Chapter 16
Eva
Morning light painted golden stripes across Dmitry's chest, making his tattoos glow.
His arm lay heavy across my waist, possessive even in sleep, and I stayed perfectly still just to feel the weight of it—proof that last night wasn't a dream, that I really belonged here in his bed, in his world, in this strange new family I'd chosen.
My finger traced the raised scar that ran over his ribs.
There were others—a puckered bullet wound near his hip, knife marks on his forearms, the small, crooked line on his jaw where his stubble didn’t grow.
His body read like a war memoir, each mark a chapter in the brutal life that had shaped him into this beautiful, dangerous creature who somehow thought I was worth protecting.
He stirred under my touch, muscles shifting beneath warm skin, but didn't wake.
Not yet. I had these stolen moments to just look at him, to marvel at the impossibility of being here.
Three weeks ago I'd been sleeping in a storage unit, stealing to eat, invisible to everyone except as a problem to avoid.
Now I woke in Egyptian cotton sheets beside a man who'd mobilized an army when he thought I was in danger, who built me blanket forts and read me fairy tales, who'd made me family in ways that legal documents could never capture.
The need hit me sudden and overwhelming—not just desire but something deeper, a hunger to confirm this was real through touch and taste and the weight of him inside me. I shifted carefully, throwing my leg over his hip to straddle him, the sheet falling away to leave me bare in the morning light.
His eyes opened immediately, dark and alert despite the drowsy second it took him to focus on my face. His hands found my hips with automatic possession, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where thigh met pelvis.
"Good morning, little one," he rumbled, voice rough with sleep and something else as he registered my position, my nakedness, the intent that must have shown in my eyes.
Instead of answering with words, I leaned down to kiss him. Not the desperate, claiming kisses from last night, but something slower, deeper. My tongue traced his lower lip, tasting morning and man and mine, and he groaned into my mouth as I rocked against him, feeling him harden beneath me.
"Eva," he said against my lips, a warning or a prayer.
"Please," I whispered back, reaching between us to guide him to my entrance. "I need you."
He let me control it, let me sink down onto him inch by careful inch, watching my face with an intensity that made me feel worshiped and consumed in equal measure.
The stretch of him, the fullness, the perfect way we fit together—it punched the air from my lungs in a gasp that was part pleasure, part overwhelming emotion.
"That's it," he murmured, hands steadying my hips as I adjusted to him. "Take what you need, baby girl."
I braced my hands on his chest and began to move, slow rolls of my hips that had us both breathing hard within seconds.
His hands roamed my body with reverent possession, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until I gasped and ground down harder.
One hand slid to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, feeling my pulse race beneath his palm.
The gesture was possessive and protective at once, and it made something in my chest crack open with want.
"Moya milaya devochka," he growled, words I'd learned to recognize if not fully understand.
His thumb found my clit, circling with exactly the pressure he'd learned I needed, and the dual sensation of him inside me and his thumb on me had me climbing fast toward that edge. My movements became less controlled, more desperate, chasing the pleasure that built at the base of my spine.
"Look at me," he commanded, and my eyes snapped to his. The connection was electric—not just physical but something deeper, a recognition that went beyond bodies and into whatever souls were made of.
"Dmitry," I gasped, feeling myself start to shatter.
"I've got you," he promised, thumb working faster as his hips rose to meet mine. "Let go, little one. I've got you."
I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him in waves that seemed to go on forever. He followed me over, groaning my name as he pulsed inside me, hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks I'd treasure later.
I collapsed against his chest, both of us breathing hard, hearts racing in a rhythm that slowly synchronized. His arms came around me, holding me against him like I might disappear if he let go. We stayed like that, joined and tangled, while morning light kissed us and Bear snored in his dog bed.
"I have something planned for tonight," Dmitry said eventually, his voice a rumble I felt through his chest. "Somewhere special."
I lifted my head to look at him, still drowsy with satisfaction. "What kind of somewhere?"
"A surprise." He smiled, the expression softening his harsh features into something almost boyish. "But I've had dresses delivered for you to choose from. They should arrive this afternoon."
"Dresses? Plural?"
"Five options. I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I had them send a selection." His hand stroked down my spine, casual intimacy that still made me shiver. "Dress fancy, little one. I want to show you off."
The normalcy of it—planning a date, choosing dresses, being someone worth showing off—made my throat tight with emotion. "I don't know how to be fancy," I admitted.
"Honestly? You're already fancy," he said, kissing my forehead with unexpected tenderness. "The dress is just decoration. You're what makes it beautiful."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the compliment, and I hid my face against his neck, breathing in his scent—cologne and gunpowder and something uniquely him.
"I have to go soon," he said reluctantly. "Alexei needs me for something."
"Violence?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Business," he corrected, though we both knew they were often the same thing. "Nothing dangerous. Just enforcement of existing agreements."
Enforcement. Such a clean word for whatever he actually did to make people honor their deals with the Bratva. But I understood now that this was part of loving him—accepting the violence that made our safety possible.
"Be careful," I said, the words inadequate but necessary.
"Always am." He shifted, rolling us so I was beneath him, taking a moment to kiss me thoroughly before pulling away. "Stay inside today unless you're with security. The Morozovs are still sniffing around."
"I know the rules," I said, trying not to feel caged by the necessary restrictions.
"My good girl," he murmured, pressing one more kiss to my lips before reluctantly extracting himself from our tangle of limbs.
I watched him walk to the bathroom, all controlled power and scarred skin, and marveled again at how this violent, beautiful man had become my safe harbor. The shower started, and I stretched in the bed that smelled like us, like home, like a future I was still learning to believe in.
The dresses arrived an hour after Dmitry left, delivered by a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of Vogue and handled each garment bag like it contained crown jewels.
She hung them in the bedroom with practiced efficiency, murmuring something about alterations being available if needed, then disappeared with the kind of discretion that only money could buy.
I stood before them like they were an exam I hadn't studied for.
Five options, each more beautiful than anything I'd ever owned or even imagined owning.
The red dress screamed confidence I didn't possess—scarlet silk that would cling to every curve, with a neckline that plunged almost to the navel and a slit that would show my entire leg with each step.
Movie star material, the kind of dress that demanded attention and announced its wearer as someone who mattered.
The black one whispered instead of screaming—silk so fine it seemed to move on its own, catching light in ways that turned it from midnight to smoke. Classic, elegant, with long sleeves but a back that dipped low enough to make sleeves seem like a tease rather than modesty.
Emerald green made me think of yesterday at the compound, how Dmitry said it made my eyes look like jewels. This one had delicate straps and a bodice decorated with what might have been actual diamonds, tiny stones that caught the light like stars against the deep green fabric.
The burgundy one was quieter—modest neckline, three-quarter sleeves, but the way it was cut suggested rather than revealed, elegant in its restraint. Something a senator's wife might wear, or a CEO at a charity gala.
But it was the fifth dress that made my breath catch.
Midnight blue, the color of sky just after sunset but before full dark.
Off-shoulder with delicate cap sleeves, a fitted bodice that flowed into a full skirt that would move like water when I walked.
It was a fairy tale dress, the kind princesses wore in the illustrated books I'd stolen glances at in bookstores but never bought.
I touched it carefully, afraid my fingers might leave marks on the pristine fabric.
The material was soft as sin, probably cost more than I'd made in a year of picking pockets.
The impossibility of it—that this dress was here for me to choose, to wear, to keep—made my chest tight with emotions I couldn't name.
Bear padded into the bedroom, tail wagging, and I scooped him up before he could investigate the dresses with his perpetually muddy paws.
"What do you think, Bear?" I asked, holding the midnight blue dress against myself in the mirror. "Too much like playing dress-up?"
He licked my chin in response, which I took as approval.
I was reaching for the hanger, ready to try it on just to feel that expensive fabric against my skin, when the fire alarm exploded through the apartment.