Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Milana
I open my eyes slowly, the room still mostly dark except for the soft gray light filtering in through the window.
My head is pressed against Ilya’s chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm is wrapped securely around me, heavy and warm.
For a moment, I just lie there, taking him in. The soft glow of the city filters through the window, falling across his face.
He looks so different when he’s asleep, the hard lines of his face softened, the constant tension in his jaw relaxed. His dark hair is slightly messy, falling across his forehead.
The strong column of his neck, the broad shoulders, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks… he’s devastatingly handsome even while sleeping. Peaceful. Almost vulnerable. I’ve never seen him like this before.
My hand moves before I can stop it. I lightly trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there. He doesn’t stir.
He brought me to his bed last night because I broke down. The realization makes my chest tighten. I shouldn’t be here.
The last thing I want is to come off as needy or weak, especially when he’s made it clear he doesn’t do the soft, staying-in-bed-together part.
I should go back to my own room before he wakes up.
Carefully, I start to shift, trying to lift his arm without disturbing him. It tightens around me for a second, like even in sleep he doesn’t want to let go.
I manage to slip free, rolling toward the edge of the bed as quietly as I can.
Before I can sit, his hand reaches out and catches my waist, pulling me gently but firmly back against him.
His voice is deep and sleepy. “Where do you think you're going?”
I freeze, cheeks warming. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just… heading back to my bedroom.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then his arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer until I’m tucked against his chest again.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
The single word surprises me. I thought he didn’t want me in his bed like this. I thought last night had been an exception. A moment born out of grief and exhaustion.
“Okay,” I whisper.
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while. His fingers brush lightly across my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “Better. Thank you… for being there for me.”
He continues to stroke his thumb across my cheek again. “You don’t have to thank me. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Maria. It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
I feel tears prick my eyes again, but I blink them back. “Yeah… I just wish bad things didn’t happen to good people.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s a fucked-up world we live in.
If only good things happened every day, it would be paradise.
But we don’t live in paradise. The bad comes with the good.
That’s what makes life… life. It’s what makes it interesting.
Sad sometimes. Happy other times. You take the good in good faith, same as the bad. ”
I smile softly, surprised by his words. “Look at you being a philosopher. I had no idea.”
He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only for you.”
I almost ask him about what my brother told me. The religious camp, the atheism. But I hesitate. I’m not sure I should bring it up right now.
Instead, my eyes drift to the cross tattoo on his chest. I reach out and lightly trace it with my fingertip.
“When was the last time you went to church?” I ask softly.
He raises an eyebrow. “What are you, Christian police?”
I laugh a little. “No, I’m not judging. It’s just… I haven’t been in the longest time myself.”
“Same,” he says. “It’s been a long time.”
I hesitate, then ask, “So… do you still believe? In religion? Christianity? Or have you become an atheist now?”
He looks at me strangely for a second. “If I was an atheist, why would I have this?” He gestures to the cross on his chest.
I shrug. “Maybe you got it before you became one.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not an atheist. I’m not overly religious, but I do believe there’s a God.”
His words don’t match what my brother told me.
I stay quiet, my mind spinning. Nothing about him is adding up.
But right now, lying in his arms, I don’t push. I just let myself stay in this moment a little longer.
I trace my fingers lightly along the cross tattoo on his chest, the raised lines of ink warm under my touch. My mind is spinning.
Could my brother have gotten the information wrong? Maybe Konstantin gave him incomplete details. But that doesn’t make sense.
My brothers are meticulous. They wouldn’t hand me over to someone without doing their own thorough research. So even if Konstantin said something, they would have verified it.
He pulls me out of my thoughts, his hand gently catching mine, stopping my fingers from tracing the tattoo.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, voice.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just… thinking about what you said, about us living in a fucked-up world.”
He watches me for a moment, his eyes searching my face like he can see straight through me.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, voice low. He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then another to my temple. “Stop.”
I pull back slightly, forcing a small smile. “I’ll try.”
He kisses me again on my forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he says softly.
“I can’t. My mind won’t stop whirring.” I press my body closer to his, needing his warmth, needing him. “Will you help me quiet my mind?”
His arm tightens around me. “What do you need?”
“You inside me.”
He groans, the sound low and rough. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please… Ilya.”
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, then slowly starts kissing his way down my body.
Soft, lingering kisses along my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. Every touch sends little sparks through me.
When he reaches the waistband of my pajama shorts, he looks up at me.
“Lift your hips,” he murmurs.
I do, and he slides the shorts down my legs, taking my panties with them. The cool air hits my bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looks at me.
He settles between my thighs, pressing a kiss to the inside of one, then the other, before his mouth finds me.
I gasp, my head falling back against the pillow as his tongue strokes slowly over my folds. He takes his time, savoring me, licking and sucking with lazy movements that make my toes curl.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open for him as he devours me, taking his time, licking and savoring every inch of me.
When his tongue circles my clit, I moan loudly, my fingers threading through his hair.
He doesn’t rush. He licks and sucks, alternating between gentle strokes and firmer pressure, driving me higher with every pass.
Then he slides two thick fingers inside me, curling them perfectly against that spot that makes my toes curl.
“Oh God, Ilya—” I cry out, hips rocking against his face.
He growls against me, the vibration sending sparks through my entire body. His fingers pump steadily while his mouth works my clit, sucking and licking until I’m trembling, thighs shaking around his head.
I come hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes over me in waves. My back arches off the bed, my pussy pulsing around his fingers as I soak his face.
When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening with my arousal. He kisses his way up my body, slow, open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, my ribs, my breasts.
He sucks hard on one nipple, then the other, leaving red marks and little bites that make me whimper.
His hands roam everywhere, possessive and hungry, like he’s claiming every inch of me.
I’m still panting when I reach for him, desperate. “Please… I want you inside me. I need you.”
He groans, kissing along my collarbone. “You want my cock, baby? You want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” I beg, voice shaky. “Please.”
He pulls back slightly, eyes dark. “I want us to try something. Do you trust me?”
I nod without hesitation. “Yes.”
He gets up from the bed and walks over to his closet. I watch him, as he comes back with a silk eye mask and soft silk ropes. He holds them up, showing me.
“I’m going to cover your eyes and bind your wrists,” he says, voice low and steady.
“Pleasure heightens when you can’t see or move. Every touch feels more intense, you will forget about everything happening in your head. Do you still trust me?”
I swallow, a thrill of nervousness and excitement running through me.
Part of me wonders if I’m being foolish, trusting him when so much about him doesn’t add up. But the truth is, I do trust him. Deep down, in a way I can’t explain.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
He leans over me, gently tying the silk ropes around my wrists and securing them to the headboard.
Then he slips the eye cover over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.
The world narrows to touch and sound and sensation.
His hands are everywhere, stroking my thighs, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples until I’m arching and whimpering.
His mouth follows, kissing and biting down my body, marking me again. When he finally settles between my legs, I’m already dripping, aching for him.
He brings me to the edge again with his mouth and fingers, licking and sucking until I’m shaking and moaning his name into the darkness behind the blindfold.
My wrists tug against the silk ropes, but they hold firm. The helplessness only makes everything feel sharper.
When he finally pulls back, I’m panting, dripping, and desperate.
I hear him move. The soft sound of something light brushing against his palm.
Then I feel it, the faintest, teasing tap against my inner thigh. Not painful. Just enough to make my skin tingle and my breath catch.
He drags the feather-like whip slowly up my body, letting the soft strands ghost over my skin before he taps again.
Light, precise strikes against my breasts, my stomach, the sensitive spot just above my clit.
Each tap sends little sparks of pleasure racing through me. I never knew something so light could feel this intense.
“You’re so fucking responsive,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Look at you… already dripping for me.”
He taps the whip against my nipples, once, twice, then leans down and sucks one into his mouth, soothing the sting with his tongue. I arch off the bed with a broken moan.
Then his hand wraps around my throat. Just enough pressure to make my pulse flutter under his palm.
He doesn’t squeeze hard, just holds me there, controlling my breathing as his fingers slide back between my legs and push inside me again.
“Deep breath,” he orders quietly.
I inhale.
He tightens his grip just enough to make it harder to breathe for a few seconds, then loosens it as his fingers curl inside me, stroking that perfect spot.
The mix of restricted breath and overwhelming pleasure makes my head spin in the most addictive way.
He does it again. And again. Each time he restricts my air just enough to heighten every sensation, then releases it right as his thumb circles my clit or his fingers thrust deeper.
My body feels like it’s floating and burning at the same time.
“Ilya—” I gasp when he lets me breathe again, voice shaky.
“Shh. I’ve got you.”
He keeps working me with his fingers and that teasing whip until I’m begging, hips rolling desperately against his hand.
When he finally replaces his fingers with his cock, sliding into me in one slow, deep thrust, I cry out at the stretch.
He fucks me steadily, one hand still on my throat, the other gripping my hip as he drives into me.
Every time he tightens his fingers around my neck, the pleasure spikes. Every time he releases, I gasp and moan louder.
The combination is overwhelming.
I can’t see. I can’t move. I can barely breathe when he wants me to. And it’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt.
He leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Come for me, solnyshko.”
His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks me harder. The hand on my throat tightens just enough as he pushes me over the edge.
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me so hard my entire body locks up. I can’t even scream, the sound catches in my throat under his hand as wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashes over me.
My walls clamp down around him, pulsing violently as I come harder than I ever have in my life. My vision whites out behind the blindfold. My toes curl. My back arches so hard I think I might break.
He fucks me through it, groaning against my neck as my body milks him, greedy and desperate for every drop.
“Take it,” he growls, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking drop. I’m going to fill this tight little womb until you’re dripping with me. Until you’re swollen with my child.”
The filthy words push me even higher, my orgasm crashing harder as he buries himself as deep as he can go.
With a low, guttural sound, he finally lets go of my throat and comes deep inside me, filling me completely.
He stays buried inside me, grinding slowly, making sure every last drop stays where it belongs.
“Mine,” he rasps against my ear. “All fucking mine.”
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing.
He stays buried inside me, one hand gently stroking my thigh, the other brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead.
When he finally pulls out, he unties the ropes and removes the blindfold with careful hands.
I blink up at him, dazed, my body still trembling with aftershocks.
He looks down at me with something dark and satisfied in his eyes. “Still whirring?”
“No,” I rasp.
“Good.” He climbs off me and gathers me into his arms. “Now, go back to sleep.”
I don’t argue. I let my eyes drift shut, cocooned in his warmth.
Just as sleep begins to pull me under, I feel the softest brush against my lips.
A kiss.