Chapter 12 - Vasily #2
"I know." I brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers trail down her neck. "I know everything about you, remember?"
"That should creep me out."
"Does it?"
"No." She shivered as my hand traced her collarbone. "That's what creeps me out."
I laughed softly, the sound strange in my own ears. When was the last time I'd laughed? I couldn't remember.
"We'll go slow," I promised. "Tell me if you want to stop."
"I don't want to stop."
"Then tell me if you need more time. If anything feels wrong." I kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "I want this to be good for you, Gabrielle. Better than good."
"It already is."
I reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, sliding it down inch by inch. The fabric parted beneath my hands, revealing the smooth expanse of her back, the delicate curve of her spine. She trembled but didn't pull away.
"So beautiful," I murmured against her skin. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to touch you like this?"
"Show me."
I pushed the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before me in nothing but her underwear—simple cotton, white, somehow more erotic than any lingerie I'd ever seen. Her arms twitched, an instinct to cover herself, and I caught her wrists gently.
"Don't hide from me." I brought her hands to my lips, kissing each palm. "Not anymore."
"I'm not—" She swallowed hard. "I'm not what you're used to. I'm not thin, I'm not—"
"You're perfect." I released her hands and pulled my own shirt over my head, watching her eyes widen at the scars, the muscle, the evidence of the life I'd lived. "And I'm not what you're used to either. We'll figure it out together."
She reached out hesitantly, her fingers tracing the raised line across my ribs. "Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
"What about this one?" Her hand moved to my shoulder, to the puckered circle of the old bullet wound.
"That one ached for years. It's quiet now."
"And this?" Her fingers found a scar I'd forgotten I had, low on my abdomen, half-hidden by the waistband of my trousers.
"A knife fight when I was twenty-three. I was careless."
"You survived."
"I always survive." I caught her hand, pressing it flat against my chest so she could feel my heartbeat. "And now I have something worth surviving for."
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. "Vasily—"
I kissed her before she could finish, before she could say something that would break me entirely.
My hands roamed her body, mapping the curves I'd memorized from a distance, finally learning them up close.
She was soft everywhere I was hard, yielding everywhere I was rigid.
When I cupped her breasts through the thin cotton of her bra, she gasped against my mouth.
"May I?" I asked, fingers hovering at the clasp.
"Yes."
I unhooked her bra and let it fall away. She was beautiful—full breasts, dusky nipples already peaked with arousal. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth, and the sound she made went straight to my core.
"Oh God." Her hands flew to my hair, gripping tight. "Vasily—"
I lavished attention on one breast, then the other, until she was writhing against me, her hips seeking friction I hadn't yet provided. When I finally pulled back, her nipples were swollen and glistening, and the look on her face was pure, desperate need.
"Bed," I said roughly. "Now."
I lifted her easily, carrying her to the massive bed that had felt so empty for so long.
I laid her down on the sheets and stood back for a moment, just looking.
Her hair spread across my pillow like dark fire.
Her chest heaved with rapid breaths. Her thighs pressed together, hiding what I wanted most.
"Open for me," I said. "Let me see you."
She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. Then, slowly, she let her legs fall apart.
I groaned at the sight—the wet patch on her underwear, the evidence of how much she wanted this. Wanted me. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and drew the cotton down her legs, baring her completely.
"Gabrielle." Her name was a prayer on my lips. "You're exquisite."
"I need—" She reached for me, her hands fumbling at my belt. "I need to feel you."
I helped her, shedding my trousers and boxer briefs in quick, efficient movements. Her eyes went wide when she saw me—fully hard, aching for her in a way I'd never ached for anyone.
"We'll go slow," I promised again, though my body screamed for me to take her now, hard and fast and claiming. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you to touch me."
I crawled over her, bracketing her body with my arms. Kissed her mouth, her jaw, the sensitive spot below her ear that made her shiver. My hand trailed down her stomach, through the soft curls between her thighs, until I found the slick heat of her.
She cried out when I touched her—a sharp, surprised sound that melted into a moan as I stroked through her folds. She was wet, so wet, her body weeping for me. I circled her clit with my thumb, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"That's it," I murmured against her throat. "Let me make you feel good."
"I already—oh God—I already feel—"
I slid one finger inside her, and she arched off the bed.
She was tight—so tight it made me grit my teeth against the urge to replace my finger with something larger.
I worked her slowly, adding a second finger when she relaxed enough to take it, curling them to find the spot that made her see stars.
"Vasily." She was panting now, her hips rolling against my hand. "Please—I need—"
"What do you need, little dove?"
"You. Inside me. Please."
The word "please" on her lips nearly undid me. I withdrew my fingers and positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick heat. Even that minimal contact made us both groan.
"Look at me," I said.
Her eyes opened, dark and dazed with desire.
"I need you to understand something." I held myself still, every muscle trembling with the effort. "After this, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every way that matters. And I'll be yours."
"I know."
"And you still want this?"
"Yes." She lifted her hips, trying to take me deeper. "Yes, I want this. I want you. Please, Vasily—"
I pushed inside her.
She gasped, her body tensing around me. I forced myself to stop, giving her time to adjust, though the sensation of her tight heat gripping me was almost more than I could bear.
"Are you all right?" I gritted out.
"Yes. Just—full. You're so—"
"I know. Breathe. Let your body relax."
She took a shuddering breath, and I felt her internal muscles ease slightly. I pulled back and pressed forward again, a shallow thrust that made her moan.
"More," she breathed. "I can take more."
I gave her more. Slow, deep strokes that filled her completely, that made her gasp and clutch at my shoulders. She was so tight, so wet, so perfect around me that I had to recite shipping manifests in my head to keep from finishing too soon.
"You feel incredible," I told her, my voice rough. "Like you were made for me."
"Vasily—" Her nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire. "Harder. Please."
I'd wanted to be gentle. Had promised myself I would take my time, would make her first experience with me soft and sweet. But the need in her voice shattered my restraint.
I braced myself on my forearms and drove into her, harder now, faster. She met me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to take me deeper, her moans growing louder with each stroke. The bed creaked beneath us. The moonlight painted silver stripes across our intertwined bodies.
"Touch yourself," I commanded. "I want to feel you come around me."
Her hand slipped between us, her fingers finding her clit. I watched her pleasure herself while I fucked her, and the sight was so erotic I had to close my eyes against the surge of sensation.
"That's it," I groaned. "Show me what you like."
Her movements grew frantic, her breathing ragged. I could feel her inner walls beginning to flutter, the telltale signs of approaching release.
"Vasily—I'm going to—"
"Come for me, Gabrielle. Let me feel it."
She shattered.
Her orgasm rolled through her in waves, her body clenching around me so tightly I saw stars. She cried out my name—once, twice, a third time—her back arching, her thighs trembling against my hips.
The sensation dragged me over the edge with her. I buried myself to the hilt and came harder than I ever had in my life, pulsing inside her, filling her with everything I had. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, whiting out my vision, blanking my mind of everything except her.
Gabrielle. My wife. My obsession. My undoing.
When the waves finally subsided, I collapsed beside her, pulling her against my chest. We lay tangled together, breathing hard, our hearts pounding in syncopation.
"That was—" She paused, searching for words. "I don't have words."
"Neither do I."
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my skin. "The great Vasily Chernov, speechless. I should mark the calendar."
"Mock me all you want." I pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'll find ways to retaliate."
"Promises, promises."
We lay in comfortable silence as our breathing slowed. I traced idle patterns on her back, marveling at the softness of her skin, the way she fit against me like she'd been designed for this exact purpose.
"Vasily?"
"Mm?"
"What happens now?"
I considered the question. What did happen now? She was my wife in truth as well as law. My captive who'd become something else entirely. My enemy who'd kissed me first.
"Now," I said slowly, "we figure out what this becomes."
"And what do you want it to become?"
Everything, I thought. I want it to become everything.
But I couldn't say that. Not yet. Not when she was still sorting through her own feelings, still trying to reconcile the man who'd taken her with the man who'd just made love to her.
"I want it to become whatever you'll give me," I said instead. "I told you I'd wait. I meant it."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she pressed a kiss to my chest, right over my heart.
"I'm not running anymore," she said softly. "I don't know what that means yet. But I'm not running."
"That's enough. For now, that's enough."
She fell asleep in my arms, her breath evening out into the slow rhythm of deep slumber.
I stayed awake, watching moonlight play across her features. She looked younger in sleep, the wariness smoothed away, the walls she'd built temporarily lowered. I could see the woman she might have been if life had been kinder—bright, open, unburdened by the weight of never being enough.
Something had shifted tonight. Something fundamental, tectonic. I'd had her body, yes—had claimed her in the most primal way a man could claim a woman. But it was more than that. She'd given me something I hadn't expected, something I wasn't sure I deserved.
Trust. Or the beginning of it.
I didn't have a name for what I felt. Didn't want to examine it too closely, afraid it would dissolve under scrutiny. But I knew it was more than obsession now, more than possession, more than the dark hunger that had driven me to take her in the first place.
She was changing me. Had already changed me, in ways I was only beginning to understand.
And for the first time in my life, I was afraid. Not of enemies or violence or death—those fears I'd conquered long ago. I was afraid of losing her. Of watching her walk away. Of waking up one day to find that the light she'd brought into my darkness had been extinguished.
I tightened my arms around her, as if I could hold her close enough to keep her safe from everything—including myself.
Whatever happened next, whatever Pankratov was planning, whatever challenges waited in New York—I would face them. But not alone. Not anymore.
She murmured something in her sleep, her hand curling against my chest.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead and closed my eyes.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't dreading the dawn.