47. Forty-Seven #2
Arrow’s expression softened in a way I’d never seen before. He lowered his head, his lips pressing gently against the fresh tattoo, making me gasp. The touch was reverent, almost worshipful, a stark contrast to the demanding way he usually claimed me.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh.
“Probably not,” I agreed, my fingers threading through his hair. “But you have me anyway.”
His eyes lifted to meet mine, dark with emotion I couldn’t quite name. “All of you?”
“All of me,” I confirmed, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “The good, the bad, the broken parts.”
Arrow’s eyes lifted to meet mine, and I saw something raw and vulnerable in their depths. “You continue to surprise me, Mrs. Romanov.”
“Good,” I replied, my hands finding his tie and pulling him closer. “I’d hate for our marriage to become predictable.”
His laugh was low and dark as he pressed his forehead against mine. “That will never happen. With you, I’m always one step from chaos.”
“Is that a complaint?” I asked, working at his tie with growing impatience.
Arrow’s hands captured mine, stilling them. “It’s the highest compliment I could give.” His lips brushed against my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “You’ve turned my entire world upside down, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”
I tugged at his tie, needing to feel his skin against mine. “I want you,” I whispered.
His smile was slow and dangerous as he allowed me to loosen his tie, to unbutton his shirt.
I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, my hands trembling with need as I traced the hard planes of his chest. His skin was hot beneath my palms, muscles tensing under my touch.
I wanted to devour him, to mark him the way he’d marked me countless times before.
My eyes drifted to a fresh tattoo above his heart.
Harlowe.
My fingers traced the raised letters. “When?”
“Last night,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving mine. “I guess we both had the same idea.” His hand covered mine, pressing my palm flat on his heart.
Tears welled in my eyes. Arrow Romanov, my enemy, now my husband, spent his entire life taking what he wanted through violence and intimidation.
Now, he’d given me the most vulnerable part of himself.
My name was permanently etched into his skin, positioned where a bullet might one day find its mark.
“You have me,” he replied, his voice dropping to that register that made my pulse quicken. “In every way that matters.”
“Prove it,” I whispered, my nails dragging down his abdomen hard enough to leave red trails. “Show me I’m yours.”
His eyes flashed dangerously. In one fluid movement, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, forcing me back onto the bed. Rose petals scattered beneath me, their perfume mixing with the scent of candle wax and my own arousal.
“Careful what you ask for, Mrs. Romanov,” he growled, his free hand sliding between my thighs. “I’m not feeling particularly gentle tonight.”
“Good,” I gasped as his fingers found me already wet, already desperate. “I don’t want gentle. I want you to fuck me like you own me.”
His laugh was dark and dangerous. “I do own you. Every inch of this perfect body belongs to me.” His fingers pushed inside me without warning, making me arch off the bed. “This pussy is mine. These sounds you make—mine. Every orgasm I wring from you tonight—mine.”
“Yes,” I moaned, trying to move my hips against his hand, but he held me still with the weight of his body. “God, yes.”
“Not God,” he corrected, his thumb finding my clit and circling it. “Just me. Say my name, Harlowe. Tell me who makes you feel like this.”
“Arrow,” I gasped, my body already trembling on the edge.
He withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss.
But then I heard his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper, and my entire body clenched with anticipation.
He released my wrists only long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, and I drank in the sight of him.
Hard muscles, scars that told a story, and dangerous intent, his cock thick and ready.
“Look at me,” he commanded, positioning himself between my thighs. “I want to see your eyes when I take what’s mine.”
I met his gaze, saw the raw possession there mixed with something softer, more vulnerable. This wasn’t just fucking—this was a claiming, a binding, a promise written in flesh and sweat and need.
He pushed inside me in one brutal thrust, and I cried out at the exquisite stretch, the overwhelming fullness. He was so deep I could barely breathe, could barely think beyond the sensation of being completely filled, completely owned.
“Fuck,” Arrow groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel like heaven and hell combined. So tight, so perfect. Made for me.”
“Move,” I demanded, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please, husband, I need—”
He didn’t let me finish. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that had me gasping his name like a prayer. The bed creaked beneath us, rose petals crushed between our bodies as he fucked me with single-minded intensity.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled against my throat, his teeth scraping my pulse point. “To be fucked like the desperate little wife you are?”
“Yes,” I moaned, my nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. “Harder. I want to feel you tomorrow. Want to remember this every time I move.”
Arrow’s hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. “You’ll feel me for days,” he promised, his hips snapping against mine with brutal force. “Every step you take, you'll feel my cum dripping down your thighs.”
His other hand slid between us, finding my clit and rubbing it in tight circles that had me seeing stars. The dual sensation—his cock driving into me, his fingers working my clit—was too much, not enough, everything I needed.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with his own need. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”
“Arrow—” His name broke on a sob as my orgasm crashed over me, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. My body clenched around him, milking his cock as I shattered beneath him.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Harlowe, you’re so beautiful when you come. So perfect. Mine.”
He thrust into me twice more before I felt him pulse inside me, his own release tearing through him with a guttural moan. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he emptied himself deep inside me.
“I love you,” I whispered again, my fingers tracing patterns on his back. “Even when you’re being an arrogant bastard.”
Arrow lifted his head, his eyes soft in the candlelight. “I love you,” he replied, the words still unfamiliar on his tongue but no less sincere. “Even when you’re being a defiant brat.”
I laughed, the sound breathless and satisfied. “We’re quite the pair.”
“We are,” he agreed, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “Ty mo-ye schast-ye,”* he whispered against my mouth.
The words settled over me like a warm blanket, unexpected and precious. I traced my fingers along his jaw, memorizing the contours of his face in the candlelight.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
Arrow’s lips curved into a smile that softened his features. “You are my happiness,” he translated, his eyes never leaving mine.
My heart swelled at the raw sincerity in his voice. This dangerous man, who commanded fear and respect with nothing more than his presence, was looking at me like I was the most precious thing in his world.
“I never thought I’d find happiness in this life,” I admitted, suddenly vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been before. “I thought survival was the best I could hope for.”
Arrow’s hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “We’ll have more than survival, moya lyubov’.* Together, we’ll have everything.”
He shifted off me, his movements surprisingly gentle as he gathered me against his chest. I curled into him, my head resting on his shoulder, my fingers tracing the letters of my name tattooed above his heart. I smiled against his chest, feeling a peace I’d never known before.
“I feel the same way about your initials.” My fingers drifted to the fresh tattoo below my breast. “Though it definitely stung when she was doing it.”
Arrow’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “I can’t believe Luna helped you with that.”
“I think she enjoyed being part of the conspiracy,” I admitted. “She’s been waiting for someone to stand up to you the way she does with Atlas.”
Arrow’s hand stilled on my back. “Is that what you do? Stand up to me?”
I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “Isn’t that why you love me? Because I don’t break when I should? Because I challenge you?”
His eyes darkened with that familiar dangerous gleam. “I love you because you see me,” he said simply. “Not the monster everyone else sees. You see the man beneath.”
I kissed him then, pouring all my emotion into the connection. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer until there was no space between us.
You are my happiness.
“I love you,” I whispered against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palm.
“I love you, my wife,” he replied, his arms tightening around me.
We made love twice more before exhaustion finally claimed us—once in the shower, water cascading over our bodies as he took me against the tile wall, and once more in bed, slow and tender, a stark contrast to the earlier intensity.
By the time we finally fell asleep, tangled together in the ruined sheets, dawn was beginning to lighten the sky.
* You are my happiness.
* My love.