Chapter 16 – Samuel
I have commanded men, negotiated multi-million-dollar shipments under the threat of gunfire, and faced down the coldest killers the Bratva has to offer. But nothing—absolutely nothing—has ever paralyzed me quite like the taste of Ashley’s mouth.
The kiss is a chaotic, beautiful violence. It is the collision of four years of ghosts, of lies, of a son I didn’t know I had, and the simmering, undeniable heat that we both tried to pretend was just a fleeting mistake.
For years, I approached intimacy the way I approached my work: detached, controlled, and entirely clinical. Sex was a release, a transaction of mutual pleasure where I never let myself get fully dragged beneath the surface. It was easy to walk away when you kept your soul locked behind iron doors.
But this time, there’s a terrifying, consuming intention behind my actions.
I’m fully, painfully present. I don’t just want her body; I want her.
I want the sharp, defiant spirit that refuses to bow to my name.
I want the brilliant, fierce mother who built a fortress to protect my son.
Every touch is layered with a heavy, raw meaning that scares me to my very core.
Ashley’s hands press hard against my shoulders, her fingers digging into my sweater as she tries to push me away. She fights me, her body tense, her lips tight with a stubborn resistance fueled by anger, mistrust, and the sheer terror of what giving in means for her carefully ordered life.
I swear against her mouth, refusing to let her retreat.
“Please, Ash…” I deepen the kiss, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her so close there is no room for doubts, no room for the walls she tries so desperately to rebuild. “Krasavitsa, I’m burning for you. Please. I’m not the same man.”
Slowly, the resistance begins to fracture.
Her rigid posture gives way, her hands sliding from my shoulders to tangle desperately in my hair.
A low, trembling sigh escapes her lips, and then she is kissing me back with a fierce, consuming hunger that matches my own.
This isn’t soft. It isn’t a gentle reconciliation.
It is a desperate, volatile release of everything we have left unsaid, everything we have tried to bury under logistics contracts and corporate boardrooms.
“Ashley,” I growl against her lips, my voice a rugged, breathless ruin.
She doesn’t answer with words. She just pulls me closer, her nails scratching lightly against the nape of my neck, her breath hitching as I trail my lips down the sensitive line of her throat.
The heat between us is absolute, a wildfire ready to burn down the entire house.
I slip my hands beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly off her feet.
She wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation, her hands anchoring her to my chest as I hold her against me, her heart hammering wildly against my own.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her brown eyes dark with a wild, intoxicating mix of anger and desire. Her breathing is ragged.
“Down the hall,” she whispers, her voice thick and breathless, nodding toward the hallway. “My bedroom. First door on the left.”
I don’t waste a single second. Keeping her locked in my arms, I carry her out of the dining room and toward the stairs, fully aware that once we cross this threshold, there is no going back.
I push the bedroom door open with my shoulder, kicking it shut behind us. The lock clicks into place, sealing out the rest of the world, leaving only the dark, quiet sanctuary of her room and the frantic rush of our breathing.
The moment we cross the threshold, the last shred of civilized restraint completely disintegrates. We attack each other like animals, driven by a raw, primal hunger that has been building for four agonizing years.
Our hands are everywhere—desperate, clumsy, and electric.
I wrench her soft knit sweater over her head, throwing it into the darkness, while her fingers claw at the hem of my shirt, tearing it off my shoulders.
Trousers, lace, and denim are discarded in a frantic, breathless rush until we are both standing stark naked in the shadows of the room, our bare skin flushed and radiating a feverish heat.
I take absolute control. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, tilting her head up as I kiss her with a bruising, desperate intensity.
I guide her backward, my body pressing into hers, until her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she falls softly onto the bed, her dark hair fanning out across the pillows.
I’ve spent years reminiscing about this exact moment.
In the darkest, coldest nights of my life, the ghost of her touch was the only thing that felt real.
The memory of the taste of her on my tongue has haunted me, and now that she is finally here, completely bare and vulnerable beneath me, I waste no time.
As she lies back, panting, I drop to my knees on the edge of the mattress. I slide between her legs, parting them gently, and press forward until I am kneeling between her thighs.
When I lean down and bury my face in her warmth, she lets out a sharp, breathless gasp. I find the center of her pleasure, capturing her clit between my lips, and begin to suck her into my mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity.
Ashley’s back instantly arches off the sheets.
A ragged, helpless whimper tears from her throat as her hands fly to my head, her fingers burying deep into my dark hair.
She grips me tightly, pulling me closer, her hips lifting instinctively as she humps against my face, seeking the friction and the heat of my tongue.
The taste of her is intoxicating, exactly as sweet and addictive as I remembered, and the desperate, rhythmic movements of her body against mine only drive me deeper into the edge of madness.
As I suck her, I trail my hands up her body, taking her full breasts into my palms. I knead them, molding the soft flesh, feeling her heart hammering wildly against my hand, before pinching and tweaking her tight nipples.
She shatters on my tongue. A high, breathless cry tears from her throat as her hips jerk upward, her entire body trembling violently as she climaxes.
But I don’t let go of her clit, maintaining the relentless, wet pressure until she whimpers and begs me to stop, her fingers clutching desperately at my hair.
“Samuel…please,” she pants, completely unraveled beneath me.
I slowly pull away, but I don’t let her rest. I slide my body upward, kissing a trail of fire up her stomach and ribs.
When I reach her chest, I capture one highly sensitive, hard nipple into my mouth, sucking it deep and teasing it with my tongue, worshipping her body as she arches up to meet me, lost in the heat of the moment.
“Samuel,” she pants, her hands clutching at my shoulders, pulling me up until our eyes lock in the dim light of the room. “I need you now. Please…please.”
A dark, possessive grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. I lean down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whisper, “I like the way you beg, baby.”
I slide my hand down her hip, ready to lose myself completely, but a sudden, sharp spike of reality halts me. I pull back slightly, looking down at her flushed face. “I don’t have a condom.”
Ashley’s chest heaves, her breath coming in shallow gasps. A breathless, ironic smile touches her lips, her eyes locking onto mine. “I’m on birth control. There’s no risk this time.”
I stare at her, the sheer, glaring irony of her words hitting us both at the exact same second. The last time we did this without a safety net, we ended up with the little boy sleeping peacefully down the hall.
In that raw, completely unexpected moment, the suffocating weight of our anger and history fractures. We both let out a quiet, genuine laugh—a rare, unguarded moment of shared humor in the middle of our chaotic storm.
But as the laughter still lingers on our lips, I align myself and sink into her in one deep, unyielding thrust.
Ashley’s eyes widen in sheer shock. A sharp, breathless scream starts to tear from her throat, but she instantly slaps her hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against her palm. Her eyes are wide with sudden, heart-stopping panic as she glares up at me.
I freeze, my chest pressing against hers, the muscles in my back locking up. I know exactly why she stopped herself.
Our son is sleeping just down the hall.
A low, dark chuckle rumbles deep in my throat as I look down at her muffled expression, her hand still pressed tightly over her lips. The sudden drop of adrenaline only sharpens the possessive, primal heat rushing through my veins.
“Good girl,” I whisper against her ear, my voice dropping to a rugged, barely audible rasp as I slowly draw back and slide deep into her again. “Stay quiet, Ashley. Don’t make a sound.”
I begin to move inside her with a slow, heavy, relentless rhythm, deliberately testing her control. I lean down, my lips brushing the damp skin of her neck, and fill the quiet space of the room with a steady stream of dirty, raw confessions.
“I’ve thought about you every single day for four years,” I growl, my hands gripping her hips to anchor her against the mattress as I thrust deeper. “Every single night. I looked for you everywhere. You haunted me, Ashley. I wanted you back in my bed, stripped bare just like this, crying my name.”
She lets out a choked, desperate whimper against her palm, her head rolling back into the pillow. Her eyes are bright with a mixture of overwhelming pleasure and raw emotion, the sheer intensity of my words breaking through her executive armor.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I whisper, my pace quickening, shifting into a hard, demanding friction that leaves her completely breathless. “You’re mine. You were mine then, and you’re damn sure mine now.”
The combination of the heavy, deep friction and the raw truth of my voice is too much for her to handle.
Ashley shatters beneath me, her body tightening violently as she cums, her hips jerking against mine in an uncontrollable release.
But I don’t stop. I keep the pace steady, driving her higher, pushing her straight into another wave before she can even catch her breath.
She’s weeping softly now, the hot, silent tears of pure, unadulterated pleasure slipping down her temples into her hair as she rides the relentless waves of her own ecstasy, cumming over and over again.
On her third orgasm, her inner muscles clamp down on me so tightly that my own control completely snaps.
I let out a low, ragged groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck as I deliver one final, crushing thrust. I come violently inside her, the heat of the release flooding through my lower abdomen as my body shudders against hers.
As the tremors slowly fade, I don’t pull away. I collapse softly against her, wrapping my massive arms around her frame and pulling her flush against my chest, holding her tight in the quiet, shadowed room.
Slowly, the frantic heat and the desperate intensity of the room fade into a quiet, heavy stillness.
The only sound left is the synchronized, slow rhythm of our breathing.
Beneath my cheek, Ashley’s heart rate gradually drops, her body completely relaxed and heavy against mine in a way she would never allow herself to be while awake.
Within minutes, she falls asleep in my arms.
It mirrors the past—that single night in New York four years ago where we lay tangled in the sheets of a high-end penthouse.
But the circumstances tonight are entirely, fundamentally different. We aren’t strangers playing a game of anonymous passion anymore. We are two people bound by blood, by secrets, and by a little boy sleeping just a few yards down the hallway.
And this time, I do not leave.
I don’t slide out of the bed in the dead of night, pull on my clothes, and disappear back into the shadows. I stay.
I remain awake for a long time in the dark, watching the soft, golden light from the hallway slice across her face.
I study the gentle curve of her jaw, the way her dark eyelashes cast long shadows on her cheeks, and the absolute peace that finally relaxes her features when she isn’t busy fighting me.
My mind races, reflecting on how much has changed in a mere twenty-four hours, and how much I still do not understand. The weight of Ethan’s presence in my life is a massive, crushing anchor. I’m a father. I have a son who draws dinosaurs, who laughs on the swings, and who has my eyes.
But I also have Ashley’s fierce, unyielding resistance to contend with.
She wants to keep me in the margins. She wants to hide me in the dark to protect her perfect, stable fortress.
The sheer urgency of it claws at my chest—an overwhelming, desperate need to claim my place in their lives, to force her to see that I am not a ghost anymore. I cannot, and will not, be ignored.
But tonight, the battle is paused.
I tighten my grip around her waist, pulling her back flush against my chest, burying my face in the scent of her hair. I’m wide awake in her bed, holding onto a moment and a family I have absolutely no intention of walking away from ever again.