Chapter 15 Yury
Yury
The hours pass without notice.
By the time the last candle burns low, the house feels different. Softer. The kind of quiet that comes after laughter. The echo of something good.
Sophia sits on the rug by the fire, legs folded beneath her, one hand wrapped around a mug. The lights from the tree throw gold shadows across her skin. She looks at peace, but her eyes keep finding mine.
“You never told me anything about yourself,” she says.
“There’s not much to tell.” I offer a half shrug.
“That’s a lie,” she says lightly. “Everyone has a story.”
I sit back in the chair opposite her. The leather creaks. “Mine isn’t a kind one.”
“Maybe not. But it made you who you are.”
She studies me for a long moment, like she’s searching for the man behind the reputation. No one’s looked at me like that in years. Not even my own family.
“My mother died when I was young, giving birth to my youngest brother,” I say quietly. “My father raised me to rule, not to live. I learned fast that kindness doesn’t last in our world.”
She nods slowly. “And yet you’re being kind now.”
“This isn’t kindness,” I say. “It’s something else.”
“What, then?”
“Possession. Protection. They look the same until you touch them.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Maybe I don’t mind being protected, or possessed, by you.”
“Careful,” I murmur. “You don’t know what that costs.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe I’m willing to pay the price.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and fearless, and I feel that dangerous pull again.
“And you?” I ask. “What did your life look like before your father’s gambling? Before his debts?”
She sighs, a sound that carries years. “Normal. Safe. Until it wasn’t. My mother used to decorate the house at Christmas, even when we couldn’t afford gifts. She said Christmas brought magic, made wishes come true.”
I glance at the tree. “She was right.”
Sophia smiles faintly, then looks into the fire. “I wonder what she would think of me now. Of what I’ve become.”
“What have you become?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Yours.”
The words hit harder than they should. I take a breath that feels like a confession. For a long moment, neither of us moves. The crackle of the fire fills the silence, and the snow outside keeps falling.
I stand first, cross the space between us, and hold out my hand. “Come with me.”
She hesitates only a second before sliding her fingers into mine. The touch is small, simple, but it burns.
When she rises, she’s close enough that I can smell her skin, sweet and uniquely her. I trace a strand of hair away from her face.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” I say quietly.
“I think it’s similar to what you do to me.”
Her confidence startles me. The woman who once trembled in front of me now meets my gaze like an equal. I don’t know whether to be proud or afraid of what this means.
“Say it again,” I tell her.
“I’m yours,” she whispers.
I close my eyes for half a second, fighting the impulse to drag her against me and forget the world entirely. Then I nod toward the stairs.
The firelight fades behind us, replaced by the dim glow of sconces along the wall, casting long shadows that dance across her face.
She follows without a word, her fingers tight in mine, and I feel the tremor in them, not fear anymore but anticipation, the same current that’s been racing in my blood since she first stepped into my room last night.
My pulse thuds heavy in my ears, a steady reminder that my control is slipping, but tonight I don’t fight it. I want her to feel every bit of what she’s awakened in me.
We reach the landing, and I pause outside my door, turning to face her. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the low light, that small scar above her lip catching my attention again. I brush my thumb over it, and she leans into the touch, her breath hitching.
She steps closer, her free hand coming to rest on my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she’s anchoring herself to me.
I can feel the heat of her through the cotton, the softness of her body pressing against mine, and it takes everything not to lift her right here and take her against the hallway wall.
Instead, I push the door open and guide her inside. My cock twitches, already hard and straining against my pants.
She notices, her gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to my face, a flush creeping up her neck. I close the door behind us with a soft click, the sound final, sealing us in this space where the world can’t reach us.
I release her hand and shrug off my shirt, letting it fall to the floor.
Her eyes roam over me, hungry and unashamed now, tracing the lines of my tattoos, the scars she hasn’t asked about yet.
I step closer, cupping her face in both hands.
I kiss her slowly at first, savoring the way her lips part for me, the soft moan she makes when my tongue slides against hers.
She tastes like hot chocolate, like the day we’ve spent building something real together.
I deepen the kiss, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the edge.
She sits, looking up at me with that mix of defiance and trust that drives me wild, and I kneel in front of her, my hands on her thighs.
I slide them up under her sweater, pushing it higher, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, the curve of her waist. She lifts her arms to help, and I pull it over her head, tossing it aside.
Her bra is simple lace again, white this time, and I unhook it with one hand, watching her breasts spill free, nipples already peaked with arousal.
I lean in and take one into my mouth, sucking hard enough to make her gasp, her hands flying to the back of my head, pulling me closer. She arches into me, and I switch to the other, teasing with my tongue until she’s writhing, her thighs pressing together.
“Yury,” she breathes, and the sound of my name like that, needy and raw, sends a jolt straight to my cock. I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Tell me what you need, angelu.”
“You,” she says without hesitation. “All of you. Again. Make it hurt, Yury, I need to feel all of you.”
I stand, undoing my belt and pants, shoving them down along with my briefs.
My cock springs free, heavy and aching. Her eyes widen, but she reaches for me, wrapping her fingers around the base like she’s learning fast. The feel of her hand, warm and tentative, makes me groan, and I thrust into it once before pulling away.
“Not yet,” I mutter, pushing her back onto the bed. I hook my fingers into her jeans and panties, tugging them off in one motion, leaving her bare beneath me.
She’s already glistening, wet and ready, and the sight of her spread out like this, trusting me completely, nearly breaks me.
I climb over her, settling between her legs, and kiss her again, deep and claiming, my hand sliding down to cup her pussy.
She’s slick, hot, and when I slip a finger inside, she clenches around me, moaning into my mouth.
I add another, curling them to hit that spot that made her shatter last night, and she bucks against my hand.
“Please,” she whimpers, and I can’t deny her.
I pull my fingers from her wet cunt and suck them clean while she watches, her hands finding my ass and pulling me towards her.
I line myself up, the head of my cock nudging her entrance, and push in slowly, watching her face for any sign of the pain she asked for. She winces a little, still tender from last night, but then her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper.
“More,” she demands, and I give it to her, thrusting steady until I’m buried to the hilt, her warmth gripping me like a vice.
We move together, finding a rhythm that’s harder than last night. Somehow more urgent. Her hips rise to meet mine, and I grip her thighs, angling her to take me deeper. The bed creaks under us, the fire popping in the background, but all I hear are her cries, the wet sounds of our bodies joining.
She’s close already, I can feel it in the way she tightens, her breath coming in gasps.
“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” I growl against her neck, biting down lightly. “Laid out in front of me, naked and warm. Your cunt dripping for me.”
“Tell me, Yury,” she begs.
And I know exactly what she needs.