I scoop Katrin into my arms, carefully, almost reverently. Like a treasure. Like a woman I don't just want—but one I'm afraid to lose. One I love.
When I return, I turn off the shower—the water goes silent, leaving behind a warm, humid quiet. I grab a towel, a mug of water, and walk back to her. My heart still races—not just from the physical exertion, but from the feeling she gives me. This Rebel Girl. Mine.
She lies on the bed in the same position I left her—sprawled out, eyes half-lidded, as if dissolved in this morning, in this moment. Droplets glisten on her skin like scattered diamonds on gold.
"You've drained all my strength, Max…" she rasps, but there's satisfaction in her voice, like a predator sated from the hunt.
I can't suppress a faint smile. I sit beside her, allowing myself a moment just to look at her—so relaxed, with damp, tousled hair, her body still trembling slightly from what just happened. Gently, I run the towel over her skin—slowly, tenderly, as if touching something fragile, sacred. Every movement—like a caress to something deeply intimate.
She squints slightly, holding her breath, as if savoring every motion. Then I hand her the mug. Her fingers, trembling faintly, brush against mine. She takes a few sips, clinging to her lips, and the moment feels terrifyingly intimate. Then she lazily pushes the mug back toward me—so perfectly her, calm, satisfied, yet still teasing. I finish the rest—as always, after her, like some unspoken tradition.
"I can't help it," I whisper, leaning close to her ear. "We belong to each other… and I always want all of you. Every last bit."
She closes her eyes for a second, as if absorbing the words into her skin, her breath, her heart.
I walk to the closet and start dressing, pulling on my jeans, when a drawn-out, almost petulant sound comes from behind me:
"Mmm…"
That one sound holds everything—displeasure, laziness, temptation—and a soft wave of desire rolls through the room, swallowing me whole.
I turn around.
Rebel Girl props herself up on her elbows, her hair spilling across the pillow, her gaze drowsy and mischievous at the same time.
"Why are you ruining such beauty with clothes?" my girl asks, slowly trailing her eyes over me, as if mourning every disappearing detail.
Playful resentment lingers in her voice, but fire dances in her eyes. I adore her like this—a little lazy, a little bold, but with that special warmth that makes my chest tighten and pulls me back to her.
I smirk and toss a shirt at her—playfully, familiarly.
"Because if I stay naked, I'll definitely be late for class. And you want ice cream, don't you?"
Katrin rolls her eyes, heaves a theatrical sigh, but the corners of her lips betray her, curling upward.
"Damn it…" she mutters. "Fine, get dressed. But later… you're all mine. Down to the last second."
I walk over, bend down, and kiss her temple—slowly, with the same tenderness I hold her with now. And I whisper:
"I'm yours right now. Always have been. Always will be."
I brush my fingers along her cheek, feeling the warmth and slight dampness under my fingertips, her breathing gradually steadying into something calm and even. There's something vulnerable in her gaze—that rare defenselessness a person shows only to someone they trust completely.
"I'm heading to the institute, and you, my sweet, should sleep, rest," I murmur, leaning closer. "Then we'll meet in the park, get your favorite ice cream… and I'll bring you to that state again."
I watch as her lips stretch into a sleepy, satisfied smile. She's divinely beautiful like this—relaxed, half-dozing.
"Promise?" She cracks one eye open lazily, as if struggling to pull herself from sweet drowsiness, but still curious. As if testing whether I'm serious.
"Promise," I say with the kind of sincerity reserved only for someone deeply cherished. "But for that, you'll need to gather your strength… for the next round."
"Fine," she whispers, yawning like a kitten, stretching in a way that reveals the curve of her waist and the line of her hip. "Go on, my little scholar. I'll just dream about you doing… very nice things to me."
I can't resist—I lean in and softly kiss her lips. They're warm, slightly swollen, and the taste of her breath lingers on mine like a ghost. I linger for a second, savoring the touch, then tuck her under the blanket like she's wrapped in a cloud.
My girl curls up, her lashes fluttering as her eyelids grow heavy. I watch her breathing deepen, steady—and inside me, something warm and strange unfurls: I don't just want her. I want to be something more for her.
Dependable. Needed. Forever.
The day flies by unnoticed.
Lectures, chatter with classmates, noisy hallways, the smell of coffee from vending machines—it all blurs into one continuous stream. I answer questions mechanically, laugh at jokes, jot down notes, but my thoughts keep circling back to the morning, to her, to her gaze, to the way her hands held me like I mattered. Every touch lingers in my memory like a warm ember, making it impossible to focus on anything else. I'm torn between reality and those moments when her eyes look at me with raw tenderness.
During a break, my phone screen lights up with a notification:
"I woke up and missed you terribly."
My heart skips. Everything inside me glows, like a sip of hot tea on a cold day, and a faint shiver runs down my skin. Those words feel like a touch, like an invisible thread pulling me back into her world, where everything is simple and warm. I feel heat spreading through my chest, as if the world has slowed, and only this moment matters.
I step outside. The air is already thickening with evening chill, the sky darkening as if someone dims the light. I dial her number and press my forehead against the cold glass. The world dissolves into this one, tiny moment.
"Did I not satisfy you well enough in the dream?" he asks with a smile, watching a raindrop slide down the glass of the entrance door.
I'm sure she can sense the playfulness in my voice, as if I can't shake the desire to be with her here and now.
"You in a dream could never compare to the real you," she replies, her voice warm, soft, familiar.
Her words glide over my heart like a gentle hand, bringing a sense of safety and peace. In the background, I catch a sound—the light clink of a spoon against a plate. It's one of those moments when even the simplest noises take on special meaning.
"What are you doing?" I ask, feeling an idle smile curl on my lips.
"Sitting in the kitchen, eating. Why did you call? Did you skip class just to talk to me?"
"Hate to disappoint, but no," I laugh, an invisible thread of charm in my voice. "Our break just started, so your timing is perfect."
"I see…" she drawls with feigned offense. I hear her breath hitch slightly and know she's smiling, playing at this little mystery. "I'll finish eating, get dressed. Text me half an hour before your last class ends, and I'll come meet you right outside the institute."
Something inside me flutters with happiness. Every word from her feels like a promise, as if life regains its meaning and the sky isn't so gray anymore.
"No, wait for me in the park instead," I suggest, already picturing her—sitting on a bench under the trees, hair slightly tousled by the wind, ice cream in hand, eyes searching for me in the crowd.
The image is so vivid, so alive, that I can almost feel her presence beside me, as if time slows and refuses to move forward.
"I don't care where I wait…" my girlfriend murmurs. Her voice is soft, but there's a barely detectable note of sadness, as if every moment without me is one too many. "Just come to me."
Something tugs at my heart, like an invisible hand squeezing it, leaving a faint ache in my chest.
Then—the bell rings. It crashes into our little universe like a sound torn straight from a heart that can't wait any longer.
"I have to go. See you in the park—I'll text you. Love you. Bye."
"Bye…" Her voice is quiet, almost inaudible, but I feel all her tenderness, all her affection woven into that single word. As if she leaves a part of herself in this goodbye, promising to return, the way spring promises to follow winter.
I hang up, tuck my phone away, and hurry back to the lecture hall. But my thoughts are no longer on the lesson—they're already where her palms touch my face, where her lips whisper something tender and bold, where fire ignites in my chest and sets my blood humming. I can almost feel her presence, as if she's already beside me and time and space cease to exist.
Just a little longer. All I need is to make it through this short stretch of time until I'm with her again.
The last rays of the setting sun gild the park paths as I reach our meeting spot. Nature itself seems to know this moment holds something special. I already sense her presence—something alive, inevitable—when my gaze lands on the bench and I see her.
My Rebel, sitting there, fingers drumming impatiently on her knees. She's both familiar and enigmatic, like a riddle whose answer keeps changing.
The second our eyes meet, her face lights up like a sunbeam breaking through twilight. She jumps to her feet and rushes toward me. I can't stop the grin spreading across my face, happiness pulling it wider without my consent.
For this moment, the world vanishes—leaving only the two of us. Time slows, and all I want is to be here, with her, right now.
I quicken my pace, and in an instant, we're locked in a tight embrace, as if trying to reclaim every second lost apart. Her body trembles slightly against mine, her breath steadying, her heartbeat syncing with mine. We don't speak, but the silence says everything words can't.
"You didn't get cold waiting for me?" I ask, taking her hands in mine and warming them with my breath. Her skin is cool but quickly heating under my touch, the world around us turning cozy and safe.
"No, I just got here, so I didn't have time to freeze," she smiles. "Are we going to that shop on the corner, or…?"
Her voice wavers, as if she wants to say more but hesitates. I sense uncertainty threading through her words, a line she's afraid to cross, and I want to understand. Why is she so nervous?
A stranger's voice. Strange hands. Everything happens too fast, reality blurring at the edges. She doesn't get to finish her sentence.
Footsteps pound behind me—like a heartbeat drowning out the world—and before I can turn, a strong hand yanks Katrin back by the shoulder, pulling her into a crushing embrace. The air freezes. The only sound is my own ragged breath, fear clawing at my throat.
"I've been looking for you, Katrin. And your loyal dog too."
Ivan.
Those two sentences hit like a thunderclap. My stomach turns to ice, my heart a stone in my chest. This isn't just someone I know—it's a nightmare from the past, and I feel him stealing everything I love all over again.
He holds her so tightly her fingers dig into his arms, but Katrin can't break free. Every struggle is useless. Her eyes, wide with terror, meet mine, and the helplessness in them is unbearable. She's begging for help, and I don't know how to save her.
"No!" Her scream splits the park's silence, echoing in my soul like a last plea I'm forced to hear.
I lunge forward without thinking, consequences irrelevant. All I know is I need to reach her, to save her.
But—
A blow.
Sharp pain explodes in the back of my skull, lightning tearing through me. The world tilts. The ground rushes up, cold against my skin. The force of the hit drains the color from the sky, everything blurring.
The last thing I see before darkness swallows me is her tear-streaked face, her desperate thrashing, her eyes full of fear and pain. I don't want her to see me like this—fallen, powerless against someone stronger.
And Ivan's cold smirk.
Darkness blankets me, thick and suffocating, stealing everything that's left.