Chapter 35
MELANI
He never fails to make my world shatter.
Every time I think I’ve reached the ceiling of what this can feel like, he blows straight through it.
My chest is still heaving, my thighs trembling too badly to hold together, my skin slick and oversensitized and aching in the aftermath of him. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. Sweet. Gentle. Nothing like the way he just took me apart two minutes ago.
His hands move over my body in slow, grounding strokes, drawing me back into my skin like I’m something he’s coaxing, not commanding. Then he turns me to face him. His eyes search mine, and the rough edges of him are gone, replaced by a tenderness that undoes me more than his fingers ever could.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his hands still moving over my skin like he’s afraid I might break.
That’s what does it. That question, asked in that voice, with that look on his face, slides me the rest of the way into love. I feel it crack open inside my chest like a wound.
It’s going to hurt so much when I walk away from this.
I shove the thought aside before it destroys me.
I’m not wasting this night on fear. Not when I know how little time I have left with him.
So I push up against him and wrap my hand around his cock, the hot and hard length smeared with his precum.
He’s like a furnace in my grip, throbbing for me, and the groan that rumbles out of him makes my belly clench all over again.
“I won’t be fine until you come,” I tell him, my voice raw and hoarse from the noises he extracted from me.
His breath hitches. One heavy hand drops to cup my ass, and then he’s lifting me like I weigh nothing, my legs locking around his waist as he walks us back through the closet and into the bedroom.
I brace for him to throw me down on the bed, to take me rough and fast. But he doesn’t.
He lowers me onto the mattress carefully, like I’m something precious. Then he climbs over me, his weight slowly covering me, pressing into me in a way that makes my head swim.
“Your cunt is still so drenched and greedy for more,” he growls into my ear as his hand slides between my thighs. His fingers glide through my swollen folds, and the sound that leaves me comes from deep in my chest.
“Yes, Vanya. I want your cock inside me.” The slutty words slip out easily—shameless, needy—but heat floods my face when he freezes and looks at me like I just squeezed his cock or something equally sexy.
His eyes go black, his jaw tightening. “Fucking hell.” He grabs his cock, and one long drag across my folds is the only warning I get before he’s shoving inside me with a guttural, “Milani.”
I cry out at the stretch, at the sudden fullness as my body opens all over again for him. My eyes fall shut on instinct.
“Look at me.” The rasp of his voice forces my eyes back open.
He’s right above me, staring down with an expression I don’t have a word for, his fingers threading through mine.
He lifts our joined hands and pins them above my head, looking deep into my eyes as he sinks in deeper, slow and steady, making sure I feel every inch of him.
Something has shifted. It's there in the strange, almost tender look in his eyes as he screws into me, in the way he's gripping my hands like the contact is the only thing keeping him tethered. His hips angle just right, and pleasure whites out my thoughts.
I gasp, my back arching off the bed as the pressure inside me coils tighter and tighter, another orgasm building fast. His thrusts stay slow and measured, yet each one sends a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through me.
Drool pools in my mouth as he slides in and out of me, dragging moans out of me that I couldn’t hold back if I tried.
At this angle, I can feel every ridge of his cock, and it wrecks me.
“Fuck,” he groans against my throat. “You feel so good.” His mouth moves over my skin with hot kisses, sharp bites, his breath ragged in my ear. “So tight. So perfect for me.”
His praise makes my chest cave. I want to tell him I love him. The confession rises in my throat—but it lodges there, a scream I can’t let out. So I cling harder, my nails digging into his hands where they’re still laced with mine, trying to say it some other way.
He twists his hips again, grinding into me, and my body shudders violently. Pleasure burns through me so intensely that tears spring to my eyes.
“Vanya—oh God—” I choke out, my voice breaking.
“Take it, Milani,” he groans. “Take all of me.” His thrusts deepen, tipping me over the edge.
My body clenches around him, wet and messy and desperate, and the tears I’ve been fighting slip free, sliding hot along my temples.
He curses, his pace turning rough as he chases his own release.
The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room while I shake beneath him, undone, sobbing as a second orgasm rips me apart again.
Then he growls my name one last time and spills inside me, his hot sperm like a silent claiming.
He keeps moving through his orgasm, slower now, grinding deep like he wants to make sure I get every drop of him. When he finally collapses against me, I’m still trembling, my chest heaving, his weight anchoring me in place. My fingers stay locked with his, and my tears keep sliding into my hair.
I sniff sharply, trying to pull myself together, just as he pushes himself up and looks at my face.
His brows furrow. “What’s this?” He reaches out and wipes my cheeks with his thumb, so gently it makes my heart ache.
“Nothing.” I try for a small smile, but it wobbles.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Of course not,” I assure him. “I’m fine. Just hormones."
His frown deepens like he doesn’t believe my excuse.
Then he rolls off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, flicking the light on. A moment later comes the sound of water trickling. He’s running a bath. I push myself upright, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stand.
My knees buckle, and I quickly grab the nightstand with both hands, my heart lurching, waiting for the floor to stop tilting. That’s how Vanya finds me.
He scowls. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Coming to you,” I say.
His lips twist as he walks over and stops in front of me. He scoops me up without ceremony, and I wrap my arms around his neck out of pure muscle memory at this point. It’s embarrassingly automatic.
“Keep doing that, and I won’t want to walk anywhere anymore,” I tease, but his frown doesn’t ease, and I sigh. What now? I’m trying not to think past this moment.
He carries me into the bathroom without a word, walking straight to the filled tub. I expect him to set me on my feet, but he simply steps in and sinks with me still in his arms.
I tighten my grip around his neck, squealing as water sloshes over the edge and spills onto the floor, but he’s got me secured against his chest and doesn’t so much as flinch.
He rearranges me until I’m sitting between his spread thighs, his cock and balls squished to my back. It’s a weird, intimate feeling that makes my heart swell.
My throat closes, and I can’t speak. But Vanya doesn’t seem interested in talking anyway. He washes my body first, his hands moving quickly, almost mechanically, like he’s forcing himself not to linger. Then he washes himself.
When he’s done, he drains the soapy water and refills the tub. After that, we simply sit there, soaking in the warmth, neither of us saying anything.
My thoughts drift to the weekend—to what I’ll have to do—and my guilt creeps in before I shove it away again.
Vanya will do what’s best for him and his brothers. I need to do what’s best for my family and me. As if sensing the storm in my head, his arms band around my waist.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispers into my ear.
I lower my hand to his and trace my fingers over the dark ink there, following the tribal lines to the small letters woven through them.
They spell out his last name—Petrov. When I look closer, I notice some of the tribal lines seem thicker than the rest, like they’re covering something beneath. Other letters. But the ink is so dark I can’t quite make out what the original words were.
“Why did you get a tattoo of your last name? Isn’t that a little conceited?” I smile back at him, but his expression stays hard, his jaw clenched tight.
I frown. Maybe I just poked at a touchy subject.
“I got it the night I got made,” he says finally, his voice clipped.
I consider steering the conversation somewhere lighter, but the urge to understand him wins out. He already knows everything about me. It suddenly feels unfair that I still know so little about him.
Who is this man I fell for? What makes him tick? What shaped him into the person he is? So I push.
“How old were you when it happened?”
He sighs. “I was eighteen.”
“So young,” I stroke the tribal lines that hide those older letters, and he stiffens. For a moment, I think he might pull his arm away, but he doesn’t.
“Not so young. Aleksei got made at sixteen.”
A wave of pity for the stoic pakhan hits me. He was just a baby. But I keep the thought to myself. Something tells me Vanya wouldn’t appreciate hearing it.
“Was it your father?” I ask softly. “Did he make you get the tattoo of your last name?”
“The water’s getting cold,” he says abruptly, and before I can respond, he lifts me out of the tub and sets me on the bathmat. Then he climbs out himself in a quick, restless motion. He grabs a towel, wraps it around my body, and walks out of the bathroom dripping wet.
“Wait!”
I snatch another towel off the rack and hurry after him, careful not to slip on the tile.
I reach the bedroom just in time to see him stepping into his closet and tugging on a pair of sweatpants over his wet body.
My heart hammers, and without thinking, I drop the towel I grabbed for him and plant myself in the closet doorway, blocking him, trapping him inside.
“Don’t you think it’s unfair that you know everything about me while I know so little about you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
When his eyes flick to mine, they are cold and guarded. But the moment they settle on me, they soften the slightest bit. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Uh, yes, it is. This… this thing between us is already vastly unbalanced. You have all the power, all the information. You know everything there is to know about me, yet I barely know you. And I clearly hold no sway over you.”
His eyes soften the rest of the way, the coldness dissipating. “You mean our relationship?”
“Are we in a relationship?” I throw back at him.
He walks towards me and palms my cheek. “If this isn’t a relationship, then what is it?”
“A situationship?”
Surprisingly, he chuckles. “You’re stuck with me, Milani. I don’t think that’s what a situationship is.” It’s not exactly a declaration of love, but it makes my heart stutter. “And you’re wrong about something else,” he adds.
“What?” I can only manage a whisper with the way my blood is rushing in my ears.
“You hold sway over me.” His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek. “The day you discover just how much power you have over me… well—” He trails off, shaking his head.
He says it so casually, like he didn't just knock the sense clean out of me.
I hold sway over him? I have power over him? Impossible.
“Then tell me what I want to know.”
His fingers twitch on my cheek before dropping. I think he might step back, but instead he just grabs me underneath my armpits and physically lifts me out of the doorway so he can pass.
He’s going to leave.
My heart pangs as I watch him walk away—but he only goes to the bed. He pulls back the cover, slides beneath them, then looks at me as if surprised I’m still standing by the closet.
“Come on.” He pats the space next to him. “I’d rather talk about this when I’m not standing.”