I wrapped my mouth around her clit and sucked. Hard.
Her whole body arched, her fingers clawing at the sheets while I worked her with ruthless precision. My tongue, fast and steady. My fingers, slipping inside her easily, curling just right. She was so open for me, so ruined already, but she clenched around me like she’d been waiting hours for this.
“Kirill, please! I’m going to—”
“Not yet.”
I pulled away—my mouth, my fingers—leaving her shaking, right on the edge.
Before she could beg again, I flipped her onto her stomach. She buried her face in the pillow, her ass lifted instinctively, like she knew exactly what I wanted.
“Up,” I ordered, smacking her ass. The sound cracked through the room. She yelped, then obeyed.
I pressed my chest to her back, my hands cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples until she whimpered. My cock—hard again, painfully hard—pressed between her cheeks. I leaned in, biting her ear.
“I want to see the marks I made on your back. I want to watch you take me.”
My hand guided my cock to her entrance. This time I pushed in slow—inch by thick inch—feeling every twitch of her tight muscles trying to adjust around me. She groaned, pushing back, greedy for the fullness even through the soreness.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” I hissed as my hips finally met her ass.
I started moving, hard and deep, the angle hitting her beautifully—each thrust making her gasp. My hands dropped toher hips, gripping the bruises I’d left. I didn’t hold back. I didn’t need to.
“Whose wife are you?” I growled, pounding into her harder with each word.
“Yours!” she sobbed into the pillow. “I’m yours, Kirill!”
“Damn right.”
I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Her neck arched perfectly for my mouth, and I sucked another mark into her skin while driving her into the mattress. She was trembling, the friction making her fall apart faster this time.
“Kirill, I’m close—I’m close again!”
“Go. Cum for me, Barbara. Let me feel you squeeze.”
She broke. She shattered around me violently, her body clamping down on my cock so tight I nearly lost control.
Her orgasm dragged mine out of me in a low, guttural roar. I slammed into her—deep, deeper, deepest—before spilling inside her again, filling her until she shook.
I collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the sheets, both of us breathless, drenched in sweat, still connected.
I kissed her shoulder—slow, claiming, certain.
“My wife,” I whispered against her skin. “My ruin.”
Hours later, the room was quiet, but the charge was still there. My lips traced the curve of her shoulder, finding the mark I’d left earlier.
“I love you.” The words came out rough, stripped of pretense.
She turned in my arms, her hair a wild halo on the pillow, her lips swollen and red from my mouth. She looked thoroughly, beautifully ravaged.
“I love you too,” she whispered, her hand resting on my chest over my heart. “My husband.”
The word settled deep in my bones. Outside, Sebastian was still hunting us. The world was still burning. But in here,wrapped in tangled sheets and the scent of our sex, I had claimed the only thing that mattered.
We had each other. Had the promise of a future we’d build together. Had the child growing inside Barbara that would be the physical manifestation of this impossible love. Had the vows we’d just spoken in front of two worlds that shouldn’t mix, but somehow did when it came to us.
We had forever. Or as close to forever as people like us could claim.
