"I'd give up more."
"Why?"
He catches my hand, presses his lips to my palm. The gesture is so tender I feel something crack in my chest, and wetness floods between my thighs.
"Because I love you."
The words stop everything. My breath, my heart, time itself. He's never said it. Neither have I. We've circled it, implied it, shown it in a thousand violent and tender ways. But the actual words…
"Say it again."
"I love you, Sofia." His grip on my hand tightens, like he's anchoring himself to this moment. "I love you with every part of my wretched soul."
I kiss him then. Soft, trembling, nothing like our desperate claiming before. Against his lips, I whisper, "I love you too."
He makes a sound like I've punched him, fingers tangling in my ratty hair, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp.
"I tried not to," I continue between kisses. "I tried so hard not to."
"I know."
"You kidnapped me. Tortured me. Made me bleed."
"I know."
"And I’m here anyway,” I say. “I’ll always come back to you."
He unties my wrap dress like he's unwrapping something sacred. His fingers shake slightly as they work the knot, and that small sign of nervousness from this dangerous man makes meeven wetter. The cloth parts, falls away, pools around me on the leather couch.
I'm completely naked beneath, and his sharp intake of breath makes my skin flush. His eyes travel my body slowly, reverently, but also with that familiar hunger that makes me press my thighs together.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so fucking beautiful."
I press my hand to his bare chest, needing to feel him, all of him. My fingers trace the scars I've memorized: the one on his ribs from Chechnya, the thin line on his shoulder from his father. Then I work the band of his boxers, pushing it down. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking, and my mouth waters at the sight.
"I know where every one of these came from now," I say, tracing a scar on his hip.
"Some of them you gave me."
My fingers find the scratches I left on his back just days ago, still healing. "Good."
He laughs, surprised. "Good?"
"You deserved them."
"I deserved worse."
"Probably." I lean forward, press my lips to the scar over his heart, then lower, trailing kisses down his chest. "But I'm done punishing you."
He groans when I wrap my hand around his cock, stroking slowly. "Sofia…"
"Let me," I whisper, then take him in my mouth.
He tastes like salt and need, and the sound he makes when I swallow him deep makes my pussy throb. I work him with my tongue, my hand, until he's gripping my hair and cursing in Russian.
"Stop," he gasps, pulling me up. "I need to be inside you when I come."
He lifts me, carrying me to the bed that dominates the suite. The sheets are satin, cool against my heated skin as he lays me down with infinite care. He hovers over me, weight on his elbows, just looking.
