Proof that she's here.
Proof that it's done.
That the world can burn, and I'd still choose her in the ashes.
She goes tense.
Just slightly. But enough that I feel it.
Fuck.
Reality crashes back. Dmitri tried to force himself on her only minutes ago, and here I am touching her like nothing happened. Like she's not still processing. Still scared.
This isn't a captivity game anymore. This is different. She's my fiancée now. My future wife. My queen.
I pull back and give her space. I look into her eyes. The green reflects orange flames. Unreadable.
"If you're not ready, we don't have to?—"
She kisses me.
Hard. Hungry. Her hands go to my belt before I can finish the sentence, working it open with shaking fingers.
"I want to leave Dmitri behind." Her voice is steady despite her trembling hands. "Down there. In that room. Iwant to leave it there and be yours. I want to be here with you."
She turns and positions herself, hands on the railing, offering herself.
I catch her hips and reposition her to face me instead.
"No."
The word comes out rough.
"I need to see you."
I need to watch her face. Need to see her eyes. Need this to be about us and nothing else. Not about taking or claiming or any of that. About love. About choosing each other.
I strip the red lace off her. Finally. Been wanting to destroy the disgusting scraps since I saw her in them. I tear it off and throw it overboard where it belongs.
She's bare now. Bruised but mine. Marked but choosing me anyway.
I enter her slowly. Carefully. I watch her face as I do. Watch her eyes go wide, then soft. Watch her mouth fall open on a gasp.
Fuck. She's perfect.
Warm and tight and made for me. Every inch of her accepting me. Taking me. Choosing me.
My queen.
My fucking queen.
I start moving. Slow at first to let her adjust. Allowing her to feel every inch. My hands grip her hips. Not hard enough to bruise—she has enough of those. Just firm. Possessive.
She wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me deeper. Her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt, and I love it. Love the marks she's leaving. Love that she's claiming me back.
"Ivan." My name escapes her lips. Breathy. Desperate.
I kiss her while we move. Swallow her sounds. Taste her. All of her.
