Chapter 12 Dimitri #2
She needs to feel alive and feel something other than grief and fear. She needs the same thing I need—connection, warmth, proof that we’re both still here, still breathing, and capable of feeling.
“Are you sure?” I ask roughly. “Vera, if we do this—”
She nods. “I’m sure.” She pulls me back to her, and this time when our lips meet, there’s no hesitation.
The kiss deepens and becomes more urgent. My hands are everywhere—sliding down her sides, learning the curves of her body through her nightgown. She arches into my touch, gasping, and I feel myself losing what little control I have left.
“Look at me,” I command, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. I need to see her and make sure she's here, present, choosing this. “I need you to look at me.”
She does. Those amber-flecked eyes meet mine, dark with desire and need and something else I can’t quite name. There’s no fear there. No hesitation. Just want.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, and the words feel different than when I said them on our wedding night. It’s less about ownership and more about... something else. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she breathes.
I kiss her again, harder this time, pouring everything I can’t say into it. All the confusion and desire and this terrifying need that’s been building since our wedding night.
Her nightgown is in the way. I pull it over her head in one smooth motion, and then she’s bare beneath me save for her underwear, and I have to stop and just look.
She’s even more beautiful than I remembered. More curves than I noticed before. Her body is changing with the pregnancy, subtle shifts that make her look softer, more feminine. Her breasts are fuller, her hips rounder. There’s a glow to her skin that takes my breath away.
But it’s her face that really undoes me. She’s looking at me like…like she wants me. And I don’t know what to do about that.
“You’re staring,” she whispers, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice, self-consciousness creeping in.
“Because you’re beautiful.” The words come out before I can stop them. “God, Vera, you’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you.”
Her eyes widen, and I see the moment my words register before a dark red blush stains her cheeks. It makes her look more stunning.
Then she’s reaching for me, pulling at my shirt, and I help her, stripping it off and tossing it aside. Her hands go to my chest, exploring, learning, and everywhere she touches feels like fire.
I capture her mouth with mine again. Her lips are soft, pliant, and although they taste slightly salty from her tears, she tastes like rain that brings flowers and promises, like sugar and tea, and I need more.
I need to touch and taste everything, so I tease my way into her mouth and spread my fingers over her smooth skin, pressing her against my chest.
Mine.
Vera slips her arms up between us, her hands wandering over my shoulders, up to my neck, to my hair, and I try to swallow my groan.
I take my time with her. Not because I’m trying to be gentle or kind, but because I want to memorize this.
I want to learn what makes her gasp, what makes her arch, and what makes those little sounds escape her throat that drive me insane.
I pull back, ignoring her pained whimper, and push her back gently until she’s sprawled on the bed, chest heaving. She looks up at me quizzically.
I let out a slow breath before whispering my next demand. “Stay down.”
An eyebrow raises at that and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to obey me, but then she relaxes into the mattress, but her eyes still remain on me.
I exhale again. It’s much better this way.
Much better to have her like this so that I can kneel before her as was intended.
Her lips are full and flushed as I lower myself to my knees.
Open. Open for me.
I nudge her thighs apart with a gentle touch before hooking the sides of her underwear and pull them down her legs slowly until they meet her ankles and then they’re discarded to the floor where her nightgown lays.
I press a kiss to the inside of each knee, working my way down her thighs, stroking and kissing each mark, each freckle, each line.
The heady scent of her envelopes me and when I rub my fingers against her slit and feel how wet she is, the knowledge that she wants this as much as I do makes me dizzy.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” I promise her before I duck my head in between her thighs and kiss her.
The moment my lips touch her cunt, I wonder why I haven’t spent all my days here.
She tastes so good, and I could lose myself between her thighs, licking and sucking and breathing her in.
I hike one leg over my shoulder to open her wider and give myself more access.
I want her to forget everything that’s happened and to focus on me.
She can’t remember her nightmare when I’m sucking at her clit, right?
She can’t hide her flushed skin or that lusty little gasp as I open her even wider and slide a finger into her dripping pussy.
“Dimitri,” she gasps, her back arching off the mattress. “I—yes.”
Vera. Her name is a prayer on my lips. She’s snug and warm, and I need to focus, focus on rolling her clit under my tongue, focus on her slightest hitch of breath, focus on the curl and rhythm of my fingers as I add another, but I’m so fucking painfully hard in my pants, and her flush has spread down her neck to her chest, and her head falls back, mouth open.
I should bring her over the edge first, but I can’t. I can’t have her on my fingers when I need her on my cock. I need to feel her come on my cock again. I need her mouth. I need her close, her whole body close, and I need to be in her, really in her.
I tear myself away and waste no time in capturing her mouth with mine, dragging her up and back onto the pillows, kissing away her cries of please, please as her dark hair spills over the cream pillows in a beautiful contrast.
My erection strains in my pants and I can’t shed them quickly enough, clumsy and bulky as I lay over her, my knuckles brushing her, but fuck my cock finally falls out against her, thick and heavy.
“Dimitri, please—” She’s begging, her body trembling beneath mine. “I need—”
“Tell me what you need,” I growl against her throat as I nip at the sensitive skin there, sliding my length through her folds. “Say it.”
Vera’s breath catches and she tightens her hold on my shoulders. “You,” she pleads. “I need you. Please.”
It’s the please that undoes me. The raw need in her voice. The way she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that can make this better.
I enter her, swallowing her gasp, and this time there’s no pain for her. Just pleasure. She’s ready for me, her body welcoming mine, and the sensation of being inside her again—of that perfect heat and tightness—makes my brain short-circuit.
“Fuck,” I hiss, almost hilted. She’s so tight, so fucking tight and she rocks against me, trying to accommodate me and make room. Such a good girl…
My brain screams at me to fuck her as hard as I can. But I force myself to go slow and be careful. She’s pregnant and I need to be gentle even when every instinct wants to take her hard and fast.
I hitch up her thigh and she opens just so, just enough, and I slide the rest of the way in with a hot groan.
She shifts her hips against me, a small rocking movement that hints at her desperation.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our wedding night and while that was good, this is nothing I ever thought of.
This is unimaginable, her wanting, her responding, her needy little protest as her fingers grasp for purchase. Her lips fall apart in a silent gasp and her cheeks are pink and beautiful. Pink just like—
I look down where I’m buried inside her. “You’re mine,” I tell her as I pull back and thrust in once more. “This baby is mine. Say it.”
Vera cries out, clinging to my shoulders as my hips snap into her again and then another time. “I’m yours,” she breathes. “We’re both yours.”
The words shatter something inside me—some last wall I’d been holding up between us. I duck my head into her neck, sinking onto her, muttering beautiful obscenities against her throat about no one and fill you and mine and take you and other things that I don’t even know what I’m saying.
This isn’t just sex. It’s not just physical release or comfort after a nightmare. It’s something more that terrifies me even as I’m drowning in it.
It’s connection. And it’s undeniable
I can feel the connection as she comes around me with a loud moan, clawing at my back as I drive into her through the crash, never relenting in my pace even though I pull back slightly to watch her flushed cheeks and wild hair.
Beautiful, beautiful Vera, beautiful in order and chaos, beautiful in focus and dazed lust, and I want to bask in it for hours, but the pressure in my cock is unbearable, and I can’t—I can’t—
“Fuck, I feel—” I grope at her breast, full and bouncing, and I want to bury myself in them too. “Fuck, Vera, I’m—I can’t—you’re so fucking tight, I can’t—”
I fall back on top of her, and my hands grasp at her waist, and something in me snaps.
I forget that she’s pregnant and needs to be handled delicately.
I can only think of the need to consume her.
My pace becomes brutal and punishing and she clings to me, riding out another wave of her own bliss as my lips latch onto her jaw, her neck, and then, with another violent snap of my hips, I groan her name against her shoulder and bite down on the tender muscle there as I spill into her in a hot rush.
Vera.
Her eyes fall shut and her face, perfect in all its sharp angles, glows with pleasure and rest. She runs her hands down the length of his back, and I nearly shudder at the gentle touch as I caress her waist. She’s still so soft, so tender, and pliant, and I flex my hips into her.
There’s a small mark on her neck, just where I’d bitten her and some guilt stirs in my chest. I let the baser part of myself take over and I hurt her. I kiss her skin there in apology. I’ll be better next time.
Wait, when did I start thinking there would be a next time?
I don’t rise for a moment, relishing in her form beneath me. Her hands softly stroke at my back as I bask in a post-sex haze. We’re both breathing hard and I’m still inside her.
I need to leave and go back to my own room and pretend this didn’t happen. That’s what I tell myself as I start to pull away.
But the moment I move, Vera makes a small sound of protest and her hand clutches at my arm.
She’s already half-asleep, exhausted from the nightmare and the aftermath, but she’s pulling me closer instead of pushing me away, and I find myself unable to resist. “Stay,” she whispers.
I crumble immediately, like a damn house of cards and I hiss as I pull out of her but settle back down beside her.
She immediately nestles against me, her head resting on my chest and her body fitting along the length of mine, one arm draped over my waist as if she’s done it a thousand times before, as if this is exactly where she belongs.
I really need to leave still, but I’m so fucking exhausted. It’s nearly four in the morning, and I haven’t slept properly in weeks. The warmth of her body against mine, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the softness of her hair against my jaw—it’s more soothing than it has any right to be.
Just for a minute, I tell myself. I’ll stay just until she falls fully asleep. Then I’ll go.
But minutes pass, and I don’t move because she’s laying against me so trustingly, so completely, and leaving feels impossible.
I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs and the slight swell of her belly pressed against my side. It’s so small still and barely noticeable. But it’s a reminder of what she’s carrying.
My brother’s child.
The thought should hurt and fill me with rage or jealousy or that bitter betrayal I’ve been nursing since I found out.
But lying here with her in my arms, feeling her breath even out into sleep, all I feel is... protective. Possessive, yes. But also something softer. Something I don’t have a name for.
She’s mine now. Whatever complicated path brought us here, whatever lies and secrets and betrayals came before, none of it changes the truth.
She’s mine. The baby is mine. And I’m going to protect them both, no matter what it costs me.
Even if it costs me my sanity. Even if it costs me the careful control I’ve built my entire life around. Even if it means admitting that somewhere between hating her and claiming her, I’ve started to feel something I swore I’d never feel for an Ashford.
Something dangerously close to caring.
Her breathing deepens, becoming the steady peaceful rhythm of true sleep. And knowing I gave her that—that my presence helped chase away the demons—makes me feel warm.
I should go. I know I should go.
But instead, I pull her closer, rest my chin on top of her head, and let my eyes drift closed.
Tomorrow I’ll tell myself this was about comfort and making sure she was okay after the nightmare. I’ll rebuild the walls and keep her at arms length again.
But right now, in the quiet darkness with her warm and safe in my arms, I stop fighting it.
Just for tonight, I let myself hold her.