Chapter Twenty-Seven - Eden
Night falls slow and deep, cloaking the world beyond our windows in quiet shadow. I’m already tucked into bed, half sitting with pillows behind my back, a book forgotten on my lap. My body feels heavy, achy in a way that’s both new and strangely reassuring.
The baby moves—a gentle roll—and I stroke a hand over my belly, grounding myself.
Simon appears in the doorway, his silhouette familiar and commanding even in the soft light. The moment he enters, the air shifts—charged, electric, threaded with a tension I feel everywhere: in my throat, my chest, low and wanting between my thighs. His gaze finds mine, lingering, hungry.
I know that look. I crave it.
He moves toward me with that quiet certainty, every step careful. The world outside may require violence from him, but here, every instinct is shaped by gentleness. He sits beside me, brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek, his fingers lingering as if he needs to remind himself I’m real.
“Are you tired?” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.
I shake my head, my smile soft but full of promise. “Not too tired for you.”
His hand slides over my shoulder, down my arm, fingertips tracing the curve of my wrist. I shiver, letting myself melt back into the pillows.
He’s careful, always—watching me, gauging my comfort, never rushing. His hand covers my belly, thumb stroking slow circles that send warmth spiraling through me.
I reach for him, threading my fingers into his hair, drawing his mouth to mine. Our kiss is slow, unrushed—familiar and new, deepened by everything we’ve survived. His tongue teases mine, his breath coming faster as he tastes me.
I open for him, greedy, surrendering to the heat that spreads through my body.
Simon pulls back just enough to tug my nightshirt up, revealing the soft swell of my breasts, the roundness of my belly. He looks at me as if I’m the only thing in the world, eyes dark and shining with reverence.
His hands follow, reverent and sure, cupping my breasts, brushing his thumbs over my nipples until they stiffen. The sensation is sharp, sweet, delicious.
He lowers his mouth, kissing a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lingering over every new curve the pregnancy has given me.
I gasp, arching into him, craving more. His lips find my nipple, warm and soft, and when he sucks gently, a moan spills from my lips—needy, aching, unafraid.
My hips shift restlessly, and he moves lower, one hand soothing over my stomach while the other slips between my legs.
His fingers find me slick, wanting.
“So wet for me,” he whispers, and I flush, loving the way he sounds—proud, possessive, awed. He circles my clit, slow at first, until my breath grows ragged and my hands fist in the sheets.
“Simon, please—”
He doesn’t need more. He kneels between my thighs, pushing them apart with infinite care, and lowers his mouth, tongue hot and slow as he laps at me.
I cry out, hips rocking despite myself, every stroke of his tongue sending lightning through my veins. He eats me until I’m begging, the pleasure relentless, unstoppable.
When I come, I shatter—clenching around his fingers, sobbing his name, overwhelmed by the power of his devotion. He holds me through it, never letting me drift too far, his mouth and hands gentle as the tremors fade.
He rises over me, shedding his clothes quickly but never breaking the connection. He kisses me hard, letting me taste myself on his lips, letting me feel his need pressed hard and insistent against my hip.
I reach for him, guiding his cock to me, and he enters slowly, inch by inch, pausing to check my eyes for any sign of discomfort.
There is none—only joy, only the dizzying fullness of him stretching me, filling me, anchoring me in a way that makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.
We move together, unhurried, every thrust a promise, every kiss a vow.
He worships me with words and hands and mouth, telling me I’m beautiful, precious, his.
I feel everything I used to suppress—need, love, fear, longing—crashing through me, sharp and blinding.
Simon’s hands never leave my body, stroking my belly, cradling my face, thumb tracing away tears I didn’t know I’d shed.
The pleasure builds slowly, unbearably, until I break again, clinging to him, sobbing with the force of it.
He follows, groaning my name, spilling inside me, burying his face in my neck. We stay locked together, panting, trembling, utterly undone.
After, Simon pulls me into his arms, settling my head on his chest. His hand covers my stomach, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles.
“You’re everything,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “My wife. My heart. My home.”
I press a kiss to his chest, tears slipping down my cheeks, happiness too big for words. “I love you, Simon.”
It hits me as I lie draped across Simon’s chest, the air still thick with the remnants of pleasure, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.
This marriage is more than survival, more than the intensity of his hands on my skin or the heat that crackles between us. It’s deeper—a devotion shaped by battles fought side by side, trust hard-won and never taken for granted.
We’re not just lovers, not just protector and protected. We’re partners, hearts bound in ways the world outside these walls could never understand.
Simon’s breath is slow and steady beneath my cheek, his hand covering mine where it rests over my belly. I feel his thumb tracing slow circles, anchoring us both. The baby shifts—a soft reminder of everything we’ve created, everything we still have to fight for.
He breaks the silence, voice low and certain. “You know I’d burn the world for you, Eden. For both of you.”
I smile, pressing a kiss to his sternum. “I don’t want the world burned, Simon. Just you, just this. Us, safe together.”
He shifts, rolling us so we’re face-to-face, foreheads touching. His eyes are so open now, all those old walls stripped away. “I never thought I could have this. A real life. A real family.”
“You can. You do.” I brush my fingers along his jaw, soft and reverent. “We’re not perfect, Simon. We’re scarred. But we’re strong.”
He laughs, the sound soft and breathless, more joy than I’ve ever heard from him. “You’re stronger than you know.”
We lay there, the world narrowing to the quiet intimacy of the bedroom—the steady thump of his heart, the warmth of his arms, the hope curling bright in my chest.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” I whisper. “Not of loving you. Not of this life.”
Simon’s hand covers mine, firm and steady. “We face everything together, Eden. You’re never alone. Not ever again.”
I close my eyes, letting the truth of it settle deep inside me. In this partnership—this marriage—I am whole. We are whole. And no matter what waits for us outside these walls, I know, with Simon beside me, we’ll endure. We’ll thrive. We’ll love—fiercely, endlessly, together.
***
The world is still a gentle, early gray when I wake, light just beginning to filter through the curtains.
For a moment, I lie perfectly still, Simon’s arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm at the back of my neck. I’d give anything to stay in this softness forever, but my body has other plans.
Nausea bubbles up, sharp and familiar. I slip carefully from beneath Simon’s arm, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as I go. He stirs, but doesn’t wake, just pulls the pillow closer in my absence.
Padding quietly across the cool floor, I make my way to the en suite. The tiles are cold beneath my feet, the world beyond the frosted window a blur of dawn.
I brace my hands on the edge of the sink, eyes closed, breathing through the wave until it passes. It always does, eventually, but each morning it feels like a small battle won.
I wash my face, the cold water chasing the last fog of sleep from my mind. There’s something grounding about these rituals—the familiar aches, the quiet victory of keeping down a glass of water.
After a few minutes, the worst of the sickness fades and I step into the shower, letting the heat loosen muscles still sore from last night’s intimacy. My mind drifts as I stand under the spray, thinking about Simon’s hands, his words, the way his love settles around me like a shield.
By the time I’m dressed in a soft cotton dress, hair towel-dried and skin flushed pink, the nausea is a distant memory. I return to the bedroom, sunlight now spilling gold across the covers.
Simon is awake, propped up on one elbow, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks so different in this light—softer, younger, almost boyish if not for the scars at his brow and jaw. When he sees me, a slow grin curves his lips.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sharov.” His voice is a low rumble, sleep-warm and teasing.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile. “That’s never going to get old for you, is it?”
He reaches out, snagging my wrist, pulling me back into the nest of sheets. “Not in this lifetime.” He presses a kiss to my palm, then my knuckles, before letting me settle beside him. “How are you feeling?”
“Alive,” I answer, nestling into his side. “A little queasy, but better now.”
He studies me, concern flickering behind his sleepy gaze. “Did you eat anything yet?”
I shake my head, and he frowns, brushing my hair off my forehead. “You need to eat.” The worry in his voice is so earnest it makes me laugh.
“I will, Simon. I promise. I just wanted to see you first.”
He softens, drawing me closer, tucking me under his chin. “You always come first,” he murmurs. “Always.”
We stay like that, a perfect hush wrapping around us. He runs his palm over my stomach, gentle and reverent. “Did our little one make you sick again?”
I sigh. “Every morning, like clockwork. I think they know how to make an entrance.”
He grins, turning to press a kiss to my belly, his stubble scratching softly. “They get that from you. The drama.”
I swat at his shoulder, but I’m laughing, warmth blooming everywhere his hands touch. “As if you’re not the king of drama, Simon Sharov.”
He pretends to be wounded, clutching at his heart. “I’ll have you know, I am known for my subtlety and restraint.”
I snort, nudging him. “Sure you are. Is that why half the city trembles when you call?”
He pulls me over, rolling us gently until I’m half on top of him, hair spilling around our faces.
“They tremble because they haven’t seen you in the morning,” he teases, tracing a finger down my nose. “You’re far scarier than me before coffee.”
I try to glare, but his grin is too infectious. I settle against him, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on his chest.
“You know,” he says, softer now, “I never thought I’d wake up like this. With you. With family.” His voice is thick with emotion, raw honesty. “I’m grateful, every damn day.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, letting my fingertips linger on his jaw. “Me too. Even when I’m running for the bathroom at sunrise.”
He laughs, the sound low and bright, then sobers. “Let me make you breakfast. Something that won’t upset your stomach.” He starts to get up, but I pull him back down.
“Stay a minute,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “Just hold me.”
He wraps his arms around me, all strength and gentleness, and I breathe in the scent of his skin, let the steady beat of his heart settle my own. I realize—again, in the simple peace of this moment—that this is all I’ve ever wanted. Not just love, but safety. Not just passion, but partnership.
We lie there, tangled and content, until the world outside calls us to start the day. But for now, in the gentle hush of morning, with Simon’s arms around me and sunlight catching in his eyes, everything feels possible.
Every fear is small. Every hope is brighter.
In this small, perfect morning, with its aches and sweetness and laughter, I believe it. Completely.