45. Gabby
Gabby
My body is molded against Nikolai’s, every inch of me fitted to him. His arm is around me, holding me close. He does that now. I hear him breathing slowly and steadily, but neither of us is asleep.
It’s been a week since we brought Luke home. A week of nightmares and healing and learning how to breathe again. Luke sleeps in his own room, surrounded by dinosaurs and weighted blankets and every comfort we can give him. He’s doing better than I expected. Better than I’m doing, if I’m honest.
Better than Nikolai.
He wakes up in the middle of the night, heart racing and sweating. He told me he keeps seeing Luke in that corner. His first thought was Luke was hurt… or worse. I’m glad it was him who saw it. I don’t know if I would ever let Luke out of my sight if I had that memory burned in my brain.
I still check on him three times a night. Still panic when I can’t see him immediately. Still feel my throat close when I remember the moment in the parking lot when Nik told me he was gone.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
I turn in his arms so I’m facing him. In the darkness, I can just make out the sharp lines of his face. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“My old life. My real name. Does it bother you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. His thumb traces slow circles on my arm. “No.”
“I want you to know I would never betray you,” I tell him. “What I did to them was done for survival. Matteo would have killed me. I don’t want to think about what he would have done to a child.”
“I don’t care who you were before. I care who you are now. I trust you.”
That’s a relief. “I trust you.”
“I will never hurt you, Gabriella. I will never raise my hand to you. I will never make you afraid.” He pauses.
“I know I can’t always say the right things.
I don’t know how to express feelings the way other people do.
But I need you to know that I love you. That’s a feeling I know is real.
And I will love you for the rest of my life. ”
My eyes fill with tears, and I press my forehead to his. “I know. I see it in everything you do.” I kiss him softly. “You don’t have to say the words all the time, Nik. I feel it.”
His arms tighten around me. “I need you to always know how much I love you.”
“I love you.” I pull back slightly. “I’ve been thinking about something else.”
“What?”
“My hair.” I run my fingers through the blonde strands. “I want to go back to my natural color. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of being someone I’m not.”
He studies my face in the darkness. “Dark brown?”
“Almost black.”
“I want to see it.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to see the real you, Gabriella.” He says my full name like he’s testing it out. “I want all of you. No more hiding.”
Relief floods through me. I didn’t realize how much I needed his acceptance until this moment. Not because he controls me, but because I need to know he wants all of me. Even the parts I’ve been trying to erase.
“Tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Good.”
We lie there in the quiet, wrapped around each other.
“Nik?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for giving us a home.”
“This is your home. You and Luke belong here.”
“Nik?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’d like to take some time off work,” I say. “If that’s okay. I want to help Luke get into a routine. He’ll be starting school soon. I want him settled, so he has the best chance to succeed."
“Stay home. You know you don’t have to work. I won’t tell you not to work, but for a while, it would help me if you didn’t.”
My heart squeezes. I understand. He is traumatized, and having to worry about me in the casino is more than he needs right now. I don’t want to add more stress to his life. We all need to heal. And only then can we truly move forward.
His lips find mine in the darkness. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.
“Gabriella.” My name in his mouth wrecks me.
I reach up and touch his jaw, feeling the rough drag of stubble beneath my palm. He turns his face into my touch like he’s starving for it, pressing his lips to the center of my hand. I feel his heart pounding and his breath hitching.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You don’t have to hold yourself together with me.”
He exhales slowly. “I can’t lose you,” he says.
“You’re not going to. I’m here.”
“I won’t survive,” he murmurs.
I kiss his jaw, reassuring him with my body. He slides his hand beneath the hem of my shirt. Not urgent or demanding; just his warm palms skating up my sides like he’s touching me for the first time.
I pull back enough to lift my shirt over my head. He watches me in the low light, his dark eyes moving over my face, my throat, and my collarbone. Like he’s memorizing.
“This is what I want you to think about when the bad dreams come,” I say, reaching for his hand and putting it on my breast. “Think of me loving you.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he says.
His hands slide into my hair. I kiss him before sliding down to kiss his chest. I take my time, running my tongue over the lines of the tattoos.
His hands slide up and down my sides. I pull his briefs down, the only thing he wears to bed.
We would sleep naked, but a few nights ago, Luke had a nightmare and crawled into bed with us.
Jammies are a must, at least for the foreseeable future.
I kiss my way down his chest, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint trace of his soap, lingering on the faint scars and the ink that maps his past. He exhales a shaky breath, expelling more of the stress he’s been holding onto.
This isn’t about heat alone anymore. It’s about claiming each other after everything we’ve survived.
I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, slow, letting the weight of him settle in my palm. He’s hard. The low sound that escapes him vibrates through his ribs. I want him to know I see him—every quiet, damaged, unbreakable part—and I love him anyway.
He pulls me up, so our mouths meet again.
The kiss deepens. His tongue slides against mine.
When he rolls me onto my back, I go willingly, opening my thighs so he can settle between them.
His weight is familiar now. Safe. I hook one ankle around his hip and feel his hardness press against my center.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“You,” I whisper. “All of you. Slow. I want to feel every inch of you loving me.”
He doesn’t rush. He slides a hand between us and finds me already wet.
I’m aching with need for him. Two fingers glide inside me.
He circles my clit with devastating patience.
I arch into the touch, his fingers inside me, crooking just right.
My walls clench around him. He groans like the sound is pulled from his soul.
“I love how you feel,” he says, voice rough. “Mine.”
I reach down and guide him inside. He pushes in inch by careful inch, eyes locked on mine the entire time. I love the feel of him moving inside me. When he bottoms out, I can’t breathe for a second. We stay like that, foreheads touching, breathing the same air. His thumb strokes my cheekbone.
“You’re home,” I tell him. “Inside me. With me. I love you so much, it hurts.”
He starts to move with deep, deliberate strokes that drag every nerve to life.
Each thrust presses me deeper into the mattress.
I meet him, rolling my hips to take him even deeper.
Sweat slicks our skin. I taste it when I kiss his throat.
His hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together, pinning it beside my head.
The other hand slides under my ass, lifting me so the angle changes.
“Oh, God,” I groan. “Right there.”
He grunts. “You like that?”
“Yes. So much.”
“I love watching you while I fuck you,” he says.
I smile before he slides across the bundle of nerves and leaves me gasping.
“Nikolai,” I moan.
His rhythm stays slow, but the force behind it grows, like he’s pouring every unspoken promise into the way he fucks me. I feel my orgasm building. A wave gaining strength with every stroke.
“Come for me,” he whispers. “Let me feel you. I’ve got you.”
I shatter with a strangled cry, pulsing around him, nails digging into his back. He works me through it, kissing my tears away when they slip free, telling me I’m safe. I’m his. I’m home. Only when my tremors ease does he chase his release, hips pounding faster and harder.
He groans low and long next to my ear as he spills deep inside me.
Afterward, he stays buried in me, softening but not pulling away. I stroke his hair and feel the tension leave his shoulders.
“I love you,” I say again, because he needs to hear it. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, the bridge of my nose, and the damp skin beneath my eyes.
“Neither am I,” he answers. “I love you, Gabriella.”