Her Other God
Mikhail greedily swallowed every small breath, every voice that tried to form his name. His hand settled gently around Anastasia’s waist, and with that alone every path of retreat was stolen from her.
No—there had never been a path of escape from the start. From the moment he first saw her in the forest. From the moment he reached out his hand. Anastasia had already been caught inside Mikhail’s grasp.
She did not resist as she was swallowed. She only labored against the breath that rose to choke her throat. She knew it too: that she had been seized from the very beginning.
She remembered the blue eyes that had watched her even as she fled. They newly claimed the place in her mind that Edenhurst alone had once filled. And now, as he consumed her, Anastasia thought that at last she was perfectly filled by him.
Two human bodies tangled without gap, serpentine, and toppled sideways together. The thick carpet of fallen leaves and the heavy cloth embraced them softly. The scent of old forest and rain wrapped around them both. Mikhail’s fingers were relentless.
“Mm…”
Every time those fingers brushed a sensitive place, sweet nasal sounds spilled over—sounds that had also filled the annex these past two days.
After carrying Anastasia through the rain, Mikhail had spent most of his hours at her side, attending her himself. Her face had looked ready to die of shame, yet even that had been pleasure to him.
The hand that had stroked her over her clothes in the bathtub on the first day no longer pretended at accident while he served her; it sought her body with shameless ease. Under the touch that dug through the dark, Anastasia came to understand perfectly the meanings of every word she had once looked up in the dictionary.
Parts of herself she had never known existed grew vivid beneath his hands.
Yet she did not dislike it. Rather… had she not been waiting for him? She bit her lip and stifled the moans that rose at the sensation of him touching every corner of her body. Then his voice, rough and low as a growl, whispered against her ear.
“There are only the two of us in the annex. Natasha will not come tonight. So… you need not hold back.”
At the knowledge that they were alone, Anastasia released the lip she had been biting so hard. The sharp sting and the metallic taste of blood followed. Short, heated breaths escaped her, and his warm fingers slid without hesitation beneath the thin linen of her nightgown.
In the end she could not endure it and broke into tears—yet no tears fell, for the mouth that had been ravaging hers licked her face clean.
The more she wept, the greater the desire she felt through the cloth grew. Anastasia realized then that someday she would face that desire without any covering at all. And now she understood that someday had finally arrived.
The acts themselves were little different—so why did such fainting shame and humiliation flood her now?
Lost in the frenzy, Anastasia suddenly realized she was astride him and tried to scramble down at once. Mikhail’s hands closed firmly around both of hers.
“Ah!”
The body that had tried to pull away toppled forward instead and covered him completely.
When she had said she meant to go to the forest, the loyal maid had dressed her in an especially thin gown. Because of it Anastasia had searched for warmth in a wood still cool from the rain, and the only warmth left in that forest was him.
Mikhail pressed his broad hand to her back as if inviting her to take all she wished. Even pressed closer to that heat, her trembling only grew worse.
“Mikhail, please…”
It was a thin voice anyone might have pitied, yet the more plaintive it became the more merciless he grew. The thin cloth between them crumpled into creases with every shift of their bodies.
Astride him, Anastasia’s breathing turned ragged. For the first time she learned that the mere contact of one body against another could produce such a dizzying rush. Her pale face flushed deep red with every panted breath—like the color of the ripest apple.
“Huet—!”
The Anastasia who had been trembling above him went suddenly limp. Her vision flickered; the forest sounds that had filled her ears a moment before receded into distance. Even lying down she felt as if she were falling, and she could not move.
In the quiet wood only birdsong and Anastasia’s breathing remained. Mikhail closed his eyes for a moment and listened. It felt as though only the two of them were left in the world.
Her ragged breaths slowly found calm. Then, still holding her, Mikhail rose. Leaves that had clung to his back tumbled free and rolled across the ground. Anastasia’s gaze, unable to meet his, followed those leaves—until the moment she saw what lay beside them, and her body locked rigid.
Even though the ceiling had collapsed, stained glass still clung to the chapel wall. The many-colored pictures that once caught the light of heaven and cast God’s will upon the earth shimmered beside her.
“Ah…”
The instant she saw that light, Anastasia seemed to come to her senses. She scrambled off him and retreated. Beautiful radiance poured over the delicate line of her back.
It was the light that had comforted her for so long. The only place she could remain after being driven from the mansion into the forest. The will of God left behind by people of long ago, shifting its place with the hours, had been one of the few human traces she could still feel here—and a hymn of beautiful light.
Anastasia turned her head to look at the stained glass that had spoken to her for years. The pictures of light that had taught her to serve God and live rightly. Every woman in those panes was dressed with modest care, kneeling only before the divine. The light itself seemed to cry out: Look at yourself now.
Look at your disheveled clothes, at the state you were in only moments ago, panting astride a man.
Anastasia knew well now. This was… wrong. For a man and a woman to mingle their breath like this, outdoors, in the bright light of day—it was never right. A vulgar act that no one who understood their own nobility would ever commit. And yet why—
“Anastasia.”
She lifted her head, entranced by the sweet voice that called her. Before her stood a being who bore a name closest to God. Unlike the distant God whose voice she had never once heard, this one came to her, called her, cared for her, held her… her other god.
“Come here.”
Her god held out his hand.
“I want to be with you.”
Words too sweet wound themselves around her ears. For most of the life she could remember she had been alone—alone when she wept, alone when she starved, alone when she shivered with cold. Then at last someone had appeared who would stay with her. Someone who elevated her name and placed everything she desired into her hands.
How could she not love this man?
Anastasia answered his call. Crawling on her knees could not have been a pretty sight, yet Mikhail smiled at her with the same gentle affection as always. When she drew near she no longer knew what to do, and simply looked at him.
Just as he had swallowed her, she too wanted to possess him.
“…Mikhail.”
She climbed of her own will onto the lap she had fled only moments before. He gave a short laugh at the action. Seeing him smile, Anastasia knew she felt satisfaction. She wanted him to smile because of her—just as she smiled because of him.
When she came to him herself, Mikhail’s smile deepened further.
“Anastasia, do you want me?”
She nodded. She wanted more—his soft hair, his tender voice, his long thick fingers. She wanted to own every part of him.
“If you wish to obtain what you desire, you must move yourself.”
At those words Anastasia swallowed dryly from tension. These past two days he had taught her the ways they could possess each other. The teaching was finished. Now it was her turn to act.
With trembling fingers she caught the buttons at her front. One by one, very slowly, the ivory buttons came free with soft clicks. With every button she was revealed. Feeling the wind and Mikhail’s gaze upon her, she forced her hands to keep moving.
They slipped again and again from the shaking. She looked to him for help, yet he did not stir at all; he only watched her.
“Heuk…”
The shame she had been taught—of undressing herself beneath the open sun—crushed her. She must be mad. Only madness would let her do this of her own will. Yet she could not stop.
At last the trembling fingers freed the final button. Before him was the beautiful body that, over the past weeks, had softly bloomed and erased every trace of former starvation.
The moment she tried to cover herself with both arms, unable to bear the shame, Mikhail spoke.
“Anastasia. Come up here.”