33. Lacey
33
LACEY
Vadim captures my lips in a heated kiss that steals my breath away. His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks with an almost desperate tenderness that makes my heart ache. There's something different about the way he's touching me tonight—as if he's trying to memorize every curve, every texture, every taste.
A nagging fear claws at the back of my mind, whispering that this could be our last night together like this. I push back against those dark thoughts by kissing him harder, deeper, pouring all of my love and need into it. His response is immediate and fierce.
" Zvyozdochka ," he breathes against my mouth. The endearment carries so much more weight and meaning now than it has ever done before.
Zvyozdochka .
Little star.
Once upon a time, he whispered that he'd make me shine like a constellation—half a challenge at my own bravado, and half a demonstration of his absolute power.
I can still feel the weight of that heavy necklace at my throat, the way his fingers traced my skin at every inch that he could adorn me in diamonds, and the salty taste of his cum on its diamond.
The juxtaposition had left me confused and aroused in ways I've never been before—the way he promised to decorate me like a queen before he made me fall to my knees like a whore. But I understand it now.
I used to think being called his little star meant being decorative, to be a shiny little thing for him to own.
But I was wrong.
It was never a term that meant I was a thing to be owned, but a reminder that I am the light that guides him through the darkness—his fixed point in this dark and turbulent world that shaped him.
He saw it in me long before either of us could recognize it. Before either of us can breathe life into the true meaning of that term.
My fingers trace the strong lines of his jaw, committing to memory the slight stubble that's grown in since morning. His hands slide down my sides, following familiar paths but with an intensity that makes me shiver.
Every touch feels amplified, electric.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, and I arch into him with a gasp. The heat between us builds rapidly, driven by something rawer than just desire—it's a bone-deep hunger to possess and be possessed, to know and be known completely.
My hands roam his broad shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath my palms. His mouth finds that sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me melt, and I clutch him closer. We're pressed together so tightly I can feel his heartbeat thundering against my chest, matching my own frantic rhythm.
The desperate edge to our passion should frighten me, but instead it makes everything feel more real, more visceral and raw. Each caress, each shared breath becomes precious—something to be savored and sealed into memory.
His hands tremble slightly as they move to undress me, and that small betrayal of vulnerability makes my heart swell.
He touches me reverently, like I'm something sacred—something he ought to worship.
Each button of my blouse that he unfastens is accompanied by a brush of his fingertips trailing fire against my skin.
"My fierce, beautiful zvyozdochka ," he murmurs, sliding my blouse off my shoulders. His palms skim down my arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. "You never cease to amaze me."
His hands drift to my belly, now gently curved with our growing child. The tenderness in his touch makes tears prick at my eyes.
"Look what you've given me," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "A family. A future. Everything I never dared to dream I deserved."
My breath catches as his fingers trace patterns on my skin. He unzips my skirt with deliberate slowness, letting it pool at my feet. His hands ghost over my hips, my thighs, mapping every inch as if committing it all to memory.
"The way you shine," he continues, pressing soft kisses along my collarbone. "Not just your beauty, though you're the most stunning thing I've ever seen. But your spirit—so bright it burns away all my darkness."
His hands move to cup my breasts, now fuller from the pregnancy. The gentle exploration makes me arch into his touch, seeking more.
"I never knew love could feel like this," he confesses against my skin. "So complete. So consuming." His thumbs brush over my sensitive nipples through the lace of my bra. "You've made me whole in ways I didn't even know I was broken."
His words break something inside me and sends tears spilling from my eyes.
It's unfair!
Just when we've finally found our way to each other—truly and completely—we have to risk it all.
The thought of losing him, of our daughter growing up without her father, cuts deeper than any physical pain.
"It's okay," he whispers, kissing away my tears as his fingers work the clasp of my bra. "Don't cry."
"I can't help it," I confess as the lace falls away and his warm hands cup my breasts. "I love you so much. The thought of losing you—" My voice breaks. "I can't bear it."
His thumbs brush my nipples in gentle circles as he captures my gaze. "Then don't think about that future," he murmurs. "Be here with me now. In this moment." His lips find mine again, soft and reassuring. "Let it unfold as it may."
I close my eyes and lean into his touch, trying to focus only on the present—on his hands on my body, his lips against mine, the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. But even as pleasure sparks through me at his caresses, I can't completely silence the voice in my head whispering that this might be the last time he holds me like this.
I pull back from his kiss, my hands trembling slightly against his chest.
"Please," I whisper. "I want to remember every detail."
His eyes darken with understanding, and he nods. My fingers move to his shirt buttons, working each one free with deliberate care. The crisp white fabric parts beneath my touch, revealing his sculpted torso inch by inch.
I push the shirt off his broad shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. My hands trace the planes of his chest, following the intricate patterns of his tattoos. Each one tells a story—of pain, of power, of survival.
But most importantly, of a man who loves me.
My lips follow the path my fingers blazed, pressing soft kisses to his warm skin. Here, a jagged scar from a knife fight. There, the smooth raised line of a bullet wound. Every mark is a testament to his strength, to the battles he's fought and won.
I explore each ridge of hard muscle with reverent attention, memorizing the way they flex under my touch. The soft sounds he makes as I work my way down his body only fuel my determination to map every detail.
My tongue traces the tattoo over his heart. Lower still, my teeth graze along the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband.
When I reach his pants, I look up to find his stormy gray eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. The raw emotion I see there mirrors everything I'm feeling—love, desire, fear, hope—all tangled together in an impossible knot.
I reach for Vadim's belt buckle with trembling fingers, undoing it slowly. The soft clink of metal and rasp of leather feels amplified in the quiet room. My hands work at his zipper next, the sound sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
As I ease his pants down his powerful thighs, his familiar masculine scent surrounds me—spicy and rich, and tinged with something that's uniquely him. His fingers move gently through my hair as I press soft kisses along the carved muscle of his thighs, trying to commit every detail of those hard bands into my memory.
The impressive length of him pulses before my face, and my mouth waters at the sight. I want to memorize everything—the way the veins trace patterns along his shaft, the velvet softness of his skin, the slight curve that fits so perfectly inside me.
I trail reverent kisses up his length, savoring each twitch and throb against my lips. When I reach the swollen head, a glistening drop beckons. I lap it away with the tip of my tongue, relishing his sharp intake of breath.
Opening my mouth, I take him inside, letting his thick shaft stretch my lips. The weight of him on my tongue feels like coming home.
His appreciative moans send shivers down my spine as I work. "So good, zvyozdochka ," he whispers. "You're perfect."
Fresh tears roll down my cheeks at the tenderness in his voice. His fingers brush them away with gentle strokes that make my heart ache. I can't keep crying like this—I need to focus on making this moment unforgettable for him.
My hands join in, caressing and stroking as I worship him with my mouth.
Desire builds with each moan I draw from him. When his strong hand starts kneading my breasts again, I can't hold back a moan of my own.
His other hand trails down my back, following the curve of my spine. Past the swell of my hips, and the round of my ass until those powerful fingers rest just outside of my wet folds.
I pull back from him, panting. "Please," I whisper, my voice thick with need. "I want your fingers inside me."
His eyes darken at my plea. He bends down and captures my mouth in a searing kiss that makes my head spin. When he pulls away, I'm left breathless and trembling.
Thick fingers slide between my wetness, teasing at first. Then finally, mercifully, he pushes one deep inside me.
My body arches into his touch and takes him deeper inside. The fullness makes my toes curl against the carpet. My hands clutch at his thighs, desperate for something to anchor me as waves of pleasure crash through me.
Another finger joins, and together, they start moving in a steady rhythm that has me moaning his name. Each stroke hits perfectly, making my thighs shake. The intimacy of his touch, combined with the tenderness in his stormy gray eyes as he watches my reactions, threatens to overwhelm me completely.
"So good," he murmurs approvingly as I writhe against his hand. "So perfect."
I swallow him into my mouth again, cherishing the familiar stretch of my lips around him. His quiet groan sends shivers through me as I work him deeper. With each motion, I take more of his impressive length until I feel him nudge my throat.
The rhythm of his fingers matches my pace perfectly, sending waves of pleasure through my core. My whole body tingles with building need.
Our shared need fills the air with the scent of sweat and sex.
I hollow my cheeks as I pull back, then take him deep again. His free hand squeezes my breast, not directing, just connecting. The tenderness of that touch contrasts beautifully with the intensity of what's happening between my legs.
His fingers curl inside me in that perfect way that makes my thighs quiver. The slick sounds of his movements mix with my muffled moans around him. I can feel myself getting wetter with each thrust of his skilled fingers.
Our bodies move together in perfect synchronization, each of us giving and taking pleasure in equal measure. The intimacy of the moment—being so completely connected, so thoroughly devoted to each other's pleasure—makes my heart swell.
This is what love-making is, I realize as I taste his rich scent on my lips and tongue.
This perfect dance of give and take, push and pull between us. Every touch feels electric, meaningful, charged with emotion that transcends mere physical pleasure.
I sink down further to feel him touching a spot that belongs to him and him alone.
My hands find purchase on his firm ass, pulling him closer until he's buried completely in my throat. The stretch of my lips around his thick shaft feels divine.
Through the tears blurring my vision, I look up to meet his intense gaze. Those stormy gray eyes are fixed on me with such raw emotion it makes my heart thunder.
He's getting harder on my tongue, throbbing with his impeding release.
I let him slip partway out of my mouth, my tongue swirling around the sensitive head as I gulp down every drop of his salty arousal.
My eyes stay locked on his, urging him to let go, to give himself over to the pleasure completely. To trust me with his pleasure the way I trust him with mine.
His cock pulses against my tongue, a warning that he's close. The knowledge sends another flood of wetness around his pumping fingers. I moan around him, wanting—needing—to feel him come undone.
His fingers twist inside me, sending electricity shooting up my spine. "I'm going to cum," he whispers hoarsely.
Do it, I urge him with my eyes. I want you to drown me in your cum.
I tighten my inner muscles around his probing fingers, squeezing them in a rhythmic pulse. His breath catches at my response. I hollow my cheeks and quicken my pace, begging him silently with each bob of my head.
Please, please, please!
The rich taste of his arousal floods my mouth as his cock throbs against my tongue. His powerful thighs tremble beneath my palms.
Deep, primal sounds rumble from his chest—part growl, part moan. The vibrations travel straight to my core, making me clench even tighter around his fingers.
His control shatters. With a strangled cry, he erupts. Hot, thick ropes coat my tongue and throat as his release pulses through him. I drink down every drop, my tongue working to catch any that might escape.
The taste of Vadim's release triggers something primal inside me. His fingers curl against that perfect spot, and my orgasm crashes through me with overwhelming intensity.
My body convulses around his probing fingers, but I force my eyes to stay locked on his stormy gray gaze.
"Oh!" I pull back from his still-pulsing cock with a gasp that turns to a whimper.
A whimper becomes a cry.
And a cry finally transforms into a long sustained screaming note.
"Yes! YES! YES!" I scream up at him, as the final spurts of his warm release drop like stars on my heaving breasts.
They streak along the swell of my belly where our daughter grows.
They splatter on my trembling thighs.
The waves of pleasure continue to rock through me as his fingers work me through my climax. Each pulse makes my toes curl and my thighs shake. Stars dance at the edges of my vision, but I refuse to close my eyes. I want—need—to see the raw emotion in his gaze as we share this moment of perfect connection.
His cum glistens on my skin in the soft light, marking me as his. The thought sends another aftershock of pleasure rippling through my core. My inner muscles clench rhythmically around his fingers as the intensity of my orgasm slowly begins to ebb.
A whimper escapes my throat as Vadim slowly withdraws his fingers. My inner muscles clench, trying to keep him inside. My body still trembles with aftershocks as he brings those glistening fingers to his mouth.
His stormy gray eyes hold mine captive as his tongue darts out to taste my arousal. The sight makes my breath catch. A low moan rumbles from his chest as he sucks his fingers clean.
"So sweet," he purrs. "Like honey and starlight mixed together."
A languid smile tugs at my lips.
"You finally did it," I whisper, still catching my breath. "Made me into the little star in the heart of your constellation."
His eyes glimmers at my words, pupils blown wide with renewed desire and sends fresh heat pooling between my thighs.
"Oh zvyozdochka ," he growls, voice rough with need. "I'm not nearly done making you shine yet." His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my swollen lips. "Get on the bed."
The commanding tone in his voice makes me shiver with anticipation. This is the voice of the pakhan—the man who rules Seattle's underworld with an iron fist.
But as he kneels between my legs and spread my thighs open, his touch remains gentle, reverent, as if handling something infinitely precious.