I don’t want to leave heaven. But I have no choice.

And it really is heaven.

I wake up wrapped in the inked arms of my Russian, his tongue tracing patterns on the back of my neck. My lower half wakes up with a vengeance, eager to please. To be pleased. The tightening of those delicate muscles hurts, though, from having Aleksei inside me so many times since yesterday. A flush moves over my cheeks remembering the things he said to me in the darkness last night. When we see your father someday ...