Chapter 17
SAMUIL
Idon’t think. I don’t breathe. The second her mouth crashes against mine, everything in my body snaps tight, like a drawn wire, and there’s no room for doubt or fear or anything except the feel of her.
Her legs wrap around my hips and I grab her thighs, lift her fully onto the counter, dragging her closer until she’s exactly where I need her.
Her breath breaks against my mouth, hot and desperate, and I groan as her heat presses against me through her leggings. I want her bare. I want her open. I want her so tight around me she forgets every reason she has to pull away.
“Fuck, Molly,” I growl against her throat as I kiss down the line of her neck. “You drive me insane.”
She arches into me, fingers fisted in my hair, and her voice trembles when she whispers, “Please.”
That’s all it takes. One word. That desperate little plea.
I push her back gently until she’s flat on the cool counter, her hips on the edge, her legs wide around me.
I drag her leggings down, slowly at first, wanting to savor the way her body reveals itself inch by inch.
But halfway down, patience dies. I rip the rest from around her ankles because I need her now.
I need to feel her skin, to watch her face when I push into her, to know that even after everything she’s said to me tonight, she still wants this. Wants me.
She gasps when the air hits her, thighs trembling slightly as she tries to pull me back toward her. I grab her hips and hold her still.
“Slow,” I murmur, voice low and shaking with restraint. “Let me look at you.”
It’s not even about sex in this moment. It’s about the way her chest rises and falls, the fear and want mixing in her eyes, the softness in her expression that she only gives me.
It’s about the way she opens for me like I’m someone she trusts even when she’s terrified I might break her heart or ruin her life.
I drag my thumb along her inner thigh, watching the way she shivers.
“You want this?” I ask because I need to hear her say it again.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Samuil, please. I want you.”
I groan and reach down to free myself, pushing my sweats low enough to get what I need.
The second my cock brushes her, heat punches through me so hard I almost lose it.
She’s already wet, already soft and ready, and when I drag my length through her folds, she whimpers and lifts her hips like she’s begging me to stop teasing her.
I grip her waist tighter. “Look at me,” I say.
Her eyes rise to mine, wide, desperate, and somehow trusting. I push into her, slow and deliberate. We both gasp.
Her nails dig into my forearms as I sink into her slowly, stretching her inch by inch until she’s gripping me so tight my vision blurs. She’s trembling, holding onto me like she needs me to keep her from falling apart.
“Jesus Christ,” I grit out, leaning over her as I fill her completely. “You feel… Fuck, Molly.”
She exhales shakily, adjusting to me, her legs tightening around my hips as I settle deep inside her. Her warmth surrounds me, pulls me under, and makes me forget every terrible fear she has. There’s nothing in the world except her body, her breath, and her slick heat gripping me.
I pull back slowly and push into her again, harder this time. She cries out with unbridled pleasure and the sound hits me so deep I nearly come right then. Her hands grip my forearms, urging, desperate.
“More,” she whispers.
I give her more.
My thrusts find a rhythm, deep and steady, claiming her with every inch. Her hips lift to meet each movement, her breath breaking in soft, frantic sounds that make my blood burn. My thumb finds her swollen clit and rubs slow circles as I pound into her.
Her body tightens beneath mine, thighs trembling.
“Samuil,” she sighs. “Oh—”
“I know,” I murmur. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Her climax hits fast. Her entire body clenches around me, pulling me deeper as she cries out, her fingers gripping the countertop. I keep moving, drawing it out, fucking her through it until she’s shaking against me.
When she collapses back onto the counter, chest heaving, I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m too far gone. I lift her legs higher around me, angle her hips, and thrust harder, deeper, until I’m right on the edge of losing control.
“Say my name,” I growl, voice rough with need.
“Samuil—”
Something inside me snaps.
I slam into her one final time and come hard, groaning, my entire body shuddering as release tears through me.
When I finally pull back enough to look at her, her face is flushed and soft, her lashes damp. She looks wrecked and beautiful and mine in a way that terrifies me.
I know what comes next. Her fear. Her doubts. Her questions. This doesn’t erase her need to protect herself and our child from the world I live in.
I pull out of her slowly and help her sit upright on the counter, keeping my hands on her hips like I’m afraid she’ll disappear. She adjusts her shirt, cheeks still pink, breathing still uneven.
For a moment, we’re silent. Then she looks away. There’s the shift. The moment reality pushes its way back in. I rest my hand on the counter beside her thigh, letting my fingers brush her skin lightly. “Molly…”
She shakes her head, overwhelmed. I can see the battle in her eyes.
She wants me, she wants this, and she wants our child.
She’s also terrified of the truth of who I am.
I’m both the man who brings her immense pleasure and the man who kills without hesitation, who commands an army of men trained to destroy anyone who crosses us.
“I don’t want to think about anything right now,” she whispers. “I just want to breathe.”
I swallow hard because I get it. God, I fucking get it. The sex was a brief reprieve, a moment where she could forget the weight of everything. In the afterglow, she’s left to remember every reason she’s afraid.
I step close again, gentler this time, and place my hands on her cheeks. “Molly,” I say quietly. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
She closes her eyes, and her voice breaks when she answers, “But I am scared. Not of you hurting me. But of what loving you would mean. What it would cost.”
My chest tightens sharply at that word. She doesn’t realize she said it. I brush my thumb along her cheek, steady even though inside I feel anything but.
“I’ll protect you,” I say. “And the baby. I swear it.”
“You can’t promise that,” she whispers. “Not with what you do. Not with who you are.”
I inhale slowly, the truth heavy in my chest. She’s right.
“Can we forget, for just one night?”
She nods and I help her down from the counter, taking her hand.
Her breath stutters, and she lets me lead her, pliant, trusting. Dangerously trusting. I guide her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed, kissing her again.
She looks up at me with wide, softened eyes, and the fear she tried to hide earlier flashes behind them again. I shove the thought down before it can crack through the moment. I’ve only got so much time before reality claws its way in again, and I intend to take every second.
I lower myself over her, kissing down her neck, across her chest, down her stomach, right over the place where our child is growing. She makes a small, startled sound when I pause there, my breath warm against her skin.
“Samuil,” she whispers.
“Shh.” I press my lips there, slow and reverent. “Let me.”
I kiss that spot again, then move lower. She spreads her legs for me without hesitation, one hand sliding into my hair as I put my mouth on her. Her breath catches, and she arches up, meeting every stroke of my tongue like her body was made for this.
Maybe it was.
Her thighs shake. She pulls at my hair. She tries to say my name but ends up breaking apart on a harsh, breathless cry instead. I feel her come undone against my mouth, trembling as wave after wave tears through her.
When she stops shaking, I climb back up her body, kissing a slow trail across her stomach, her chest, her throat.
She looks soft and dazed, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.
I wish we could stay in this moment forever, that nothing else would even exist. I push the feeling aside. Later. I can deal with it later.
I roll her onto her stomach and pull her hips back.
She gasps, grabbing at the sheets, but she doesn’t stop me.
She never does. She wants this just as much as I do.
I push into her again, slow and deep, and her whole body goes taut.
Her perfect pussy grips me tightly. I take hold of her hips and start moving, watching the way her back arches, the way her fingers curl tight in the sheets.
When she comes this time, she bites her lip so hard I see a mark bloom there.
I fall right after her, burying myself to the hilt, pressing my forehead between her shoulder blades. I try to breathe evenly and steady myself, but it takes a long time.
When it’s over, when she’s limp and spent and lying on her side with her head on my arm, the thoughts I was holding at bay finally hit me.
How long can I keep her safe? How long can I make her believe this is enough protection? How long can I keep the men hunting me from finding her?
She drifts to sleep with her fingers curled in the sheets, completely unaware of the weight pressing down on me. I lie awake staring at the ceiling until she rolls onto her other side and curls into a ball.
The next morning, I’m still wrecked by the thought that we won’t survive this. I sit at my desk, staring out at nothing in particular and trying to maintain some semblance of control over my life.
Davyd comes in without knocking, per usual. He takes one look at me and snorts. “You look like hell.”
I don’t answer or bother pretending otherwise.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, though I’m not really interested.
He drops into an armchair, elbows on his knees. “I’ve just been thinking about how good your girl was with Anya last night. I haven’t seen her like that since before…”
He doesn’t have to finish his thought.
“I haven’t heard her laugh in months. I was worried she never would again. None of the speech therapy or counseling has seemed to get through to her the way one evening with Molly did.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how bad things have been with her,” I say earnestly, suddenly feeling a new responsibility toward the little girl.
He rubs both hands over his face, his shoulders collapsing in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Being a parent is so fucking hard. Some days she acts like she doesn’t recognize me at all. I walk in the door and she hides behind the couch.” His voice cracks. “I’ve been feeling like I’m losing my daughter, too.”
The grief in him is raw. I’ve seen men less broken with bullets in their chests. He drags a hand over his eyes. “That girl used to run to the door when I came home. She used to talk nonstop. Now she barely makes a sound.”
I go still. He looks up slowly, finally focusing on me.
“She smiled. She actually smiled.” He swallows. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
I do, though, because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “Be a parent, I mean. I don’t know how you survive it.”
He smiles at me wryly, a look of understanding passing between us.
“I don’t think any of us truly make it out unscathed,” he says honestly. “But we don’t have a choice. The only thing you can do is show up and do your best.”
I nod and take a deep breath, worried that maybe Molly is right.