Epilogue
Adrik
The morning light spills across the kitchen tiles in pale gold, catching on the edges of stainless steel and the slow drift of steam rising from the coffee machine.
This house is quiet at this hour, an impossibility I never imagined I’d value.
A year ago, my mornings were a calculated ritual of meetings, security briefings, and surveillance reports.
Now my day starts like this.
With the soft weight of my baby daughter curled against my chest, her warm breath fogging the fabric of my shirt. With the quiet hum of domestic life settling like a balm I didn’t know I needed.
Three months old, and she already has Jasmine’s eyes. Big. Dark. Curious. Every time she blinks up at me, something in my chest pulls in a way no blade, no bullet, no enemy has ever managed.
I’ve never loved anything the way I love her. Except her mother.
I adjust her carefully, one arm anchored around her tiny body. She stirs with a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a complaint, and I press a kiss to her downy forehead.
“Shh, kroshka. Your mother is still sleeping.”
My voice is a whisper, but the kid’s ears are sharp. She wiggles again, tiny fists stretching toward the ceiling before folding against her chest.
She looks like she’s fighting invisible enemies in her dreams.
Good girl.
She’ll never know what it means to run. She’ll never know what it means to fear the slam of a door. She’ll never hide bruises under a too-big jacket because she has nowhere safe to go. She will never live even a fraction of the life her mother endured before she stepped into my world.
Not while I’m alive.
The sound of footsteps pulls my attention to the hallway, the boards creaking under a familiar heavy stride.
My brother Dariy appears first, followed by one of our younger brothers, Rurik. They both freeze for a moment at the sight of me standing barefoot in my kitchen, my three-month-old daughter bundled against my chest.
Dariy smirks. “Look at you. The big bad boss turned into a family man.”
Rurik snorts. “If our enemies could see you now, we’d never hear the end of it.”
I roll my eyes. “If our enemies are close enough to see me holding my child, you both failed at your jobs.”
Viktor barks a laugh and ruffles my daughter’s soft hair with a finger. “Relax, Ad. We’re just here to check on Jasmine.”
“She’s fine,” I say, because she is. She’s more than fine. She’s thriving. She’s softer now, lighter, still fierce in that quiet, resilient way that hooked something deep in me the night she walked into my life looking like she’d been carved out of determination and exhaustion.
She gave birth like she does everything else, with grit and fire and a shocking amount of calm.
She’s mine in every way that counts.
Rurik narrows his eyes. “And you? How are you doing, big brother?”
Before I can answer, the baby wiggles again and makes a sound of pure outrage at the world. Both of my brothers instantly freeze, eyes widening like they’ve triggered a bomb.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “She growls just like her mother.”
They chuckle but wisely take a step back.
“Tell Jasmine we said hello,” Dairy murmurs. “We’ll check in with Damian about the expansion.”
I nod, and they slip out the back door, leaving the house quiet again except for the tiny, determined noises from the bundle in my arms and the low rumble of my own heartbeat.
I breathe her in again. Milk, warmth, and that soft newborn scent that breaks every bone in my body and remakes them into something unrecognisable.
Then I hear her.
Soft footfalls. A sigh. The faint rustle of fabric.
I turn, and everything in me goes still.
Jasmine leans against the doorway, hair still tousled from sleep, wrapped in a soft robe that barely hides the shape of her body beneath it. Motherhood has only made her more beautiful. More radiant. More mine.
Her eyes meet mine, and the smile she gives me is small but devastating.
“Good morning,” she whispers.
That ancient and hungry thing inside me sharpens at the sight of her. Three months postpartum, and she still looks at me like I hung the sun in the sky just to warm her skin.
What she doesn’t realise is that she did the same for me.
“You should be sleeping,” I murmur, adjusting the baby as she lifts tiny fists toward her mother’s voice.
“I smelled coffee.” She steps closer, slipping her hand over my waist, pressing her cheek to my free shoulder. “I missed you.”
I kiss the top of her head. “We didn’t go far.”
She tilts her face down to kiss her daughter’s forehead, then up to kiss my jaw.
That simple touch destroys me. Every time.
“I can take her for a while,” she murmurs. “You’ve been up since five.”
“And miss this?” I brush my thumb along the soft roll of the baby’s cheek. “Never.”
Her eyes soften in a way that hits me harder than any bullet ever has. Then she bites her lip unconsciously, and my entire body reacts like I’ve been wired to her since the beginning of time.
Three months postpartum, and I haven’t touched her in all the ways we both crave. I’ve held her. Kissed her. Worshipped her. But I’ve been careful. Gentle. Controlled.
Too controlled.
She leans in closer, lowers her voice to a whisper that slides down my spine like silk.
“I’m fully healed, Adrik.”
Heat flares low in my gut.
“I had a check-up yesterday,” she adds, glancing up through her lashes. “I didn’t tell you because… I wanted to see your face.”
My grip tightens on the baby, and she lets out a small, offended squeak. I adjust quickly, murmuring soft apologies in Russian, but my gaze never leaves her mother.
Jasmine smiles, slow and knowing, and touches my chest with a fingertip.
“You can stop being careful,” she whispers. “I’m ready for you.”
I inhale sharply, every muscle in my body going tense with hunger.
“And before you ask,” she adds, voice trembling just slightly, “yes. Still five kids. Or more. Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want.
She has no idea what those words do to me.
I step closer, lowering my voice until it’s a growl only she can hear.
“Give me five minutes,” I murmur, pressing our daughter gently into her arms. “Then go upstairs.”
Her breath catches.
“Why?” she whispers.
“Because I’m going to remind you,” I say, brushing my mouth against hers, “exactly what you started when you walked into my casino.”
Her cheeks flush. Her thighs press together. And she nods.
I watch her take our daughter into the nursery, soft and radiant and mine in every universe that matters.
When she disappears through the doorway, I let the darkness inside me unfurl, not violent or cold, but hungry.
Hungry for my wife. Hungry for the life we’re building. Hungry for everything we’re going to make together.
By the time I follow her upstairs, the world has narrowed to one truth:
Fate didn’t just give me a woman.
It gave me my woman.
And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to her.
Jasmine
The nursery door clicks softly behind me as I settle our daughter into her crib, her tiny eyelids fluttering shut almost instantly. She’s already drifting back to sleep, oblivious to the storm building inside me.
My heart races, a mix of anticipation and that deep, aching hunger that Adrik always ignites with just a look. Three months. Three long months of healing, of gentle touches and stolen kisses that left me burning for more. I’ve missed this, missed him, like a vital part of me was locked away.
I glance at myself in the small mirror on the wall. My body has changed since the birth. I’m curvier, softer in places, and my breasts are fuller and heavy with milk. I used to worry he’d see me differently, but the way his eyes darkened downstairs, the raw need in his voice… it erased every doubt.
He wants me more now, not less. And God, I want him to claim every inch of this new version of me.
Five minutes. That’s what he gave me. I slip out of the nursery and head through to our bedroom, my robe whispering against my skin.
The air feels thicker here, charged, like the room itself knows what’s coming.
I untie the belt and let the fabric pool at my feet, standing naked in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.
My nipples harden instantly, a faint bead of milk already forming at the tips from the sheer thought of him.
The door opens, and there he is. Adrik. My husband.
My protector. His pale eyes lock on me like a predator sighting prey, and he crosses the room in three strides, shedding his jacket and shirt along the way.
His chest is a wall of muscle, scarred and powerful, and when he reaches me, his hands are everywhere, possessive, reverent, like he’s reclaiming what’s always been his.
“Fuck, Jasmine,” he growls, his voice rough and desperate as he backs me toward the bed. “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Three months without burying myself inside you… it’s been torture. I need you, kotyonok. Need to fill you up, breed you again. Look at you. Perfect, so fucking perfect for me.”
His words send a shiver racing down my spine, heat pooling between my thighs. He’s always been vocal, but this? This is raw, unfiltered need, like he’s been holding back a dam that’s finally broken.
He lifts me effortlessly onto the bed, his large frame towering over mine, emphasizing just how much bigger he is.
His broad shoulders, his thick arms, the way his cock strains against his pants like it’s too massive to contain.
He’s always stretched me to my limits, and the thought of him doing it again makes me clench in anticipation.
He strips the rest of his clothes off, his erection springing free, thick, veined, already leaking precum.
“You’re going to take every inch of me,” he murmurs, crawling over me, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, devouring me like he’s starved.
His hands roam my body, praising every curve.
“Such a good girl, carrying my child, giving me our daughter. These tits… fuck, they’re so full for me.
I love how motherhood looks on you. Soft, fertile, mine. ”
I arch into him as his mouth trails down my neck, his dirty talk weaving through me like fire. He cups my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until milk beads and drips.
“Look at this,” he groans, leaning down to latch onto one, sucking hard.
The sensation is electric. Pleasure of having my husband’s mouth on me for he first time in months, mixed with relief as he drinks from me, his tongue swirling, pulling moans from my throat.
He’s worshipping me, drawing out every drop like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he rasps against my skin, switching to the other breast, his hand kneading the first to keep the milk flowing.
“Sucking your tits while I fuck you full again. I need to breed you, Jasmine. Put another baby in you right now. You’re so ready for it. So wet and swollen for my cock.”
“Yes,” I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair as he suckles deeper, the pull sending jolts straight to my core.
I’m soaking, aching, and when his free hand slides between my legs, his fingers find me slick and ready. He groans in approval, pumping two fingers inside me while his thumb circles my clit, all while his mouth stays latched, drinking greedily.
He releases my nipple with a pop, milk trickling down the curve of my breast.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice muffled against my breast. “So wet for me. You love this, don’t you? Love being bred by me, full of milk and cum.”
The words should shock me, but they don’t. They thrill me, making me grind against his hand, chasing the edge.
He positions himself between my thighs.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls, lining up his cock and thrusting in deep in one smooth motion.
The stretch is intense, bordering on too much, but perfect.
His size filling me completely, hitting spots only he can reach.
“Fuck, you feel amazing. I missed this pussy gripping me like it needs my seed.”
“Yes,” I moan, “Please, Adrik.”
He starts moving, slow at first, then harder, his hips slamming into mine with possessive force.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he pants, his eyes locked on mine, vocal and unrelenting. “Breed you until you’re round again. You’re mine, Jasmine, all mine. So fucking good at taking my cock. I love you like this, leaking for me, begging to be filled by me in every way.”
The praise wraps around me like a caress, heightening every sensation.
His thrusts grow erratic, one hand on my hip holding me in place while the other returns to my breast, squeezing until milk sprays across his chest. The sight pushes me over, my orgasm crashes through me, clenching around him as I cry out his name.
“That’s it,” he groans, following me seconds later, his cock pulsing as he empties inside me, hot and deep. “Take it all, kotyonok. Every drop. You’re going to look so beautiful pregnant again.”
He collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms, his breathing ragged.
His hands are gentle now as he kisses my forehead, wipes the milk from my skin with a soft cloth from the nightstand, and whispers more praise.
“You are incredible.”
I nestle into him, sated and loved, knowing this is just the beginning. Fate didn’t just save me, it put me on my path to him and the family we’re creating, one passionate, possessive moment at a time.