32. Maksim #2
The bed is covered in soft white linens, inviting us closer.
Rose petals are scattered across the coverlet, and candles burn on every surface, filling the room with warm, flickering light.
I turn to face her, and she's already reaching for the buttons of my shirt, her fingers working slowly, deliberately.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, my voice hoarse with want.
"So are you," she whispers back, her fingers spreading across my chest as she pushes the shirt from my shoulders.
I let her undress me piece by piece, her touch reverent and unhurried.
When she's finished, I return the favor, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet.
She stands before me in nothing but moonlight and shadows, and I'm struck by how perfect she is, how right this moment feels.
She's beautiful in the moonlight, all curves and shadows and golden skin. The swell of her belly is pronounced now, and I place my hands there, feeling the life growing beneath her skin. The baby kicks against my palm, and Zoya laughs softly, covering my hands with hers.
"I love you," I tell her, and the words feel strange on my tongue. I've never said them before her, not to anyone.
"I love you too," she whispers back, tears shining in her eyes, and I believe her.
I don’t move at first. I just look at her—bare and unguarded, standing in the flicker of candlelight with her hands on mine.
Her skin is warm beneath my palms, her breath steady despite the emotion still swimming in her eyes.
I lower my head and kiss her stomach, lips brushing the place where our child moves.
She exhales softly, her fingers sliding through my hair.
I rise and meet her gaze again. She doesn’t flinch or look away. There’s no hesitation in her, no fear. Just quiet need and something deeper—trust.
I lift her gently, one arm beneath her legs, the other supporting her back.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and rests her head against my chest. I carry her to the bed and lower her onto the sheets, following her down.
The mattress dips beneath our weight, but the world stays steady.
For the first time in months, maybe longer, I feel grounded.
She reaches for me, and I press my mouth to hers. Her lips are soft, parted with anticipation, and I taste salt, wine, and her. She pulls me closer, and I let myself go.
I kiss her slowly, taking my time. There's no rush now, no threat waiting on the other side of this night. My hand slides along her thigh, over the curve of her hip, and she arches into me with a quiet sound that’s more breath than voice. I press my forehead to hers, grounding us both.
"Tell me what you want," I murmur against her mouth.
"You," she whispers, her fingers trailing down my spine. "I just want you."
I shift between her thighs, bracing myself on one arm, careful not to put pressure where she’s carrying our child.
My other hand cups her breast, thumb brushing across her nipple until she gasps softly and lifts her hips in invitation.
I ease into her slowly, letting her adjust, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face.
Her hands grip my shoulders, her breath catching. “I love you,” she says again, the words unsteady but certain.
I lower my mouth to her neck and breathe her in. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret this.”
She wraps her legs around me and pulls me deeper.
“Then start now,” she says, voice low. “Make me yours.”
She takes me deep, her body stretching to fit me, and I swear under my breath at the feel of her. She's tight and wet and all mine. She arches under me, nails dragging down my back as she gasps against my mouth.
"God, Maksim?—"
"No one else gets this," I growl, fucking into her with more force now. "No one touches you. No one sees you like this. Just me."
Her thighs clamp around my waist, pulling me closer, and her head falls back against the pillow as I drive into her again. Harder this time. She moans, low and rough, and the sound shoots straight through me.
"You like that?" I bite out, my hand gripping her jaw as I hold her eyes. "You want your husband to fuck you like he means it?"
"Yes," she pants. "Harder."
I don’t hold back. I slam into her, deep and punishing, her body catching every thrust like she was made for it. Her hands claw at my shoulders, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
“I married you in front of God,” I rasp, bending to bite at her throat. “Now I’ll mark you so no one ever forgets it.”
I grab her thigh and yank it higher over my hip, driving into her until the headboard hits the wall. She cries out, but it’s not pain—it’s need. Raw, frantic, filthy need. I give her exactly what she asked for. What she begged for.
Her body clenches around me, soaked and trembling, and I feel her unravel beneath me. I don’t let up. I fuck her through it, watching her fall apart as her nails leave red trails down my chest.
“Look at me,” I snarl, fisting her hair to pull her gaze back to mine. “I want to see your face when you come for me.”
She’s already there—legs shaking, breath breaking in ragged moans as she comes hard around my cock. I watch every second of it, seared into memory.
“Fuck, Zoya?—”
The second she tightens around me, I lose any hope of holding back. Heat builds low in my spine, sharp and unforgiving, and my rhythm turns brutal—driven by instinct, by hunger, by the way she fuckin’ takes me like she was born for it.
My muscles lock. My jaw clenches. The pressure snaps so fast I see stars.
I slam into her once, twice, and everything breaks loose.
I come with a guttural sound, spilling deep inside her as my body jolts with it—pleasure so hard it borders on pain.
My vision tunnels, my hands gripping her hips like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I don’t hold on.
Her name rips from my throat, savage and raw, and I keep moving even as I pour into her, needing to feel every last second of it. Every twitch. Every pulse.
My thighs shake. My chest heaves.
She drags her nails down my back, and it only makes it worse—makes it better. I bury my face in her neck, groaning through the aftershocks as her body milks every drop from me.
It’s not just release. It’s possession. Surrender. A claim I never planned to make and can’t take back.
It’s the way her body knows mine. The way mine gives in.
I stay buried inside her, breathing hard, heart still pounding like I’ve been through a war. She doesn’t let go. Neither do I. We just breathe, skin to skin, heat still pulsing between us.
Eventually, I pull the sheet over us and shift to my back, keeping her close and we lie tangled together under the sheets, her head on my chest, my arms wrapped around her.
The windows are open, letting in the sound of waves against the rocks below.
She traces patterns on my skin with her fingertips, and I find myself relaxing in a way I haven't in years.
The candles have burned lower, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and the scent of jasmine drifts in from the garden.
"Maksim?" she murmurs against my chest, her voice drowsy with contentment.
"Mmm?" I respond, my fingers combing through her hair.
"Thank you," she says, pressing a kiss to my sternum.
"For what?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"For bringing me here. For giving me this." She lifts her head to look at me, and her eyes are soft with contentment. "For making me feel whole."
I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You did that yourself."
"No," she says quietly, shaking her head. "I've been broken for so long, I forgot what it felt like to be complete. But this?" She gestures to the space between us, the bed, the room filled with moonlight and possibility. "This is what I've been missing."
I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Sleep."
"Will you stay awake?" she asks, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my arm.
"For a while," I promise, my voice soft.
She settles back against me, and I feel her body relax as sleep takes her. I lie there listening to her breathing, to the rhythm of her heartbeat against my ribs.
The sea outside continues its eternal dance with the shore, and I finally understand what peace feels like.
Of course, we'll have to return to the world, to the complications and dangers that come with my name and history.
There will be decisions to make, territories to navigate, a future to secure for our child.
But tonight, in this bed, with this woman in my arms and our child growing inside her, I am exactly where I belong.
I think about the brother she's lost, the family that failed her, the father who vanished into nothing.
I think about my own failures, the orders I've followed, the things I've done in service to a cause that never truly mattered.
None of it seems important now, not compared to the woman sleeping against my chest and the future we're building together.
The moonlight shifts across the room as the hours pass, painting new patterns on the walls.
Zoya stirs occasionally, murmuring in her sleep, and I hold her closer, protective even in this peaceful moment.
This is what I want to protect, this quiet intimacy, this sense of belonging that I've never experienced before.
I close my eyes and let myself drift, held by the sound of her breathing and the promise of tomorrow. When I wake, it will be to sunlight streaming through the windows and Zoya stirring beside me, and I will know that I am home.