10. Maksim #4
“Awed.” I press another kiss to her stomach.
“Terrified. Grateful. So fucking grateful that you’re giving me this gift.
” I look up at her, needing her to see the truth in my eyes.
“I know I don’t deserve it. I know you didn’t choose this.
But I’m going to spend every day proving that I can be worthy of you. Of both of you.”
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she doesn’t speak. Instead, she pulls me up for a kiss that tastes like salt and promises neither of us can quite make yet.
But I’m not done. I break the kiss and continue my path downward, kissing the curve of her hip, the soft skin of her inner thigh. She’s already wet for me. She glistens in the lamp light and I can smell it, the evidence of her arousal making my cock throb with need.
But I want to savor this. I want to make her fall apart beneath my mouth first and show her that this is about more than just my pleasure.
“Open for me,” I murmur, pressing kisses along her inner thigh. “Let me taste you.”
She does, her legs falling open, and the trust in that gesture—the vulnerability—makes my chest tight.
When I finally put my mouth on her, she cries out, her back arching off the bed. I start with slow, gentle licks that make her whimper. Her hands fist in the sheets and her hips rise, seeking more pressure.
“Patience,” I murmur against her, the vibration making her cry out. “Let me learn you like this. You’re more sensitive now and I want to know exactly what you need.”
I take my time, tracing every fold with my tongue and finding the rhythm that makes her moan, the pressure that makes her thighs tremble. She tastes sweet with something uniquely her. I’m addicted to the taste of her, the sounds she’s making, and to the way she’s coming apart under my mouth.
Her hands move from the sheets to my hair, and she grips tightly, like she needs the anchor. I hum in approval and increase the pressure, circling her clit with focused attention.
“Oh god.” Her voice breaks. “Maksim, I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Then let go,” I murmur against her, sliding two fingers inside while my mouth continues its work. “Let me watch you come apart. Let me have this.”
She explodes on my tongue, her whole body going taut as the orgasm crashes through her. I feel her clench around my fingers, and I work her through it, lapping at her until she becomes too sensitive and she’s pulling at my hair.
“Too much,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. “Maksim—holy shit, you have to stop. It’s too much.”
I press one last kiss to her then kiss my way back up her body, savoring the aftershocks that make her shiver beneath me. When I reach her mouth, she kisses me desperately, tasting herself on my lips. She moans against my lips, her hands tangling in my hair.
Then she surprises me by pushing at my shoulders. “Your turn.”
My sex addled brain can’t comprehend what she’s saying, but when it does my eyes widen. “Aria, you don’t have to—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I want to.” She sits up, and she looks determined, her cheeks flushed and body rosy. “Let me. Please. Let me show you—” She stops, seeming unable to finish the sentence.
But I understand what she’s trying to say. Let me show you that this means something to me too. You’re not the only one who feels this.
How can I deny her anything when she looks at me like that?
I lie back against the pillows, my heart pounding, and watch as she moves over me. Her dark hair falls forward, creating a curtain around us. Her hands start at my chest, tracing the scars she knows so well—the smaller ones across my ribs from knife fights, the bullet graze on my left side.
“I used to love this,” she whispers, her fingers gentle on old wounds. “Tracing these scars and wondering where each one came from. Making up stories in my head about how you got them.”
“You can ask,” I manage, my voice rough as her hands explore. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. No more secrets. Not from me.”
“Later.” She leans down and presses a kiss to the scar on my shoulder. “Right now I just want to touch you.”
Her mouth follows the path her hands made, pressing kisses to each scar, her hair falling like silk across my skin. When she reaches my stomach, my abs contract involuntarily at the sensation. She smiles against my skin, and I feel it more than see it.
“Ticklish?” she asks in amusement.
“Sensitive,” I correct, my hands finding her hair, threading through the dark strands. “When it’s you touching me, everything is sensitive.”
She hums in response and continues her exploration, her hands sliding down to my hips and my thighs. She’s deliberately avoiding where I’m hard and aching for her.
“Aria.” Her name is half warning, half plea.
“Patience,” she echoes my earlier words, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You made me wait. Now it’s your turn.”
Her hand finally wraps around me, and I groan, my hips jerking at the contact. God, it’s been so long since she touched me like this and I’m afraid I’m going to come right here.
“I remember this,” she says softly, her hand moving in slow strokes that make my breath catch. “How you liked it when I—” She twists her wrist on the upstroke, and I see stars.
“Fuck,” I grunt, my hips punching up. “Yes. Like that.”
She does it again, finding a rhythm that has me gripping the sheets to keep from thrusting into her hand. Then her mouth follows, and I nearly lose control completely.
“Oh fuck,” I say harshly, my hand in her hair.
She takes me deeper, her tongue doing something that makes coherent thought impossible. I watch her through half-lidded eyes—this beautiful woman with my child growing inside her, taking me apart with her mouth—and it’s almost too much.
“Stop,” I finally gasp, tugging gently at her hair. “I need to be inside you.”
She releases me and crawls up my body, her face smug as she straddles my hips. I help position her carefully, my hands on her waist, mindful of her stomach.
“Like this,” I tell her, guiding her. “So I can see you and watch your face.”
She sinks down slowly, taking me inch by inch, and we both groan at the sensation. She’s so warm, so tight, so perfect around me. For a moment, she just sits there, adjusting to the fullness, her hands braced on my chest.
“Okay?” I ask, my thumbs stroking circles on her hips.
“More than okay.” She starts to move, slow rolling motions that make my breath catch. Her head lolls back. “You feel so good. You’ve always felt so good.”
I let her set the pace, content to watch her and feel her. The lamplight catches in her hair, making it shine. Her face is flushed and her lips parted. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my hands guiding her movements. “Take what you need. Use me.”
She does, her movements becoming more confident, more desperate. But I can see she’s tiring—pregnancy has stolen some of her stamina—and eventually I need more. I need to be deeper in her, so I take over.
I sit up, wrapping my arms around her, and pull her close for a deep kiss. Then I roll us carefully until she’s on her back beneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist.
“I’ve got you now,” I murmur against her lips, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts. “Let me take care of you.”
I brace myself on my forearms so I can watch her face and see every expression that crosses her features. She’s so open like this, so vulnerable. Her hands slide up my arms to my shoulders.
“Maksim,” she sighs my name as her hips roll into mine.
“I’m here.” I kiss her softly, my hips maintaining that slow, steady rhythm. “I’m right here, moya krasavitsa. My beautiful girl.”
The endearment slips out in Russian, and I see emotion in her eyes. She used to love it when I called her that.
“I’ve missed you,” I admit against her lips, the words escaping before I can stop them. My forehead rests against hers, our breath mingling. “Eight years, and I’ve missed you every single day. I’ve missed this. Missed us.”
Her breath catches, and I feel her hands tighten on my shoulders. “I—”
“I know you’re scared.” I kiss her softly, then deeper. “I know you don’t trust me and you have secrets you’re not ready to share. But this—” I thrust a little deeper, and she gasps. “This is real, Aria. What we have, what we’ve always had. It’s real. And I’m not going to let it go again. I can’t.”
Tears slip from the corners of her eyes, trailing down into her hair and I kiss them away.
“I’m scared too,” I admit, the confession feeling necessary. “I’m scared I’ll never be enough for you to stay.”
“You will always be enough.” Her voice breaks, and she pulls me down for a kiss, our tongues tangling together as we meet each of our thrusts.
I shift the angle, hitting deeper, and she gasps against my mouth. I can feel her getting close—the way her breath hitches, and how her muscles start to flutter around me.
“Let go,” I murmur, reaching between us. My fingers find her clit, circling with the same rhythm as my thrusts. “Let me have this. Let me watch you fall apart.”
Her head thrashes against the pillow and her mouth is open in a silent scream. “I can’t—Maksim, it’s so sensitive—”
“You can.” I increase the pressure and feel her body tensing beneath mine. “Trust me, moya. Just trust me.”
She comes apart beneath me with a shout. I watch her face transform with pleasure, and her body arches. Her eyes stay locked on mine even as the orgasm overtakes her.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.