Chapter 20 #2
“I’m trying to build something legitimate for our future while managing threats that could destroy everything we’re working toward and keep us all safe.
It’s not simple or easy, and it requires sacrifices from both of us.
” The explanation sounds rational, but it doesn’t address her emotional needs or the impact my absence has on her wellbeing during a difficult pregnancy.
“I’m not asking you to stop working toward our future.
I’m asking you to include me in the present while you’re planning for what comes next.
” Her voice breaks slightly, revealing vulnerability that makes my chest ache with regret about the distance I’ve created.
“I’m carrying seven of your children and sometimes, I feel like I’m doing it alone. ”
The admission stuns me, forcing me to confront how my protective instincts have created exactly the isolation I’ve been trying to prevent.
She shouldn’t feel alone while living in my home and sharing my bed, but my efforts to shield her from business pressures have apparently left her feeling abandoned rather than cherished.
“You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.” I reach for her, needing physical connection to bridge the emotional distance my words seem unable to cross. “Everything I do is motivated by how much you mean to me.”
“Then show me. Stop telling me about your feelings and start demonstrating them through actions that matter.” Her challenge carries desperate hope that we can find our way back to the partnership that brought us together before external pressures complicated everything.
Instead of responding with more inadequate explanations, I claim her mouth in a kiss that carries suppressed need and frustrated desire.
She responds immediately, fisting her hands in my hair as our mouths meet with desperate intensity that speaks to the hunger neither of us has been addressing while focused on other things.
“I need you,” I whisper against her lips, the admission emerging with raw honesty that reveals how much I’ve missed the intimacy we’ve neglected while dealing with external crises.
“Then take me.” Her response carries challenge and invitation in equal measure. “Stop protecting me from everything, including yourself.”
Our clothes vanish like smoke in the wind.
When I touch her, it’s with reverence and desperation that makes her gasp and arch beneath me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against her throat, tracing patterns across skin that’s grown softer and more sensitive with pregnancy. “More beautiful every day.”
She pulls me down for another kiss, this one hungrier and more demanding than the last. “Show me how beautiful you think I am.”
I work my way down her body with deliberate slowness, pressing kisses to her collarbone, her breasts, and the gentle swell where our children grow. Each touch is worship and apology combined, an attempt to communicate through physical connection what my words haven’t adequately expressed.
When I reach her pussy, she’s already trembling with need that matches my own desperate hunger. I spread her legs wider and lick her slit with enthusiasm that makes her cry out and clutch my shoulders.
“God, I’ve missed this,” she says, her voice breaking as I thoroughly explore her pussy. “I’ve missed feeling connected to you.”
The confession makes my chest tighten with regret about the distance I’ve allowed to develop between us.
I focus on pleasuring her with single-minded devotion, alternating between broad strokes and light brushes with the tip of my tongue over and around her clit, gradually building pleasure and tension until she’s writhing beneath me.
“Not yet,” I say when she’s trembling on the edge of release. “I need to feel you from the inside.”
I rise to cover her body with mine, positioning myself at her entrance while she wraps her legs around my waist. Her slit is hot and wet, and my cock acts like a magnet, jerking in that direction.
“Look at me,” I say softly, waiting until her gaze locks with mine before pushing forward slowly.
“I want to see your face when I take you.” I ease my cock inside her pulsing sheath, groaning at the sensation of her walls clinging to my shaft as she whimpers and arches her hips.
The connection feels deeper than mere physical pleasure, as if we’re rediscovering something essential that other distractions have threatened to destroy.
I begin to move with slow, deliberate thrusts that make her gasp with each stroke, ensuring I’m dragging my cock head against her clit through her walls with each push.
“Harder,” she pleads, digging her nails into my shoulders as she pulls me deeper. “I need you to fuck me like you mean it. I won’t break.”
Her desperate request breaks my careful control. My rhythm becomes more demanding and possessive as I bottom out inside her with each returning stroke, claiming her body while trying to reclaim the emotional connection that’s been slipping away during weeks of divided attention.
“You’re mine.” The words emerge with possessive intensity that probably reveals more about my fears than my confidence. “Always mine, no matter what else happens.”
“Then act like it.” Her challenge carries breathless need that makes my blood burn. “Stop treating me like something fragile and love me like the woman you chose.”
The words unlock something primal in my response to her. I thrust deeper and harder, joining our bodies with an intensity that drowns out concerns about anything else. Nothing exists except this moment, this connection, this woman, and this frantic need to reaffirm what we mean to each other.
“I can feel how close you are,” I say, reaching between our joined bodies to stroke her clit with a firm touch. “Come for me, Willa. Come good and hard.”
The added stimulation sends her spiraling over the edge with a cry that she muffles against my shoulder.
Her body convulses around me, her inner muscles milking my cock as pleasure overwhelms us with simultaneous, devastating intensity as her climax triggers my own release.
I thrust as deeply as possible one final time as my orgasm tears through me, filling her while trembling from the force of my orgasm.
In the aftermath, we hold each other close, both breathing hard and overcome by the intensity of what we’ve shared. The physical connection has restored something that words and explanations couldn’t repair, though the underlying issues about attention and prioritization remain unresolved.
“I haven’t been showing it properly, but you mean everything to me,” I whisper against her hair, the words emerging with vulnerability that would have terrified me months ago. “I haven’t been giving you what you need, but I’m trying to build something that will protect all of us.”
“I know you are.” She settles against my chest, her breathing already deepening toward sleep. “In spite of that and how important it is, we still need to find ways to nurture what we have while you’re building for the future, or there might not be anything left to protect.”
Her observation carries wisdom that cuts through my defensive rationalizations about necessity and external pressures while also introducing new anxiety about if she’s planning to leave me.
Not if I keep her as my top priority, I assure myself.
The work will bring new crises and new demands on my time but tonight has reminded me what I’m really fighting to protect and preserve.
After she falls asleep in my arms, I lie awake thinking about Timur’s warning regarding potential security breaches and the possibility that someone close to us has been feeding information to Mikhail.
The paranoia required to investigate everyone with access to sensitive information feels corrosive, but the alternative is accepting vulnerability that could destroy everything we’re trying to build.
My phone buzzes with a text message from Timur that makes me freeze with dread: Trust no one, especially those who seem most loyal.
The cryptic warning suggests Timur has identified specific suspects, or at least has some in mind, but isn’t comfortable sharing details through electronic communication.
The implication that betrayal comes from unexpected sources makes me question everyone who’s had access to our home, our schedules, and our private conversations.
I want to wake Willa and share these concerns, to include her in the strategic thinking required to identify and neutralize threats against our security.
Instead, I watch her sleep peacefully and make mental calculations about how to protect her without creating additional stress during an already difficult pregnancy.
The decision to shield her from immediate threats while handling investigation quietly reflects exactly the protective instincts that created distance between us in the first place.
I’m treating her like a possession to be guarded rather than a partner who deserves complete honesty about dangers we’re facing.
The epiphany doesn’t tell me how to stop protecting her though.
The investigation will require paranoid attention to detail and suspicious evaluation of people I’ve trusted with my most private concerns.
The irony that protecting Willa’s safety might require returning to the secretive, controlling behavior that threatens our relationship isn’t lost on me.
Love and security seem to demand conflicting approaches that I haven’t learned to balance effectively.