43. Vadim
43
VADIM
I pull myself from her, my cum trailing down her thighs. My legs are watery as I stand, my mind reeling at what I've just done to her. The marble floor must be cold underneath her, but she doesn't move.
Just trembles.
This felt wrong. All of it. The way she begged me to hurt her. The way I gave in. The blood on my hand where she bit me.
I'm no better than Pyotr.
Wordlessly, I bend down and scoop her into my arms. She curls against my chest, her tears soaking my shirt.
The gesture feels like absolution I don't deserve.
I'm just some woman whose fiancé you killed. Her words echo in my head. You took all my choices away.
She's right. I did. I took everything away from her. And now I've taken her dignity too. Made her beg to be hurt when she deserves to be cherished.
My arms tighten around her slight frame.
Was she always this small, this fragile? What have I done to break her spirit like this?
"I'm sorry, zvyozdochka, " I whisper into her hair, but the words feel hollow.
She doesn't respond, just presses closer. But her silence cuts deeper than any of her earlier words of hate.
I carry Lacey into our bathroom, her body light in my arms. The memory of washing the blood off her hands in the shower on the plane while we fled Paris comes rushing back.
I can see the same broken look in her eyes. The same defeated slump of her shoulders.
How many more times will I do this to her? How many times do I need to wash away the consequences of my choices from her skin to accept that she shouldn't be trapped in this place with a monster like me?
Steam fills the massive shower as I step in, still holding her. The hot water hits her back, and she shivers against me. Her dress clings to her curves, water darkening the fabric.
I want to tell her I'm sorry again. That I never meant to hurt her like this. That everything I've done was to protect her.
But the words die in my throat.
She turns in my arms, water streaming down her face. Those amber-flecked eyes meet mine, filled with an emotion I can't name. Before I can stop myself, I bend down and capture her lips with mine.
Her teeth clench at first, resisting. But slowly, achingly slowly, they part. The kiss deepens, and I taste salt—whether from tears or blood, I'm not sure.
My hands cup her face as the water pours over us both. Her lips are soft despite the violence earlier, despite everything that's happened between us. I shouldn't want her like this. Not after what I just did to her.
But I do. God help me, I do.
And I hate myself for it.
I reach for the straps of her dress, pausing before touching her. "May I?"
Her slight nod breaks my heart. Even now, after everything I've done to her, she still trusts me with her body.
The wet fabric peels away slowly, revealing inch after precious inch of her skin. My breath catches at the marks I've left on her—each one an accusation and reminder of how I lost control.
I stare at the angry red fingerprints on her thighs, the beginning of bruises on her neck from the imprint of the necklace still around her throat, my hands shaking as I drop to my knees before her.
What have I done?
Without thinking, I press my lips to each mark, begging for forgiveness as if my kisses could somehow erase the evidence of my violence.
A small gasp escapes her as I kiss a particularly dark bruise on her inner thigh. Her fingers thread through my wet hair, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer.
And that's when it hits me.
I love her.
Not as a means to an end. Not as my fake wife. Not even as a woman who was willing to face unimaginable danger by my side.
I love her because she's her.
I love her so completely, desperately, with an intensity that terrifies me.
She trembles under my touch, her body responding even as her mind must be trying to piece together at what just happened between us. I don't deserve this tenderness from her. I don't deserve anything from her.
But as I look up at her face, water streaming down her cheeks mixing with what might be fresh tears, I see something in her eyes that mirrors the ache in my chest. No words pass between us. None are needed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have?—"
Her fingers press against my lips, silencing my apology. Her touch is gentle, and it beckons me to stand until she’s gazing up at me again. The shower continues pouring over us as she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. Her lips are soft and tender, nothing like the biting fury from before.
Her hand slides down my chest, wrapping around my cock. Despite everything, my body responds instantly to her touch. She strokes me with the same tenderness as her kiss, coaxing me back to hardness. Steam swirls around us, making everything dreamlike and hazy.
When she breaks the kiss, her amber-flecked eyes meet mine. "Make love to me," she whispers.
The words strike something deep in my chest. Not fucking. Not punishing her body with mine. Making love.
Love.
The word echoes in my head as I stare into her eyes. I don't deserve her tenderness, her forgiveness, or her love—if that's something she ever felt for me.
And if she did feel love for me once, I know that it's gone now.
Especially after what I just did to her on the stairs.
The water streams down her cheeks, washing away the tears and makeup. She's beautiful like this—bare, vulnerable, trusting.
And that's what hurts the most.
How can she still look at me with anything other than abject hate after I used her the way I did?
After I proved that I'm no better than Pyotr?
I swore I would never become him. Yet here I am, having just fucked my wife mercilessly on cold marble while she screamed, and left bruises on her delicate skin.
No. I don't deserve love. I never have.
But Lacey... she deserves everything. She deserves gentle touches and soft kisses. She deserves someone who can cherish her properly, not a monster who puts blood on her hands and forces her to beg for pain.
For now though, I can give her this one thing she asks. I can make love to her the way she asks, even if I don't deserve the privilege.
Her fingers trace my jaw, drawing me back to the present. To her. To us.
"Please," she whispers against my lips.
Gently, I press her against the shower wall, letting the water cascade over both of us. She's so small against me, so delicate despite her earlier fire. My cock slides between her thighs, finding her still wet and ready.
I enter her slowly, savoring every inch. Her body welcomes me, soft and warm. She gasps against my neck as I fill her completely. This is different from before—no anger, no punishment. Just us.
Her legs wrap around my waist as I start moving inside her. Gentle thrusts that make her sigh with pleasure rather than pain. Her hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. The tenderness in her touch nearly undoes me.
"Like this?" I whisper against her lips.
"Yes," she breathes. "Just like this."
The water beats down between us as I move inside her, each slow gentle thrust an apology for earlier. The pain in my hand throbs where she bit me—a reminder of the monster I became.
I ignore the pain in my hand.
I deserve a pain that's much worse than this.
She feels impossibly soft against me now, her body yielding and warm. So different from the angry desperation before. Her hands cup my face and draws me in for another kiss.
I try to focus on her pleasure, on making this good for her. My thumb finds her clit, circling slowly as I continue my measured pace. She gasps against my mouth, inner walls fluttering around my cock.
"That's it, zvyozdochka ," I whisper. "Let me take care of you."
Her breath hitches as I hit that spot inside her that makes her tremble. I do it again, maintaining the same gentle rhythm. Her nails dig into my shoulders, but the pain feels right.
It's penance for my sins.
I can feel her getting close, her thighs starting to shake. She buries her face in my neck, muffling her soft moans against my skin.
"It's okay," I murmur into her hair. "I've got you. Let go for me."
Her walls pulse around me as her orgasm builds. I keep my strokes slow and deep, thumb still working her clit. She's so beautiful like this—vulnerable and trusting despite everything I've done.
"I've got you," I promise again. "Let go."
She shudders against me, so different from the violent crescendos earlier. Her body trembles in my arms as she cries out softly against my neck. The sound pierces straight through my heart.
I capture her lips with mine, pouring everything I feel into the kiss. She responds with equal fervor, but I keep myself in check, making sure she has room to pull away if she wants.
She doesn't.
Shifting my grip, I lift her higher against the wall, steadying her with my body. The new angle draws a gasp from her lips. I start moving faster, but still gentle. Still careful.
"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, yes..."
Her whispered encouragement spurs me on. Water streams down her face, making her eyelashes glitter like stars.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur. "So perfect, zvyozdochka ."
She shivers at my words, her inner walls fluttering around me. I kiss her neck where the necklace left its mark, trying desperately to replace the memory of violence with tenderness.
"That's it," I praise as she rocks against me. "Just like that."
Her fingers tangle in my hair as I continue making love to her, each thrust an unspoken apology, each kiss a silent promise.
"Don't stop," Lacey whispers, her voice a fragile thing against my lips. "Please don't stop."
I can't deny her anything right now. Not when she's asking with such raw vulnerability. Steam curls around us, making the air thick and heavy with moisture. Water streams down her face, her neck, between her breasts until every inch of her skin is glistening.
My thrusts stay measured and gentle—everything I wasn't before. Her body responds beautifully, her warm slick inner walls gripping me with each stroke.
"Never," I promise, though I know it's a lie.
Everything ends eventually.
Her hands slide over my wet shoulders, down my back. No scratching, no biting now. Just soft touches that leaves my heart aching for more.
I can feel my release building, pressure coiling tight in my core. "I'm close," I warn her, slowing my pace. "So close, zvyozdochka ."
"Me too," she breathes, amber eyes locking with mine. "I'm going to?—"
I capture her lips in a deep kiss, swallowing her words. Her body tightens around me as her orgasm hits. The sensation of her pulsing around me sends me over the edge. I spill inside her with a groan, our releases perfectly synchronized.
The shower continues to rain down on us as we share the moment, bodies trembling together. Her lips move softly against mine, and I pour into the kiss everything I don't deserve to say to her.