Her voice trails off, and she is visibly nervous for the first time tonight.
“I do. Want to.”
Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should walk away right now and not head down this path. But Svetlana’s pinky caresses Rose’s hand, and the minuscule touch is enough to make her breath catch. She could walk away, but she doesn’t want to. Whatever this is that is happening between them, Rose wants it.
“Ok.” The smile on Svetlana’s face is brilliant and a different kind of warmth spreads through Rose. The insane kind that dreams of mornings in bed and walks on beaches and evenings by fires. She squashes it down, forces herself to focus on the moment. “I see you soon, yes?” Svetlana asks.
“Give me ten minutes,” Rose mumbles and refuses to acknowledge that even ten minutes suddenly seems like an eternity. When Svetlana moves to leave, Rose throws a nervous glance at the group that hasn’t yet noticed her. For some reason, she is feeling protective of their moment together, and she dreads being recognized. Talked at. Ogled.
Svetlana brushes her pinky over Rose’s hand once more. “I have this,” she whispers. “You go first.”
Before Rose has time to react, Svetlana strides towards the group, hips swaying and brilliant smile beaming.
“Hello, loud Americans, are you sad the MVP was a Canadian? What is that now, fifth year in row it is not an American?”
The group groans and focuses their attention on her, playfully bickering about the Russian/Canadian conspiracy to rob good Americans of their earned accolades. While they’re looking at Svetlana, Rose slips across the balcony and back into the hotel ballroom.
Noise hits her as she opens the door, a stark contrast to the quiet outside. Rose quickly locates Shane. He is holding Ilya’s hand with a dopey expression while Ilya gestures wildly with his other hand, in the middle of a discussion about something with one of the other players. Her boy is so damn happy, and she blinks away happy tears. He deserves the world that one. When she catches his eye, she gestures up, letting him know she’s leaving. He nods and gives her a little wave with his free hand. When he moves, Ilya notices, like he’s tuned into Shane’s smallest actions, and he searches the crowd to see who Shane is communicating with. His nod is reserved but not unkind. Apparently, they can call a truce now that he gets to claim Shane publically. Though that was never a competition between them.
Rose smiles at them both and heads to the exit and the elevators, acutely aware with every tingling nerve in her body that the balcony door has just opened and closed behind her.
She steps into the elevator and hits the button for the fourteenth floor. Just as the doors close, Svetlana slips in between them.
“Hi.” Her smile is shy, and oddly enough, that calms Rose’s nerves.
“Hi,” she responds. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Svetlana laughs and moves to stand next to Rose, and it’s all Rose can do not to back her up against the wall of the elevator and kiss her senseless right here. She’s just about to follow through when the elevator stops and the doors ding open, and an older couple steps in. They nod politely, then turn to face the elevator doors which slide closed once more.
As soon as the elevator begins moving, Svetlana’s hand grazes Rose’s ass, and she has to turn her surprised gasp into a cough.
She glares at the other woman and silently gestures to the couple in front of them. Svetlana merely winks. The damn elevator grinds to a stop again and more people step in, pushing the women to the back. This time, when the doors close, Svetlana’s hand is on the side of Rose’s thigh, bare under her short dress. Rose shivers at the brush of fingers against her skin—and almost chokes on a breath when Svetlana steps close enough that she can caress the back of Rose’s legs.
Rose shakes her head furiously, panicked that one of the people in the now almost full elevator will turn around and see what is happening. Svetlana stares straight ahead and pretends not to notice her.
The elevator stops once more, because apparently the universe has decided to push Rose to her breaking point tonight. When it jolts back into motion again, Svetlana is jostled a little closer. Her hand that was on the back of Rose’s bare leg slides between her legs, and she brushes a finger against the small, soaked triangle of Rose’s lacey g-string.
“Oh.” It’s barely audible, and if Rose hadn’t been pressed so close, with every nerve attuned to what the woman was doing, she might have missed the small cound. Everyone else in the elevator does. Rose dares a glance at her, mouth dry. Svetlana’s eyes are bright and shiny and the smile she gives Rose is tender and enticing at the same time. She presses her finger a little harder against Rose’s cunt, a wicked little smirk growing when Rose squirms. Leaning in close, she breathes me too against Rose’s ear, and Rose’s mind goes blank at the thought of this incredible woman being as wet for Rose as she is for her.
She starts rubbing slowly back and forth, just a ghost of a touch, and Rose only stays upright—and quiet—through sheer force of will. She is burning up, desire bubbling in her gut. She wants more, needs friction and pressure, wants to grab Svetlana’s hand and press it against her core, until she comes. A tiny whimper escapes her. Next to her, Svetlana’s lips are slightly parted, her breathing faster. At least she’s not the only one affected here. But she doesn’t press harder or faster, just keeps up those almost-phantom strokes against Rose until she wants to beg.
When they finally—finally—reach the fourteenth floor, Rose is vibrating with need. Her cunt is soaking wet, her nipples are so tight it’s almost painful, and she doesn’t quite push the remaining hotel guests aside to get out of the elevator, but she’s pretty sure if they hadn’t moved, she would have.
Svetlana is right on her heels and the elevator doors have just barely closed behind them when she shoves Rose against the wall. Her kiss is scorching, her tongue demanding access to Rose’s mouth, and Rose’s lips part willingly, desperate for more.
“Fuck,” she hisses into Rose’s mouth. “Room. Now.” She grabs her hand and pulls her down the hallway.
They stumble into Svetlana’s room, and this time, Rose pushes Svetlana against the door as soon as it closes behind them. Her kisses are demanding now, needy, desperate, and Svetlana responds in turn, tugging at the straps of Rose’s dress until it tumbles to the floor, leaving her just in her heels, and her black lacey lingerie. Rose moves in to kiss her again, but Svetlana stops her with a firm grip on her waist.
“Wait.”
Rose freezes, panic, immediate and overwhelming sets in.
“Just let me look. One moment,” Svetlana says, thumbs caressing Rose’s hip bones, which as it turns out are a direct pipeline to her cunt because that small touch has her needily clenching around nothing. “So beautiful,” she coos. A blush blooms on Rose’s cheeks and spreads down her chest and Svetlana laughs. “This cannot be the first time someone tell you you are beautiful, no?”
“No,” Rose croaks out, her voice apparently on a strike. “But this is the first time it feels like it matters.”
She regrets the words as soon as they are out. What kind of demented thing is that to say for a one-night stand with a stranger? But Svetlana doesn’t scoff or kick her out. She traces the redness down Rose’s neck with gentle fingertips, follows it down her chest. Pauses just above her breasts, tracing gentle patterns above the lace of Rose’s bra. Then she leans in and kisses Rose’s neck, soft kisses that nevertheless drive Rose crazy with the need for more.
“I—” She doesn’t even know what she wants to say, doesn’t know what to ask for. This doesn’t feel like any of her other sexual experiences. They all seemed to have a playbook, steps to follow—he does this, she does that, climax. Not rote, but… predictable.
But this… This feels new. Uncharted territory, and she’s a novice cartographer, fumbling her way in the dark. She doesn’t know what she wants. She just knows that she needs… something, something more, something… fuck it, she just needs. Another whimper escapes her, and Svetlana laughs again, a dark, throaty sound that makes heat pool low in Rose’s gut.
“Come,” she says, tugging on Rose’s hand, and Rose willingly follows, just like she has been doing the rest of the evening. It’s an odd realization that she, who follows no one, would follow this stranger anywhere all of a sudden.
Anticipation makes her limbs tingle, and then Svetlana drops Rose’s hand to pull her dress over her head and oh fucking god, she’s not wearing anything underneath. The want in Rose’s gut coalesces into something solid making her limbs tremble and pushing her to act.
She steps forward and places a shaking hand on Svetlana’s back. Trails it up between her shoulder blades, then back down until she reaches her perfect ass. Strokes a hand over the curve. The softness of her skin is mesmerizing. It makes Rose’s fingertips tingle with the need to keep touching, and so she does, trailing both hands over the curves of Svetlana’s hips. Lets her fingertips trail down her arms, follow the path of her hipbones to the front, and brush across her abdomen.
Uncertain, she hesitates. Svetlana makes an impatient noise when Rose doesn’t move, arching her body against Rose.
“More,” she says in that husky voice, grasping Rose’s hands and guiding them to her breasts. A small gasp escapes Rose—she knows what breasts feel like, has a reasonably decent pair herself—but this… Rose squeezes gently, rolls nipples between her fingertips, and Svetlana gasps and leans her head back against Rose. She tightens her grip, and Svetlana curses, and then she’s spinning Rose around, and they’re on the bed.
Rose’s lingerie is quickly disposed of, and it’s soft lips and skin and Svetlana’s tongue leaving paths of fire that threaten to immolate Rose right here in this bed. Svetlana murmurs soft words against her skin, kissing her.
Time slows or speeds up. Maybe both.
Eventually, Svetlana’s fingers find Rose’s cunt and deftly circle her clit.
“Fuck,” Rose gasps, gripping the sheet beneath her, squirming, shaking, as Svetlana caresses her, softly at first, then harder, faster, drawing out the exquisite torture by slowing down again, shifting her touch a little until Rose is a begging, incoherent mess.
“Please, god, please, I need—”
She slips a finger inside Rose, crooking it forward. Her fingers are fucking magical, hitting Rose perfectly, until her legs are shaking and she’s so close, so damn close—
Svetlana stops. Presses her thumb against Rose’s clit, and Rose gasps out an exhale.
“Fucking—”
“Shhh,” Svetlana teases, holding a finger against Rose’s lips. “Not yet.”
She slides down Rose’s body, resting on her elbows between Rose’s legs.
“This is alright?” she asks, lips pink, curls wild around her face. God, she is beautiful.
“Yes, Christ, yes. Please.”
Svetlana smiles, and it’s gorgeous and delightfully wicked, and then her tongue is on Rose, and Rose thinks she might actually die from pleasure. And be happy about it.
Svetlana’s tongue slips inside Rose, and Rose’s vision goes blank as her hands sink into Svetlana’s hair, grabbing it. Her hips buck up against Svetlana’s mouth, seeking friction, needing more. Svetlana uses her fingers, her tongue, drawing patterns that leave Rose gasping, begging in broken half-words for more, please, more.
“Hmmm, you like?” Svetlana hums against her and does something with her finger, hitting a spot inside Rose that makes her vision blacken around the edges.
“Yes, fuck, Jesus Christ!”
And she’s shattering, stars exploding behind her eyes, her body weightless and heavy at the same time.
The world tilts off its axis as she comes under Svetlana’s tongue and deft fingers.
As Rose collapses back onto the pillows, she worries that she might have just had the best orgasm ever to exist and it will forever be a bar that no one else will be able to raise.
Svetlana scoots up next to Rose and kisses her, relaxed and languid like she hasn’t just irrevocably altered Rose’s world. She can taste herself on Svetlana’s lips—she never thought that might be hot, but with this woman, it somehow is, and the slow kiss has heat coiling in her core again.
“Mmmm, you are delicious,” Svetlana murmurs into the kiss.
And fuck, Rose is not trying to compare this to anything else, but she can’t help it. No man has ever made her come like this and then made her feel like she was a treat. It’s a heady feeling, making her feel powerful and precious.
She sits up and nudges Svetlana up the bed. Crawls over to straddle her and deepens the kiss, letting her hands roam. A little uncertain, she tries the things that she herself likes, closing her lips around a tight nipple and sucks gently at first, then a little harder. Svetlana inhales sharply, and Rose immediately stops.
“Was that not—I mean is that—”
“No is amazing,” she smiles. “Do it again, please.”
Rose does it again, relishing the sounds Svetlana makes, the feeling of soft breasts in her hands. She doesn’t feel like she has to rush, doesn’t feel a pressure to get to some finish line, and so she takes her time, memorizing the soft curves and dips of the other woman’s body with her hands and lips. When her fingers finally work their way to Svetlana’s core, she’s wound up again, the thrum of blood in her veins urging her on.
She slides two fingers through Svetlana’s folds and finds her soaking wet.
“I tell you, yes? Before in the elevator? Me too,” Svetlana says, voice soft. “I want you, Rosa.”
Rose swallows, swiping her fingers back and forth, watching Svetlana’s eyes flutter closed.
“Yes, like that. Bozhe. More.”
She doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing, but she learns as she goes, watching Svetlana’s body for clues, until Svetlana is the one trembling under Rose’s touch.
“Blyat,” she begs. “Bozhe moy, Rosa. Yeshchyo.”
Rose doesn’t speak a lick of Russian but she doesn’t need to to understand what Svetlana is saying. She gives Svetlana what she’s asking for, loses herself in the moment, in soft touches and hard kisses, in the sounds of their breaths and gasps, until she’s feeling Svetlana’s cunt clench around her fingers, her grip on Rose deliciously tight, and her small moans perfect music.
After, they’re tangled on the bed in the dark, limbs intertwined. Rose’s head is on Svetlana’s chest, and she can feel her heartbeat in her ears. She stirs to get up, feeling like she should, but Svetlana tightens her grip on her, pulling the blanket over them both.
“Stay.”
The smart thing to do would be to leave. It is, after all, just a one-night stand, and it will end soon anyway. But the steady rhythm of Svetlana’s heart is lulling her to sleep, and her sated body is too heavy to move, so she snuggles in a little closer, tracing patterns on the soft body beneath her.
Tomorrow will come soon enough. For now, she can stay and believe in magic.
“Ok, I will stay.” She is silent for a moment, then, “where do you even live?” She holds her breath and prays it’s not Russia.
“Right now I sell cars in Boston,” Svetlana responds.
Rose nods and closes her eyes. She is drifting off to sleep, Svetlana’s hands carding through her hair, when the other woman speaks again, softly, like she’s sharing a secret she hasn’t told anyone else.
“Expensive cars. Has been fun. But…One day, I would like to do something else. Maybe live near the boys?”
“What would you do?” Rose mumbles, mostly asleep by now.
“I think buy a little shop.”
Rose is suddenly a lot more awake.
“A flower shop. Or bookshop. Maybe you can visit?” The soft hope in her voice echoes the one in Rose’s heart.
“I would like that,” she smiles. “Very, very much.”