34. Kirill
Kirill
Iwake slowly, which is not me. I always wake up abruptly. Violent.
With the pale winter light creeping through the windows signaling that it’s morning, I know I need to get out of this bed. Even if I’m punch drunk from sex.
My brain moves before my eyes open. It’s calculating problems, how to articulate threats, who owes me money, and whose blood I’ll spill that day. The last two, being a paired set.
Years of this life in the Bratva carved that survival instinct into me. Which is why getting rest became a shallow, temporary glitch for years.
But this morning, the warmth in my bed keeps me here. Sandrine is curled against my chest beneath the dark gray sheets. I only ever slept in this room alone. It never felt this warm, never smelled this good. Now I smile, breathing in her scent of lilacs.
After dinner with Violet, baths, and stories last night, I brought Sandrine back here, and we went at it until nearly sunrise. She only left my bed to use the bathroom. When she returned, she scooped up one of my shirts and climbed back in.
Her bright blonde hair spills across my arm and pillow. She looks soft and still tangled from sleep. God, I wore her out. We wore each other out. Like we used to do.
For a few seconds, I just stare at her breathing there beside me.
My wife is home.
For so long, the idea of Sandrine, filled me with equal parts dread, rage, and sorrow. Now she’s back. In my bed.
Five years. Five fucking years I imagined this exact moment, waking up next to her. Now she’s here.
Her hand brushes lightly against my stomach, and my cock immediately twitches. Was I this feral for her last time? Is it how she’s matured? The years apart? Or that, in the final months, she was so pregnant that I had to be gentle?
I brush my knuckles over her cheek, loving the cool temperature and soft skin.
Amber eyes blink open. Confusion slowly flickers across her face. Then the memory of how she got here catches up. I watch it happen in real time.
“Morning,” she rasps as a cute blush colors her cheeks.
My mouth almost curves at that rough, sleepy voice. “Morning, dorogaya.”
She’s suddenly shy in a way she never used to be with me. Before the accident, she would’ve greeted the morning by climbing on top of me and starting another round of sex.
Now she pulls the sheet higher instead and an awkward silence hovers above us. We’re just not used to this version of us yet. We’re relearning. Dating out of order. We didn’t have sex right away the first time either. She was eighteen, a virgin, and I was thirty. I took my time with her.
Once she got used to me, I couldn’t get enough. And she loved every minute of it. Especially when she was pregnant. God, she would ride my cock and come so hard for me.
When she starts to squirm, my heart pounds, expecting her to escape. We’ve danced around the subject of us in a physical sense for weeks. She made it clear she didn’t want us to just be two people raising Violet.
I obliterated those boundaries last night, and I want to move on from the tension.
When Sandrine slips toward the edge of the bed, I catch her wrist gently before she can get far. “Where do you think you’re going?” I ask quietly.
She gives a little shrug. “I thought maybe you’d want to be alone to—”
I pull her back against me before she can finish that sentence. “You thought wrong.”
She gasps, one hand bracing against my chest as I sit up and kiss her. It’s slow this time, not desperate like last night. My fingers slide into her hair while I taste her mouth again, and I feel the exact moment she melts.
“This wasn’t one night,” I say against her lips.
“I know,” she whispers with a shaky breath. “Or I hoped.”
“Let’s move you in here tomorrow while Violet is at school.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I kiss her again so my actions prove my words. “Now I will let you leave my bed for one reason.”
“Violet will be up soon,” she says.
“Not a reason. She’s five. She doesn’t understand our relationship other than we are Mommy and Daddy.”
“The reason then?”
I stroke my cock over the sheet. “I need your mouth around me again.”