Chapter 36 Liev
LIEV
I stand at the island, watching Sera wander the kitchen.
To me, this has always been just a house.
The realtor rattled on about how the gray stone accents on the beige stucco and the tall, arched windows along the front screamed “French Country elegance.” All I cared about was that it was a solid investment and sat in the same gated, guarded neighborhood as Alex.
And now that Sera will be living here, I care about the second gate at the end of the long driveway.
But now, watching Sera tip her head back to study the dark exposed beams in the kitchen, the fading sunlight through the windows catching her hair, I’m glad I bought it. I like that it isn’t the heavy, dark wood and oppressive formality of the house I grew up in.
She trails a fingertip along the faint gold veining in the massive marble island, eyes bright with wonder. “This kitchen is ridiculous.”
The way she says it, I know it’s a compliment.
“Just how rich are you?”
I snort. “I think you mean how rich are we?”
Her eyes round, and then she flashes me a sneaky little smile. “Good point. Silly man. No prenup.”
I clutch my chest in mock dismay. “Oh, no. She married me for my money and not my giant cock. I’m devastated.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, but I hear the laughter in it. She pulls open one of the gleaming stainless-steel double ovens—never once turned on—and peers inside, then drifts to the refrigerator. Its barren shelves stare back at her.
“Do you actually live here?”
“Yes. Well… sort of.”
She opens a few more cabinets, revealing appliances still in boxes, and glances over her shoulder with one brow arched. “Is this one of those fake, staged homes?”
I shift my weight, suddenly self-conscious. “No, I just don’t cook. Do you?”
She gazes out the window over the sink. “Sort of,” she echoes, giving my words back to me. “But this place makes me want to learn.”
The sudden image of her in an apron—flour on her cheek, hair tied back—makes me chuckle low in my throat. I follow as she drifts into the great room, turning slowly, drinking it all in.
“This is nothing like I expected,” she says. “Not a single black leather sofa or shiny chrome coffee table in sight.”
I flip her the middle finger. She laughs and returns the gesture before smoothing a hand over the back of the giant U-shaped sectional that faces the towering two-story stone fireplace.
“Anything you want to change, feel free,” I tell her. “I didn’t change a thing when I bought it. A decorator picked out the furniture and all the stuff in the cabinets.”
Sera’s fingers linger on the soft fabric. “Other than maybe a few personal pictures, I wouldn’t change anything.”
“I’m not here much,” I admit.
It’s a family home—something I never imagined I’d own. Now, picturing us curled together on that sofa, me making her coffee in the morning while she pads around in one of my shirts, my heart swells in a way that feels almost foreign.
I hadn’t understood when Alex changed after meeting Madison.
One day he was clubs and different women.
The next he was rushing through business to get home to his wife and kids.
It had seemed so alien. But now, with Sera standing in my living room, sunlight haloing her, I can’t imagine ever wanting to stay out late again.
I vow right now to never tell Alex. He’ll never let me live it down.
We married so fast we skipped most of the conversations normal couples have in those first months of dating. I push the thought aside.
I already know the important things: how messy she is (sharing a hotel room gave me plenty of evidence), how she snuffles softly in her sleep, what she looks like rumpled and sleepy first thing in the morning, and how she leaves wet towels on the floor and never replaces the cap on her toothpaste.
But I also know how strong she is, how resilient—even when she doesn’t see it herself.
She’s a survivor, a fighter. Funny, open, sweet.
My favorite person on the planet. The rest?
Just details. We have a lifetime to learn them.
A cold breeze pulls me back. She’s opened the French doors to the two-story deck.
I join her at the cedar railing, where she’s gazing down at the pool still covered for winter, the outdoor fireplace ringed with chairs.
Beyond that, grass rolls flat for fifty yards before the tree line begins with thick pines and oaks that shield the property from the world.
“This is insane.”
I stand beside her, hands in my pockets, chest expanding with something like pride. It’s dumb—I didn’t design the house or the landscaping—but the look on her face, a mix of dumbfoundedness and joy, makes it feel like mine in a way it never has before.
I clear my throat. “We’re on five acres so all that,” I say, gesturing at the lawn and forest behind the house, “is all ours. There’s a creek farther back, and Alex’s is a few homes up the road.”
She nods, but her eyes have gone distant, glazed. “It’s got plenty of room for a swing set… or a trampoline,” she whispers, almost as if the words slip out before she can catch them.
Her cheeks flush pink.
I take her elbows gently and turn her to face me. Tipping her chin up with my fingers, I ask, “Do you want kids?”
“Yeah.” She licks her lip, nervous. “Do you?”
The question is simple, but it cracks something wide open in my chest. I see it so clearly—her standing right here, belly round with my child, hand resting protectively on the swell. A boy or girl chasing a ball across the grass, yelling for us to watch. Laughter echoing through the trees.
Warmth floods me, spreading from my sternum out to my fingertips.
My heart beats harder, as if it might burst through my ribs. My cock hardens fast, pressing painfully against my jeans.
Jesus Christ, you caveman. She says kids, and you’re ready to put one in her right now. Get control of yourself.
“Yeah,” I manage, voice rough. “I want kids.”
Her face softens, relief washing over her features. “How many?”
“Two. Three. Five.” As many as you want.
She laughs, light and surprised. “That’s a lot of kids. Are you planning on staying home?”
I tilt my head. There’s an odd note to her voice.
“Spill.”
“It's just… one of the things we probably should have talked about.”
My brows furrow. “What’s worrying you?”
“Nothing.” She says it far too quickly and then sighs. “What did you picture a family looking like? Daycare? Nannies?” She swallows. “Me staying home?”
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff. I know how I answer matters. But I can only be honest.
“I never pictured one. Until I met you, it never occurred to me I could have a family. My life was too volatile. Too violent. Even if there were someone I could trust enough to share a home with, how could I put them at risk?
Sera’s lips part.
“Then I met you,” I continue. “And everything changed. Yes, I still have concerns about the risks my life might expose you, and any future children to. But I can’t imagine going through life without you.
“Life comes with risks. I could be an accountant, and a serial killer might target you.” I give a small shrug. “I know how to keep you safe. And I always will,” I vow quietly, meaning every single word.
Her nose wrinkles. “A serial killer?”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“It’s random. That’s all.”
I cover her mouth with mine to shut her up. The kiss is slow at first, then deeper. When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen, eyes hazy.
“Okay,” she says, blinking a few times. “Safety, check. What about work? Do you expect me to stay home and wear lots of jewelry, get my nails done—like a traditional mob wife?”
“A traditional mob wife? What the hell is that?”
She scowls. “There was a reality show. But you know, like cook your meals every night, stay home with the kids. Do you want me to quit my job?”
Where is she getting all this? “First off, I have no idea what a traditional mob wife is because I’m not in the mob. Second, yes, some wives do the whole traditional thing, and some have jobs. Alex’s wife is a successful true-crime podcaster.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Ironic, right?”
She laughs, then sobers. “So, if I want to keep working, you’re okay with it?”
I pull her closer until she loops her arms around my neck.
“Little Warrior, if I tried to tell you what to do, you’d ignore me anyway.
But if you’re asking what I prefer…” I bend to brush a kiss across her lips.
“I want you to do whatever makes you happy. Work. Don’t work.
Be a housewife. Hire people to handle everything. I don’t care—as long as you’re happy.”
She bites her lip and looks out at the trees again.
“I always thought... I’d want to stay home.
Be a mom full-time. My mom wasn’t a bad person, but she wasn’t really there.
Not emotionally anyway. She was checked out a lot of the time.
I’d want to be the opposite. Present and involved.
Build the family I wished I’d had. The one you deserved, too. ”
Her words sink deep. My own childhood flashes—empty rooms, my father’s rage, my mother crying behind locked bathroom doors. Sera would put a bullet in my brain before she’d ever let me hurt our children. Not that I ever would.
But the certainty of what a fierce, loving mother she’ll be makes my hands tighten on her hips.
It hits me like a fist to the sternum. My eyes sting for a second.
This is what I want. What I never thought I’d have.
A real home. With her. Kids who’ll never know the fear I did.
Happiness surges, raw and physical—muscles loosen, my breath comes easier, like chains I didn’t know were there have fallen away.
I cup her face and kiss her. She sighs against my mouth, hands resting on my chest. The cold bites at my skin, but her warmth seeps into me. The kiss deepens and my tongue slides against hers. She presses closer, her body fitting perfectly to mine.
Then she shivers. The sun has dipped low; the temperature dropping fast. I walk her backward through the door, kicking it closed behind us.
“Christening the house?” she murmurs against my lips.
“Starting now.” I lift her easily and set her on the wide arm of the sofa. She pulls me between her legs.
I kiss her hard. Hands slide under her sweater, palms gliding over warm, soft skin. Mine.
I tug her sweater off. Her bra quickly follows it to the floor. Her breasts spill free, nipples already peaked in the cool air. I cup one, thumb circling the tight bud. She arches into my touch. “My wife,” I growl against her neck.
“Liev…”
I take her nipple into my mouth, tongue swirling. She moans, fingers threading into my hair. I switch sides, hand sliding down her stomach to unbutton her jeans. She lifts her hips. I strip them off along with her panties, leaving her bare and spread on the sofa arm. The sight steals my breath.
I drop to my knees, spread her thighs wider, and lean in.
My tongue finds her clit. She gasps, hips jerking.
My hand planted on her lower stomach, I hold her steady, licking with long, deliberate strokes.
She tastes like heaven. I slide two fingers inside, curl them just right, so that she tightens around me, soft sounds spilling from her lips.
“More,” she begs, and I obey. Sucking her clit harder, my fingers thrust in rhythm. Her thighs tremble, and the sounds she makes drive me wild.
She comes hard, clenching around my fingers, her cry sharp and unrestrained. I stand and gaze down at her flushed body, eyes dark with want.
I undo my belt, shove my jeans down and step between her legs. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She pulls me in, kisses me fiercely.
I push inside slowly, one inch at a time, and she gasps. She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect.
“Made for me,” I rasp, when I’m buried to the hilt.
We move together. Her legs lock around my waist when I thrust deep. My hands grip her hips as she matches me thrust for thrust, nails raking my back.
“I think I’m going to…” she moans through ragged pants.
I grip her ass, thrusting harder. I feel her tighten around me and know she’s close. “My wife,” I say. “Mine.”
“Yes—yours—”
She comes again, clenching hard around me. I thrust deep one last time, release crashes through me. I groan her name against her shoulder.
We stay like that, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. I kiss her softly.
She smiles against my lips. “Christened.”
“Only the first room.”