Smoke Signals

by Catherine Gayle

  “So? Is she still trying to spring the kid on us tonight?”

  “Devin sent video so I can watch.”

  “Yeah? Let’s send it to the iPad and watch it on the TV.”

  I didn’t have a clue how to do that, so I handed Razor my phone and let him take over. He stripped off his jacket and tie, undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt before starting on the electronics. Only a few minutes passed before we were side by side on the couch, his arm draped casually around my shoulders. We propped our feet up on the coffee table next to the Russian music box Dmitri had given me for my birthday. Then we were ready to watch the video I’d spent weeks working on.

  It started with the bass and drums. The corps of other dancers in their dark costumes creeped along the floor, their movements halting and jerky. Images of the band playing on a roof at night popped up, interspersed with the dancers.

  Then other images came in, which I hadn’t been expecting. A man and woman. She looked an awful lot like me.

  The shots of the couple were dark, and so brief it was hard to get a good sense of what was going on with them at first. But then it became clear.

  He was abusing her.

  Physically.

  Sexually.

  My stomach churned, and I wanted to turn it off. As soon as I reached that point, the music changed and I was on screen in my phoenix costume. I was in bright reds and oranges, and the fabric draped off my arms and fluttered behind me, creating wings that changed shape as I moved through the choreography Devin had created. I’d known during rehearsals that his vision would be beautiful once we saw it realized, but I’d never expected this. I truly was the phoenix rising from the ashes.

  The other dancers lifted me into the air and raced toward the camera.

  And I flew.

  Shivers raced up my spine as the shots of me mixed with images of the band as the sun rose behind them. Dawn. A new day. A fresh start. It was all the things Razor had given me, wrapped up in a three-minute music video.

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Razor asked. He sounded awed, the same as I felt.

  “I don’t know. What do you see?”

  “You. Exactly as you are. Exactly as you should be. Thriving and powerful and ten times more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen, completely mesmerized by the vision they’d made of me. “It is beautiful,” I said once it ended.

  “You are.”

  He’d called me beautiful countless times in the last several months. He’d even used it as my name sometimes, as if beautiful was me and I was beautiful, like the two were intricately linked, and maybe even inseparable. I’d always shrugged it off before, much as he tried to convince me he wasn’t the good man I knew him to be. But this time, for the first time, I wasn’t itching to tell him how wrong he was.

  All I wanted was to believe he was right.

  Breathing hard, like I’d just danced instead of watching myself dance, I set my hand on his thigh. His muscles tensed under my touch. When I looked down, his arousal made itself known. His hard length strained against his pants. It might not be so difficult to seduce him, after all.

  “Razor?” My voice cracked on the word.

  “Hmm?”

  “I want you to fuck me. For real. I want you, not dilators. Your cock. Inside me.”

  He went completely still and silent, and he stayed that way for so long I was sure he was about to reject me again. To tell me no. To say he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t do anything that might hurt me even if it was something I desperately wanted. No, at this point I didn’t just want it, I needed it. I needed the sort of connection we hadn’t been able to have the entire time we’d been married.

  I needed him.

  But, for whatever reason, he wasn’t going to give it to me.

  I tried to shift myself out from under his arm, but he slipped it down to my waist and tugged me closer.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” His voice was deeper than normal. Rough.

  “Can’t know for sure until we try.”

  “True enough.” With his other hand, he tipped my chin up until I met his gaze. “But I’m not going to fuck you.”

  I blinked back tears and tried to leave again.

  “I will make love to you, though.”

  “Oh.” The word came out soft and airy, like the fabric wings that had floated behind me when I’d portrayed the phoenix.

  He kissed the end of my nose. “Is that all right?”

  It was better than all right. It was everything.

  I got up so I could straddle him, putting my arms over his shoulders and resting them on the back of the sofa. He let his hands roam up my sides and down my thighs, teasing me by not touching where I wanted him to.

  “Don’t let me hurt you,” he said, low and reverent. A plea. Maybe even a prayer.

  “I won’t.” Then I kissed him, taking his lower lip between mine and suckling.

  He groaned loud enough that I backed off.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a little tender. Koz must have hit me there.”

  I couldn’t stop my smile. “You didn’t know it before now?”

  “Adrenaline. It masks a lot of things.”

  I bent and kissed his jaw instead, letting my tongue trace the strong, square line of it. “Better?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Don’t let me hurt you,” I teased.

  He shifted his hands to grasp my ass and squeezed, laughing. “You already are. But I promise, it’s the best kind of hurt. Don’t stop.”

  I lifted my shirt up and over my head. Before I’d even gotten my arms free, he’d already buried his face in the cleft of my breasts. He breathed in deeply and licked my skin.

  “Have you always worn this vanilla scent?”

  “I started when I danced in strip clubs.” I tossed the shirt behind me and cupped the back of his head, drawing him closer. “Girls who made money all wore it.”

  “Hmm. It makes you smell good enough to eat.”

  I laughed. “You’ve already done that.”

  “And I can do it again.” To underscore his words, he pushed the cup of my bra aside and nibbled on the sensitive flesh close to my nipple. My tit puckered immediately, and he flicked it with his tongue while he reached behind me to unhook the bra.

  “I want you naked,” I said when he moved his attention to the other newly bared breast.

  “I want you so slick I’ll be able to slide right in. I swear, Tori, I’ve wanted this for so long. And once I’m inside you there’s not a fucking chance I’ll last long, so I need you ready to come with me.”

  “I am. Wet. Ready.”

  “Is that so?” He moved his attention to the fly of my pants and undid them enough that he could slip a hand inside. One finger slipped between my outer lips. “You are,” he murmured.

  I rocked my hips forward, seeking more of his touch, and moaned when one of his fingers brushed over my clit. “More, Razor.”

  He threaded the fingers of his other hand through my hair, bringing me down for a kiss. His tongue tangled with mine, mimicking the way he was teasing my pussy.

  I didn’t want to mess around anymore. I’d been in love with this man for weeks, maybe months, now, and I wanted to feel him inside me. I undid the remaining buttons on his shirt and pushed it back over his shoulders. His chest muscles flexed under my fingers as I dug his undershirt out of his waistband, driving my hands up under the soft material until I had them on his bare flesh.

  “You’re not going to slow down, are you?” he asked, amusement mixing with desire.

  “Naked. Now.” I went to work on his belt buckle, but he lifted me off his lap, set me on my feet before him, and got up.

  “Come on, beautiful. I want to do this right.” He took my hand and headed for the bedroom, and I had to hurry to keep up with his determined strides.

  As soon as we were there, he whipped off the rest of his clothes. I bi
t down on my lower lip and shimmied out of my pants. By the time I was free of every stitch of clothing, he’d taken a condom out of the nightstand drawer and was ripping the packaging open.

  I lay down on my back, reaching for him.

  Razor shook his head. “I want you on top, baby. So you can be in control. At least to start, until we know if you can handle it.”

  He climbed into the bed next to me and stretched out on his back, stroking his cock a couple of times now that the condom was in place.

  With nerves making my heart pound as much as desire, I climbed over him. Braced myself with my hands on his chest. Our eyes locked together. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down my slit, stopping to circle my clit a few times before guiding himself inside me.

  An inch at a time, I lowered myself onto him. Until I’d taken all of him. Every inch. I felt stretched. Full.

  But no pain.

  I rolled my hips and clenched my internal muscles around him.

  “Fuck, baby.” His eyes were almost black with lust.

  Rising up off him, I picked up a rhythm.

  His hips rose when mine fell, matching my movements. And his hands were everywhere. My ass. My breasts. My belly.

  He took a handful of my hair and brought me down to him. I thought for a kiss, but no. He held my face a hairsbreadth above his, staring into my eyes as he moved within me. “No pain?”

  “No pain.”

  “Thank fuck for that, because this is the closest I’ll ever get to heaven.”

  His strong arms came around me, wrapping me up in his love as we moved together. Slow. Deep. The friction was intense. The heat was explosive. With each thrust, I came closer to melting into him. He slid my body up and down over his, grinding my clit against his pelvic bone.

  “Kiss me,” he said. “I want to be kissing you when you come.”

  So I kissed him. Eyes still open, staring into his.

  My whole body tensed, so tight it was painful. And then, with Razor’s hands holding me close, keeping me safe, I let go into the most earth-shattering release I’d ever experienced.

  He increased the pace of his thrusts, and I rolled my hips to help him reach his own climax. He groaned when he came, but he didn’t stop kissing me. Not even after he’d rolled us over so he was on top. The kisses went on for hours. Maybe days. I never wanted them to end.

  And they didn’t have to. Because no one was going to take him away from me or me away from him.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  HOURS LATER, I was still awake with Razor’s limbs tangled up in mine. He’d been sleeping on and off, but every now and then he’d come awake and kiss me soundly before gradually nodding off again.

  I couldn’t sleep because there was a niggling sensation gnawing at the back of my mind.

  We were married, yes. And we loved each other. The government wasn’t going to force us apart. The only thing that could do anything like that was if one of us decided it wasn’t working.

  I was fairly certain we both knew which one of us it might be, should it come to that.

  Me.

  In fact, we both knew that I had done my best to convince the immigration people that our marriage was a sham. My efforts had backfired, though, and thank God for it.

  But what if Razor still wondered if I thought I should leave? How could I make him believe I had no intention of going anywhere?

  And then it hit me so hard it would have knocked me out of bed if not for Razor’s strong arms holding me in place.

  The moonlight shining down on us through the window was bright enough for me to see without turning on the lights as I disentangled myself from Razor’s grasp.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice fuzzy with sleep. He shot up in bed, tossing off the covers, ready for anything.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Lie down.” I rummaged through my purse. It was just my luck that this bag had no pockets or structure to speak of, so everything sunk into a big heap at the bottom, making it impossible to find what I wanted without having to dump the entire contents on the floor.

  “What do you need in your purse at this hour?” This time, his tone wasn’t sleepy; it was wary. Further proof that I had to do this.

  “Not going anywhere. Just need something.” And while the moon was giving off a decent amount of light, it wasn’t anywhere near enough to see into the bottomless depths of my purse. I upended it and spread everything out. The light shined down on the two gold bands. I shoved them both on my fingers and shoveled everything else back into the cavernous bag. Then I climbed back into the bed.

  Razor hadn’t listened to me. He was still sitting bolt upright, naked save for the bit of sheet covering half of one thigh. I tried not to focus on the fact that he was fully erect again. This wasn’t about fucking. It wasn’t about sex or making love. It wasn’t physical in any sense of the word.

  It was my heart.

  Facing him, sitting cross-legged, I held out the two gold bands so the light would bounce off them. “Give me your hand,” I said.

  He held his out, and I slipped Papa’s ring onto Razor’s ring finger.

  “When Papa sent me to America, he gave me two rings. Wedding rings for him and Mama. She didn’t wear hers for long time. Years. Worked at chemical plant, so no jewelry. He still had Mama’s ring when Tambovs took her, and he sent me to America with both rings. So I would always have piece of them with me. So I would never forget how much they loved me, even if it was long time until I saw them again. It’s all I have now.”

  Razor brushed away a tear from my cheek with the backs of his fingers, but he didn’t say anything. He cradled my face but let me keep talking.

  “You’re part of me. Maybe you don’t know, but you’re part of me.”

  “Pieces of me, filling up the cracks,” he joked. Or maybe he wasn’t joking. Either way, it was the truth.

  “Yes. So I give you piece of me so I can be part of you. I want you to have Papa’s ring. And I’ll wear Mama’s.”

  “Can I see it?” he asked.

  I placed Mama’s ring in his palm, and he held it up in the stream of moonlight.

  “What does it say inside? I can’t make it out.”

  “Moye serdtse prinadlezhit tebe navsegda,” I said. “My heart is yours forever. It’s inscribed inside both.”

  The corners of his lips twitched up. “Forever, huh? Navsegda?”

  “Navsegda.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  I held it out, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. In fact, when I looked down, it was like seeing my mother’s hand. My eyes stung with fresh tears.

  “Forever,” he said, lacing his fingers with mine. After a moment, he laughed.

  I glanced up, curious.

  “Dima told me we need to have a traditional Russian wedding. To honor your parents. Has he mentioned that to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Yeah. Said he’d help plan it, and he’d even take on the role of your family.”

  All my tears were gone immediately upon hearing that. “He can’t do that.” The idea that Razor would think about giving me something so personal melted me inside, and that Dmitri had suggested it in the first place was enough to make me feel warm and light-headed. But…no. Dmitri couldn’t take on the role of my family in a Russian wedding.

  “You have anyone better in mind?”

  “You don’t understand. In Russian wedding, bride’s family steals her from groom. He has to pay bride price to get her back. To prove love. Dmitri wants your money.”

  “As long as it means you’re mine, beautiful, I’d do anything.”

  “Not giving Dmitri money. Or anything else.” He might have given me a Russian music box for my birthday, but I wouldn’t stand for that. No one was paying for me. Not ever again.

  “All right. But will you marry me?”

  That threw me for a loop. “We are married.”


  “I know. But we didn’t exactly do it right the first time. Unless you ask Tallie, of course. But I’m thinking we could do a real wedding—Russian or otherwise—and do it right. Not just a quickie. Something where we can build some new memories.”

  Everything inside me expanded to overflowing with love for this man. “Yes, Razor. I’ll marry you.”

  “My heart is yours forever.” He smiled as he lifted my hand and placed a kiss on my knuckles. “Any chance you’re ready to show me what else you’ve been carrying around in that purse all this time?”

  “My purse?” There was no good reason I couldn’t show him. I climbed out of the bed again. He turned on a lamp. When I returned, we sat face to face. One piece at a time, I took out the contents. “Ballet program from first recital,” I said, holding up a tattered pamphlet.

  He took it and carefully flipped through the pages, even though he couldn’t make out the Cyrillic words.

  “I was five years old.” I pointed to the photograph of me when he reached the correct page.

  “You were a little pixie. Did you wear a pink tutu?”

  I raised a brow in curiosity. “Yes. We all wore pink tutus for recital. Why?”

  There was a sparkle in his eye, but he said, “No reason. Tell me more.”

  I took out the next item. “Train ticket from St. Petersburg to Moscow. Traveled with ballet company when I was eleven.”

  I kept taking out items, telling him about them, and answering his questions until the sun came up. But we both knew it wasn’t just a bunch of stuff I was telling him about. It was me. My life. My heart.

  And I was sharing it all with him.

  I STUDIED THE final design Ravyn, my tattoo artist, had come up with, taking in every aspect of the artwork before she inked it onto my skin. It was an angel’s body with a phoenix’s wings. If you looked closely, you could tell that those very wings were formed from words.

  Russian words. In Cyrillic, which I sure as fuck couldn’t read, despite the lettering on the inside of the wedding ring Tori had given me.

  I turned to Dima. “You swear this is right? If I put this on my body and it says something like Razor is a fucking cunt, I’ll rearrange your face until you’re even uglier than you already are. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do it.”