Smoke Signals

by Catherine Gayle

  “Pogovori so mnoy,” he said.

  She nodded and stayed where she was. I headed to the kitchen to fix lunch for all three of us, leaving them to their conversation. I wouldn’t understand a word of it, anyway, something I needed to fix. I made a mental note to ask Dima to help me learn Russian. More to have another means of communicating with Tori than to listen in on the two of them. In the last few weeks, Dima had taken to looking after Tori, in a sense. He was acting almost big-brotherly toward her, adopting her kind of like Tallie had been. And now that I knew Tori didn’t have any blood family left… The more people who wanted to be part of her life, the better.

  It didn’t take me long to roast some fresh veg and pan-fry a few fish fillets, one of Tori’s favorite meals, at least out of the ones in my repertoire. When everything was ready, I looked up to find Dima and Tori already heading for the dining room table. Tori’s head was down, her long hair hiding her face from my view. Dima joined me, taking a few of the dishes.

  “You told her everything?” I asked quietly.

  “Everything I know.”

  I nodded, and the two of us carried everything in to join my wife.

  She hardly ate a bite, using her fork to shove food around on her plate. Worse than that, she didn’t say a word. Her head stayed down, her shoulders hunched forward. All I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and hold her, but I wasn’t sure she would let me. Not right now.

  Dima and I tried to draw her into conversation, talking about the upcoming season. He mentioned a charity sledge hockey event he wanted to put together sometime in the winter. Our efforts were no use. When we finished eating, Dima helped me clear away the dishes.

  “Did she say anything when you told her?” I asked with the running water masking the sounds of our voices. I hadn’t heard her speak during their conversation, but I hadn’t been listening that closely since I wouldn’t understand it to begin with.

  “No. She sat like block of ice whole time. Once I told all I knew, she thanked me for telling her. That was all. Not a word since.”

  I thanked him, too, and he left after giving Tori a kiss on the cheek. I followed him out and closed the door behind him. When I turned around, Tori was so close I nearly ran her over. She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. The second I opened my arms, she fell into them.

  Exactly where I wanted her to be.

  RAZOR’S STRONG ARMS came around me. Steady. Sure. Present. He was the only thing constant in my life right now, the only person left I could count on. And I could. I knew it as well as I knew Mama was dead.

  There was a part of me that had assumed she was dead for a long time, but now I knew. There was no more room for assumptions. There was no more point in holding on to even that tiny shred of hope that had been eating me alive all the years I’d been in America, not looking for her or trying to save her from whatever fate she’d suffered. In truth, there was nothing I could have done, and I knew it. But there had always been that nagging voice inside me, urging me to think harder, try something.

  But she was gone.

  Mama was dead. Papa was dead. If I ever stepped foot back in my home country, I might as well be dead, too.

  So now all I had was Razor…him and the fading thought that he could ever save me from the fate awaiting me once the government decided to deport me.

  At least for the time being, I had him.

  He rested his chin on the top of my head, a reassuring weight keeping me grounded. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to lose myself for a while. I needed to escape from the hell that was going on inside my head, and I didn’t know how to do that. Only that I needed Razor.

  With both arms around his waist, I hugged him to me.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and soaking into me.

  I shook my head and tightened my grip on him.

  “Want to go to the studio for your class?”

  Dance wouldn’t help right now. It would remind me of Mama and all I couldn’t have.

  “No ballet,” I said. “Not now.”

  “Then what do you need?” He wasn’t irritated. There was far more concern in his voice than annoyance. “Tell me how to help you.”

  “I need you.”

  “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

  “No, I…” That wasn’t what I meant. I wasn’t sure what, specifically, I wanted. Not until the words came out of my mouth. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

  “Tori.” My name was a groan on his lips. “Baby, I can’t hurt you. Please—”

  “Not hurt. Just…touch me. I need—” I’d never be able to explain to him in words what I needed, so I decided to show him instead. I backed away, grabbed one of his hands, and pressed it to my breast. “Touch me,” I repeated, blinking to ward off the tears threatening to fill my eyes.

  His gaze never leaving mine, he closed his hand over me, molding my flesh to his palm. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” I rolled forward on the balls of my feet, closing my eyes.

  He placed his other hand on my ribs, gradually sliding down toward my hip before settling in the curve of my waist.

  My breaths caught in my throat.

  Razor brushed his lips over my eyelids. “Tell me what you want, Tori.”

  “Harder,” I forced out. Just one word was all I could manage. The way he was touching me felt good, but I needed more.

  He shifted his hand, and my nipple beaded into a hard, sensitive bud. Through the material of my leotard, he gently pinched my tit between thumb and forefinger, and rolled.

  I gasped.

  “Too much?”

  “No. It’s good.” It was better than good. His grip was just enough to cause the slightest bite of pain—not too much, not too little—that washed away my ability to think and left a delicious yearning sensation in its wake.

  He did it again, and this time he caught my gasp in a kiss, his tongue sweeping inside my open mouth to play with mine.

  Dizziness had me making fists in his shirt, drawing him closer, and holding on for all I was worth. He backed me up against the wall and dragged both hands up and down my sides, teasing along my rib cage.

  “I want to make you come,” he said between kisses.

  I shook my head. “It’s too hard. No point. Just touch me. Hold me.”

  “Let me try. I won’t— I won’t do anything to hurt you. Just let me…” His words trailed away as he nibbled a line along my jaw and down my neck, ending at my clavicle. “Let me give this to you.”

  Even though I knew it was pointless, even though I knew he’d never do the sorts of things necessary to bring me to climax, I nodded. “Yes. Fine. Try.” Because even if I was right and he was wrong, at least he was touching me. His hands were on me. His lips. And that was what I needed. To escape. To pretend, for just this moment, that there was someone left in this world who loved me. Whether it would be enough to make me orgasm wasn’t really a concern, because sometimes, even for me, being touched by a man felt good.

  Razor took my hand and led me down the hall to his bedroom. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before moving in behind me. In a practiced move, he nudged my yoga pants over my hips. They slipped to the floor, pooling at my ankles. I waited, restless, breathless, for him to touch me again.

  And I waited some more.

  The heat of his body scalded my butt, my thighs, even though we weren’t touching. I wanted to ease back toward him, to press myself against him. I craved the sensation of my curves making way to fit with his hard body.

  But still I waited.

  I held my hands in front of me, anxiously picking at my fingernails.

  He finally touched me, with nothing more than the tips of his fingers grazing my hip. His other hand came around my waist and took hold of one of mine, putting a halt to my nervous habit. Then his lips were on the back of my neck, light as a feather, but it made my stomach flip.

  The ocean-like scent of th
e soap he’d used after working out with the guys flowed around me, crashing into me like a wave. I wanted it to take me under.

  He nudged the backs of my knees, and I dropped back against him. His arm flitted around my waist, holding me up. “I want you in my bed,” he said, his breath tickling my ear. “I want you in my bed, naked and writhing because you’re so close, so fucking close, because I’m driving you wild.”

  Still holding my hand, he stretched my arm up over his shoulder and let it go, trailing his fingers down the underside of my limb, teasing the sensitive flesh. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or suck in a breath.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Dirty Dancing. I’m stealing Swayze’s move, and you don’t even recognize it. You’re killing me.”

  “It’s good move.”

  “Mm-hmm. This one’ll be even better.” He tipped my chin up and back until he could kiss me from behind.

  My knees turned to jelly, but it didn’t matter because Razor picked me up and carried me to his bed. He laid me on my back and came over me, settling himself between my thighs. His cock was hard, pulsing against me through his jeans. He held himself above me with much of his weight on his elbows. I wanted more of his weight on me. I wanted the feel of him crushing me to the mattress.

  I hooked my ankles together behind his back and dug my fingers into his biceps, trying to drag him down to me. But no matter how strong I was, he was stronger. He wouldn’t budge.

  In fact, he grinned down at me. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  “I got that. What else? What do you want me to do? How do you like being touched? What’s it going to take to make you come?”

  He wasn’t going to like my answer.

  “Need to be rough.”

  Sure enough, he was already shaking his head.

  “Not to hurt,” I said. “Just… No sensitivity left. It’s gone.” I shrugged. They’d gone so far so many times when I’d been filming porn that I wasn’t sure I’d ever regain normal sensation. “Have to be rough or I don’t feel. Like pinching tit. Light touch won’t work.”

  He shook his head, but he slipped the straps of my leotard off my shoulders and lowered it enough to free my breasts. At first, the kisses he placed along the line of my clavicle were tender and sweet. But then he moved lower, using his tongue and teeth to nibble down my breastbone to my abs.

  I sucked in a sharp breath when he circled my belly button with his tongue before dipping it inside, his hands scraping up and down my ribs. Gradually, he made his way to my breasts and pussy, removing my leotard completely and flinging it overhead to land somewhere in the room. And everything he was doing felt good, I couldn’t lie about that. He kneaded my breasts; he pinched and twisted my tits; he licked my pussy and nibbled on my lower lips before sucking my clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it over and over and over again.

  It felt…nice. But nothing more. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much effort he put in to push me over the edge into ecstasy, it just wasn’t going to happen. True, I wasn’t staring at a spot on the ceiling and praying for it to end, but things weren’t so easy for me. I doubted they ever would be again.

  He’d been at it so long it had to end. And soon. While I appreciated his attempt, it was a lost cause. But I could tell he had no intention of giving up until he succeeded. Something told me Razor wasn’t used to failing.

  So after he changed his rhythm again, I writhed against him, and I made soft, whimpering sounds, and I increased my breathing as if his endeavor were affecting me far more than it was. He licked and sucked with even greater intensity, and I bucked my hips into him and cried out, forcing my legs to tremor and my whole body to tense and release.

  Razor kept it up for a few more moments before crawling up the length of my body to collapse on top of me. The weight of him pressing me down into the mattress felt as good as everything else he’d done. I sighed, savoring this moment. This—this was what I’d wanted more than anything. He kissed my cheek and whispered nonsensical words in my ear, using his hands to stroke my arms and hair.

  His cock—as hard as ever—pushed against my belly. Maybe now he’d finally let me do what I could for him. We both knew he wanted me, and we both knew I could get him off. Now that his silly requirement had supposedly been met, it should be time.

  He rolled us over so I was straddling him, and he kissed me lazy and deep. Excellent. He was playing right into my plans. In this position, I had a much better chance of freeing his cock to return the favor, so I started my efforts by letting my hands roam over every inch of his chest and abs.

  He made deep sounds into my mouth when my fingertips teased his belly button, like he’d done with his tongue to mine. With one hand still toying with him that way, I worked to undo his belt.

  Razor broke off the kiss and grabbed for that hand, stopping me before I’d done anything but release the catch on his buckle. “No, baby.”

  “But—”

  “Maybe you can fool a camera into thinking you had an orgasm, but you’re not fooling me.” He rolled us over again, pinning me down. “You don’t come, I don’t come. That’s the deal. That’s not changing.”

  “I did—”

  He put a finger over my lips and shook his head. “Please do us both a favor and don’t lie. Not about this. Not about something so important.”

  If the necessity of me having a real orgasm was one of the more important parts of our relationship, we were doomed to failure. I pouted, so frustrated I was on the verge of screaming. “But if I can’t? If I never come again, how can you wait? It’s not fair to you.”

  “How the hell is me getting my rocks off while you can’t enjoy sex fair to you?”

  “I did enjoy, though. Just didn’t come. Sometimes it’s okay to not come. It’s still good.”

  “Beautiful, if someone got me that close all the time and then left me hanging…” He shook his head. “That’s not good. That’s not okay.”

  “But women are different.” He opened his mouth to argue with me again, so I kept going before he could get a word out. “I’m different. Porn changed me. My body, it’s not same like other women. Not anymore.” It didn’t look like I was getting anywhere, so I decided to try a different tack. “We compromise?”

  He scowled so deep I wanted to rub the line between his eyebrows until it went away. “What kind of compromise?”

  “You keep try to make me come, but agree sometimes it not happen, still okay. I give you blow job or hand job. Trade off. It’s fair.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “You get blue balls. You need to come. Bad for hockey.”

  He stared at me, his brow still furrowed in thought for so long it left me antsy. But then he said, “I have one more condition.”

  “Condition?” I raised a brow.

  “You have to agree to the therapy that Dr. Rodriguez suggested.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “I need you to try the therapy. Because as much as I love the thought of feeling your sweet mouth on me, it’s not enough. I need more. I need to be with you, and I need for you to be okay when it happens.”

  He wasn’t going to budge on that. I could see it in the set of his jaw.

  “Fine,” I agreed, but I wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. “I go to physical therapy.”

  “And counseling,” he added.

  I opened my mouth to argue.

  “Tori,” he said on a sigh. “I’ll come with you, but I need you to go. Especially now that you know about your mother.”

  Mama. I’d done my best ever since Dmitri had left to forget about all that he’d told me, but now it came rushing back in a flood of tears.

  Razor kissed my cheek, the salty tears covering his lips. “See?” he said. “Because of this. I can’t handle much more without knowing you’re getting help. It rips me into shreds to see you hurting like this, baby.”

  He rolled off me and tugged me to his side, tucking my head o
nto his shoulder.

  He held me until the tears stopped, brushing his fingers through my hair and stroking my arm and back all the while. When I was done, he said one word. Just one, no more and no less.

  “Please?”

  “Yes,” I said, my throat raw and my eyes scratchy. “I’ll go.”

  ALMOST EVERY DAY of late, Greg was calling me with something else Tori and I needed to do in order to prove our marriage was real. It was already almost September. The other guys were starting to show up in Tulsa, and we’d been married for more than a month and a half.

  In the last few weeks, I’d added her to my health insurance policy and updated my life insurance and everything else of that nature to include her as my beneficiary.

  Once I’d done that, he’d told me I needed to somehow get her name onto my mortgage, she needed a phone of her own, a car with her name on both the title and insurance policy, and we needed joint bank accounts and credit cards.

  For the last few weeks, any time I wasn’t busy working out for the upcoming season and she wasn’t at some dance class or hanging out with Tallie, we were working toward proving that we were truly sharing a life in every sense.

  That included starting Tori’s therapy. She’d been to two PT sessions so far and was working on some exercises at home, and just two days ago we’d gone to her first counseling session. Every moment of my life right now that wasn’t directly related to getting ready for the hockey season was spent focused on her.

  Greg’s latest edict really took the cake, though.

  “How the hell am I supposed to take her on a honeymoon when you’ve told me she can’t leave the country?” I demanded, tossing my bag of gear in the trunk of my car.

  “No one ever said that you have to take her out of the country, but you two need to get away somewhere. And be sure you take pictures together, wherever it is you end up going.” The sounds of tapping keys rattled in my ear through the phone. The man was constantly on his computer. “And her birthday is next month. You need to throw her a party and have friends over. And take more pictures.”