Chapter 20 #2
“Yes,” she breathes, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh God, yes.”
I draw out and thrust again, setting a rhythm that is thorough and consuming.
Each stroke pulls a sound from her that lands in my gut and spreads heat through every obedient muscle.
I brace on my elbows so I can kiss her while I move, claiming her mouth while her body clenches around me.
She lifts her hips to meet me, and the contact is perfect, our bodies learning and relearning the same lesson we can’t stop repeating.
Her hands cup my face and hold me close, our mouths slanting and opening, our tongues tangling.
I angle my hips to grind against that sweet spot that makes her go soft and then tense in the same breath, and her eyes fly open, already glossy with the next wave building.
We don’t hurry. The urgency lives there, hungry under the skin, but I keep the pace even, giving us both the pleasure of the climb.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the tremble at her throat.
I pull almost all the way out and drive back in, slow enough to feel every tight glide, deep enough to brush the place that makes her clench and gasp.
I set a rhythm that starts patient and grows, pulse by pulse, into something fierce.
Her legs lock around my waist, heels pressed to my back.
She pulls at me with her body, urging me deeper.
I give it, thrusting with purpose, cradling her head in my palm to hold her steady for my mouth.
I swallow every sound she makes and gift her my own, those quiet groans that never belong to anyone else.
When her breath breaks into quick, helpless pants, I shift, sliding an arm under her lower back to tilt her hips and rub along her clit with the base of each stroke. The effect is immediate. Her fingers claw at my shoulders, not to push me away, but to anchor herself.
“Right there,” she gasps. “Daniil, please.”
I move harder, keeping the angle, relentless and sure. The bed creaks, the sheets twist, and our bodies find that perfect friction that feels like a homecoming. She tightens around me, each squeeze a plea, each plea a command I am only too willing to obey.
“Come for me,” I tell her, my mouth at her ear. “Give me everything.”
She breaks with a shattered cry, every muscle drawing tight, every part of her giving in at once.
The sight and feel of it pulls a raw curse from my chest. I keep moving through her climax, riding the pulsing grip of her body until the pleasure climbs me from the base of my spine and seizes everything.
Pressure swells heavy, irresistible, and when she moans my name again, I let go.
The release rips through me in deep, driving thrusts that feel like surrender and victory at once.
We breathe there, still joined, both of us finding steadier ground one breath at a time.
I ease out of her carefully and kiss her knee, then the inside of her thigh.
She is lax and smiling, hair wild around her face.
I leave for a moment and return with a towel.
I clean her with care, each stroke gentle, and her eyes soften with that look that always reaches places I once kept locked.
Only then do I tend to myself, efficient but unrushed, aware of the way she watches me with the kind of attention that feels like worship and partnership equally.
I stretch out beside her and pull her over me, arranging her so her cheek rests above my heart.
I comb my fingers through her hair until her breaths are even.
The room smells like us, heat and silk and a sweetness that is only hers.
I could lie here until morning, but there is one more selfish need I cannot ignore.
I roll her onto her side and fit myself behind her, sliding into her again with a slow, intimate stroke that makes us both groan.
This is softer, a deeper kind of possession that feels like a promise.
My palm covers her belly, protective by instinct, and she threads her fingers through mine and holds me there.
“Daniil,” she whispers, her voice hazy. “I love you.”
“I know,” I answer, kissing the shell of her ear. “I love you more than my own breath.”
We rock together, long, unhurried motions that keep us hovering on a tender edge.
I trace circles around her clit with light, patient strokes until the pleasure swells again, quiet at first, then stronger as her body answers mine.
I never stop whispering to her. She keeps saying my name like it is the only one she has ever needed.
When she starts to tremble, I push deeper and hold there, the length of me pressed all the way in, and work her softly with my fingers until she falls again, smaller this time, but no less sweet.
I follow a heartbeat later, buried in her, every muscle taut as the aftershocks roll through us.
When it passes, I ease out and gather her closer under the sheet.
I kiss her shoulder, then the fine line of her spine, then the place between her shoulder blades where I like to rest my mouth when I don’t want to speak.
She turns and tucks herself into me, one leg thrown over mine, and a hand on my chest as if she is claiming territory that has always been hers.
Her lashes lower. My fingers keep moving in her hair in slow, soothing strokes. She teases me still, her voice languid. “You’re so soft tonight.”
I let out a low growl, though it carries a smile. “If I am soft, it is only for you.”
She laughs, curling against me, her body warm and pliant, sleep tugging her down. Within minutes, her breathing steadies, and she is gone.
I stare at the ceiling long after, the flicker of the candles painting shadows on the walls. For years, I have lived with ghosts. Sasha. My mother. Every man I have killed. Every betrayal endured. They have haunted me, shaped me, and ruled me.
But tonight, with Naomi in my arms and our child safe within her, I feel something I never thought I would allow myself. Hope. I press my lips to her hair and whisper into the silence, my voice meant for no one but the night.
“No more ghosts. Just us.”
And for the first time, I believe it.