Chapter 44
ARTUR
Katie sleeps in the center of her bed with one bare foot resting across my ankle.
Morning reaches through the curtains in pale strips, crossing rumpled sheets and the dark shirt Katie wore after inviting me into her house.
We kissed until sleep became impossible to postpone; then she placed my hand over the slight fullness below her navel and fell asleep with my mouth against her hair.
I remained dressed because taking more on the night she chose me would have turned patience into another bargain.
Sunlight now gilds the curve where our children are beginning to show.
Nothing I have owned has ever looked as precious as what I am not entitled to keep.
Now her shirt has ridden above one hip.
The exposed skin begins at the soft inward curve of her waist, then widens over the upper swell of her ass beneath black underwear. One thigh lies straight while the other bends toward me, opening the line between them; her fingers rest relaxed against my pillow.
In details I know from spending fifty-six days learning every inch, pregnancy has altered her.
Beneath the shirt, her breasts press more heavily, nipples raised by cool air through the thin fabric.
Along the lower line of her stomach lies new softness, a subtle outward fullness that wasn’t present before three embryos began demanding more space.
To anyone else, it might look ordinary; because I know the exact body that wrapped around me before the test, the difference reaches me with painful clarity.
My cock hardens against my trousers.
I feel desire beside relief, no longer ashamed of it because the doctor has confirmed each heartbeat.
Fear still follows: as I see the rail below Katie’s ribs, the plastic cutting her wrist, and Pasha’s muzzle rising toward the ladder, my mind responds by building new restrictions around a woman who escaped the last ones herself.
I leave the fear where it belongs, inside me and spoken when necessary.
Katie opens her eyes.
Brown looks nearly gold where morning light reaches her irises. Sleep keeps her face soft for several seconds before attention moves down my body toward the erection beneath my trousers.
“You’ve been awake too long and become a problem,” she says.
“I was promised bad behavior.”
“The offer depended on performance.”
Sleep has left her voice rough, and as she shifts onto her back, the sound moves over me, the shirt rises higher across her stomach, and one hand reaches for my collar. Because the brace makes the attempt awkward, I lean until her fingers close around the fabric.
Katie pulls me down.
Her mouth opens beneath mine with none of the hesitation I prepared myself to survive. She kisses slowly at first, tasting of mint from the glass beside the bed, then hooks her left leg over my hip and presses against the hard length trapped between us.
The friction removes patience from my breathing.
I support my weight on one forearm, keeping pressure from her wrist as my other hand follows the exposed curve at her waist; her skin is warm from sleep. The new softness below her navel fits beneath my palm, and she arches into the touch until her breasts lift against my chest.
“I’m still here,” she whispers.
For one brutal second I see the dark catwalk again. Then her warm thigh tightens around my hip, returning me to this bed.
“Yes.” My mouth moves along her cheek toward the pulse in her throat. “You are.”
She opens two buttons on my shirt, then becomes impatient and pulls the fabric upward. I remove it before the brace catches, throwing it beside the bed while Katie looks without disguising the inspection.
Her gaze travels across my shoulders, down the dark hair covering my chest, then follows the hard planes of my stomach toward the belt.
The old burn scars cross my right ribs toward my back, paler than the surrounding skin.
Katie traces one raised edge with her left fingertips before flattening her hand over the place Misha’s bombing opened.
I cover her hand with mine.
“The ribs?” she asks.
“Healed enough.”
“That sounds suspiciously medical.”
“The doctor used longer words.”
Her mouth curves, and she slides her palm lower, finding the ridge of my cock through the trousers and closing around it with enough pressure to end the joke.
I catch her mouth again.
As Katie strokes me through the fabric, I unbutton her shirt.
By degrees, daylight reveals her, from the full upper curve of one breast to a nipple darkened slightly by pregnancy.
Once the shirt lies open, her breasts settle toward either side, heavier than they were on our first night, with faint blue veins visible beneath pale skin and tight nipples lifting toward my mouth.
I stop above her.
Looking has become its own form of touch. The body I want is also the body that escaped Pasha while our children changed the curve of her stomach, yet Katie opens her thighs around me because she chooses the man who once mistook closing doors for devotion.
“Artur.”
My name comes out impatient.
I lower my mouth to her left breast, and the nipple tightens beneath my tongue. Katie’s back rises from the mattress, pushing more of the soft weight against my face while her fingers enter my hair. With sensation sharpened by pregnancy, one slow pull breaks her breath.
Her grip tightens without hurting the brace.
I draw the nipple deeper, then release it before moving to the other breast. My hand cups the first, feeling its new heaviness while my thumb passes over the wet center. Katie rocks against my thigh, and heat reaches through her underwear and darkens the damp fabric where it rubs my trousers.
“You’re making the sheets wet,” I say against her skin.
“They belong to me.”
“A powerful legal argument.”
“Nadia would win.”
The laugh becomes a moan when I bite lightly beneath her breast.
I move down her stomach, kissing the subtle curve below her navel, then catch the waistband of her underwear, and Katie lifts for me without being asked. The black cotton slides over her hips and down her legs, leaving her open in the pale morning light.
Her pussy is already swollen, dark curls damp above it and clear arousal shining between the folds. I spread her thighs with both palms and look until her breath turns unsteady.
She reaches for me, and I catch her left hand and place it above her head against the pillow, not trapped, simply held where she can pull free whenever she chooses. Her fingers close around mine instead.
“Open wider,” I say.
Katie obeys with a small movement that exposes everything. The enthusiasm in it hits harder than any spoken permission.
Rather than lower my mouth, I stay above her.
My thumb slips through the wetness at her entrance and carries it upward to her clitoris, where I draw one slow circle.
Her hips lift; again I repeat the motion without giving her the firmer pressure she seeks, watching impatience flush her throat and breasts.
My other hand opens my trousers, and Katie’s gaze drops as I free my cock, heavy and dark with blood, the wet head leaving a shining mark against my stomach. I strip the remaining clothes away without releasing her hand.
The bed and her body belong to her. She still opens both for me, and the knowledge burns through every place fear once mistook possession for safety.
I arrange two pillows behind her shoulders so I can keep my weight off her stomach, then settle between her thighs. My cock lies along her slick folds, the head pressing below her clitoris each time I move my hips. I don’t enter. Not yet.
Katie’s free hand closes around my upper arm, and her nails bite when I drag the thick length over her again, coating myself in her arousal. On the third pass, I let the head catch at her opening. Her body tries to take me, but I withdraw until a frustrated sound breaks from her.
“Artur.”
I look into her eyes and press forward.
Slowly, the head opens her, stretching her lips around me before the tight heat inside grips until my shoulders shake.
I give her another inch, stop, and watch her take it.
With her left leg hooked around my hip, Katie pulls while I control the descent until my cock is buried to the root and my pelvis settles against her.
Her breath leaves against my mouth.
We stay there for one suspended moment, joined face-to-face in the bed she can order me out of. The slight curve of her stomach touches mine without pressure. Beneath it, three children exist because she once assessed one reckless night and chose me anyway.
I release her hand and frame her face as she turns into my palm, kissing the base of my thumb while her pussy clenches around me.
Then I begin to move.
The first strokes take their time, withdrawing until the head threatens to slip free before driving back through the tight resistance of her body, and Katie’s breasts sway beneath me.
Each thrust makes the fuller weight tremble, nipples dark and hard, while her mouth opens on sounds too honest for teasing.
I take her left thigh higher along my side, changing the angle without crowding her stomach, and her pussy grips me deeper. The next stroke pushes a cry from her, and I establish a forceful rhythm that rocks the mattress but remains measured so she feels every inch returning.
Her hands move over my shoulders and into my hair. Katie is no longer bound or waiting for someone else’s decision. She drags my mouth to hers and kisses me with her tongue while I fuck her into the pillows.
Heat builds between our bodies, and my pelvis grinds over her clitoris at the bottom of every thrust, giving her pressure without my hand leaving her waist. Katie begins meeting me, not directing the pace but demanding all of it, her heel tightening against my back whenever I withdraw.
I catch her jaw gently and turn her face toward mine.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes open: brown irises have gone dark around wide pupils, their focus unguarded despite everything she knows I am capable of. I hold that gaze as I drive into her, letting her see the fear, hunger, and control I have no intention of pretending away.
Her body tightens beneath mine as the first flutter around my cock becomes a hard pulsing grip, and Katie’s thighs begin to shake against my hips. I keep the angle, thrusting through the contractions until her back arches and the orgasm takes her with my name torn from her throat.
The sight destroys what remains of my restraint.
Braced on one forearm beside her head, I take her harder until the headboard strikes the wall in a blunt rhythm.
Her wet pussy gives around every stroke, then closes as if unwilling to release me.
Low and violent, my release begins to gather, and feeling it too, Katie locks her leg around my waist and holds me where she wants the answer.
I bury myself fully.
My cock pulses inside her, filling her as pleasure breaks through my body. I keep my weight on my arms and my eyes on hers through every contraction. Katie’s hands remain on my face, holding me there until the last shudder passes and both of us have to remember how to breathe.
For several seconds I don’t move; sweat cools along my spine. Her heart beats against my chest, quick and alive, as my softened cock remains deep inside her.
I withdraw carefully, and my release slips warm from her onto the tangled sheet.
The softness in Katie’s expression makes my exhausted body stir again.
I clean her with a warm cloth, taking my time over the sensitive skin between her thighs, then replace the pillow under her shoulders and return naked to the bed she invited me to share.
While Katie drinks, I hold the glass because the brace makes the angle awkward.
Instead of the old irritation at being assisted, she guides my hand higher and finishes half before settling against the pillows.
Small enough that nobody outside this room would notice, the difference still matters.
Help has stopped arriving as a decision already made for her.
My fingers close around her right hand; I kiss her palm, then rest it over my heartbeat so she can feel that fear remains in me without having to carry it alone.
Katie turns onto her back, her open shirt framing flushed breasts while the lower curve of her stomach remains marked by my palm.
“The first ceremony gave me your name,” I say. “It didn’t give me your choice.”
She touches my cheek. “The second one will be for both of us.”
Without leaving the bed, we plan it: after repairs to the mirrors, catwalk, and fire curtain, Velvet Fortune will reopen.
If a chair stays close, Cherry insists she can stand beside Katie.
Beside me, Boris accepts his position after stating that ceremonial duties must not interfere with revised command structures.
The organization will remain smaller, and Lev has agreed to hold a new council vote, while Boris’s authority to suspend my emergency orders will become part of the security rules rather than a private favor.
For her own team, Katie chooses every guard.
Through recovery, Cherry keeps protection, with each schedule approved by her instead of inherited through Katie’s marriage.
“And the club?” I ask.
“The dancers keep the Diamond Draw. Lidia helps George build a privacy rule that prevents anyone from photographing employee records.”
“You trust her with that?”
“I trust supervision and restitution. Friendship is a different decision.”
Katie has learned to separate forgiveness from access more quickly than I did.
She draws one finger through the hair on my chest. “I want the vows on the stage.”
“The club is damaged.”
“Then repair it.”
The tone carries enough command to make my mouth curve.
“Why the stage?”
Katie’s eyes move toward the pale line near my temple before returning to mine. “The private room is where you chose me. I want the stage to be where I choose you in front of everyone.”