"My father used to say that. I didn't realize it was a Russian saying."
"Your father is Soviet?"
She shook her head. "My father was a born and bred red neck. But he was philosophical. He grew up on a farm. When the cotton didn't grow you didn't have money. Cotton couldn't grow without the sun and the rain in near equal proportions. And his father, my grandfather, wasn't in the sun business and wasn't in the rain business so sometimes they didn't have as much money as other people, people whose parents worked in offices or stores and all. But such is life, he taught them. His boys grew up and they all left home. I have an uncle in computers and my da was a marine. Enlisted. We grew up poor, but we didn't know it. And for da it was like rolling in money, so things must have been really bad for them. They made their escape from the farm, but they always talked about the good old days."
Borodin nodded. "In the Rodika you take what life you are given and live it quietly. No room for change."
"So you learn 'such is life'?" When he nodded she regarded him silently for longer than made him comfortable. "I am glad to have met you, Vasili Borodin."
He reached across and took her hand. "I am glad to have met you, Cayes Austin," he told her as he squeezed it gently before letting it go.
Both grew uncomfortable with the lingering overwash of emotion. Memories had been dredged from the bottom that brought up sentiments not dealt with for long periods of time. Both shifted, making to gain their knees so that they could regain their bunks. Their actions were nearly mirror images, which brought them smack up against each other in the small confines.
Facing something else that had lain under the surface.
His hand moved before hers did, coming up to cup her face gently-so gently, like an angel's touch-and her hand froze in midair. His fingers skimmed over the damage he'd caused the pretty face. He let his eyes move to hers, giving her time to register fear or repugnance or doubt. He saw only a steadfast consideration. As he bent his lips to hers she reached out, cupping his neck with one hand, while the long fingers of her right rested above his heart. Again, using the tenderest of touches, his lips drew over hers. Slowly. Reverently. Both let their eyes blink closed. Tears burned the back of Cayes's. Borodin's body trembled.
"If I hurt you..." he murmured.
Her head shook beneath his. "You won't."
He deepened the kiss, mindful of her injuries, always giving her room to back away, to reconsider. Until there was none left. They shifted, bodies seeking the warmth and comfort of the other as they knelt on the hard floor. The only sound was the whisper noises their mouths made as they mated. There were no grunts or cries to betray them. Cayes brought her hands to his uniform coat, hesitating only a fraction of a second before nimble fingers slid buttons from their places. Now he groaned his building desire as she slid her hands beneath the lapels to push at the heavy blue material. He took his hands from beneath the heavy hair long enough to shed the outer layer before once more pulling her to him. His mouth moved to her jaw. Quick-searing-open-mouthed kisses moved over the side of her face, down her neck. Breathing became more labored and the buttons on his shirt gave way less easily than only seconds before. Borodin pulled her shirt from the waistband of the dark work pants, the larger, sparser buttons loosening easily so that they were no barrier at all. His hands skimmed her waist, marveling at the narrowness of it when the other curves appeared so lush. After her wash she'd donned a stretchy black camisole rather than the man's style undershirt she typically wore. He appreciated the silky texture of it, warm from her flesh. As his hands moved up Cayes briefly hesitated, pulled back a fraction.
"Vasili," she warned, covering his wrists. "I've not-I've not bathed in-"
"I don't care," he told her honestly. He knew what conditions were like on the sub. He knew what facilities were available-for them both. It had only been the day before when an extra bucket of water had been provided her, this one less hot than lukewarm, for washing her hair-the first time since coming aboard.
She nodded, gasping for air as his mouth trailed over her collarbone.
Quick hands tugged both his white blouse and undershirt from his waistband and Borodin eased back enough to shed both layers, letting his clothes fall as they would. He lifted the hem of her undergarment over her head, admiring greatly the western brassiere she wore beneath, a swirl of lace and silk and ribbon he would never have imagined on a military operative. Both of his strong arms came around her as she wrapped hers around his waist. Part of his conscious mind was aware of her elbow in its gauze wrapping and he treated her carefully. Most of him was simply lost in the textures of the woman he surrounded, skin hot against skin. His mouth trailed over her right shoulder now, tasting and teasing. Her hair had come loose at some point and fell like black rain around them, beautifully dark and soft as silk despite the weeks and weeks of mistreatment. His hand had just come down to pull her closer against him-to feel the glide of their bodies together-when she bent her head to drag his earlobe between her teeth.
"Cayes...Cayes..." he panted. Suddenly she felt herself lifted off the ground. His full, heavy form followed her as he laid her on the bunk behind them. It carried her scent and he groaned, closing his eyes against the additional sensory onslaught.
In the dimmer light beneath the top berth their hands sought and found the slopes and planes of bodies honed for higher standards. Borodin was careful to ease his way into every next level of intimacy. He unfastened her undergarment, then kissed her for a long time as he slid the straps from the slender arms. When her fingers tugged on his belt he brought himself more fully over her, testing her desire and dragging it out. His own hand slid between their bodies to unsnap the first buttons on her trousers, finding more of the American lace beneath it. He caressed the flat abdomen, running his hand beneath her waistband to rock her hip toward him long before he moved to strip the clothes off of her.
Although, that, too, came. And sooner rather than later. He reached lower, testing her, and found to his great pleasure and concern that she was as urgent as he-and that no man had breached her in some time.
"Slow," he told her when she bucked and trembled beneath him. "I do not want to hurt you."
His words were English. His accent was so thick in his passion that they were practically meaningless. Cayes was beyond needing them.
Her hands trembled, unsteady as she reached for his belt again, this time fighting with the foreign buckle until he lifted himself, shoving at his clothing until he lay naked over her.
"Vasili," she begged as he pressed himself into her.
"I have you, yes," he panted. His mouth closed over hers and never strayed as his body rocked into hers, joining completely. They shared even breath as he made love to her. Slowly, ever slowly. When the desire crested and he would pound into her he checked it again and drew out the moments until both were shaking for the release. And when it came it was a quiet gasp, an earth-shattering completion, rather than the meaningless physical leap he'd grown used to.
He braced himself, shuddering above her as the aftershocks ripped through his body. She'd fisted one hand in his hair, almost to the verge of pain, while the other clutched tightly the back of his shoulder. She opened her eyes to find his boring into her and she had to swallow twice to will back the tears from the sweetness of the encounter. Her hands gentled, petting and stroking him, this tamed beast above her. His eyes were nearly black, his body strong and muscled beneath her palms. Real and earthy. And yet he'd taken her places that had previously been long-winded passages in the fantasy tales of romance novels.
"Cayes," he began. He stopped. He didn't know what tact to take with her. To declare the feelings building in his chest as love? To apologize for taking advantage of what certainly was a junior officer. He shook his head to clear it and felt her fingertips on his lips.
"Shhh," she told him softly. She shifted, moving closer to the bulkhead, and drew his head down beside her. It was the path of least resistance and he took it, sinking to the bunk, crowding beside her. "You were to have been sleeping," she murmured, her fingers in his thick inky hair. He nodded against her, his eyes closed in enjoyment of the forbidden luxury of it. "How long do you have?"
"I have the third watch on the conn today," he told her thickly. She glanced at the watch on the arm he'd let drape across her. Two hours. The man could wash and dress in three minutes.
"Sleep now," she told him, snuggling next to him to take full advantage of the situation. Again he nodded and it wasn't long until his chest rose and fell rhythmically, the breath even and deep against her neck. When he woke he was dry-mouthed and erect again. The one he could do something about. The other he would ignore.
"I'm dreaming," he decided aloud. The woman next to him shifted in her sleep; she rolled to her side. It was something she typically did, he knew now, just before she woke fully and opened her eyes.
"Vasili..." she murmured. She smiled to herself, licking her lips in her habitual way.
"Shhh," he whispered. "You have plenty of time to sleep," he promised in hushed tones. A glance at his German-made wrist watch showed that the same was not true for himself. His shift started in less than a quarter of an hour. Still, he caught himself lingering, watching the dark lashes on the pale cheeks. The dark hair spread like a blanket-she looked like a heathen gypsy. And was just as tempting. Straightening finally he covered her with the blanket from his own bed and saw to repairing his appearance as best as possible. He just barely made it to his post on time. For the first time in his entire career.