His wife.
The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like a costume I'm wearing that shouldn't quite fit.
Except, it does fit, which is exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
I shift slightly, feeling the ache between my legs, a reminder of everything that happened tonight. The way he touched me. The way I touched him. The way I took him in my mouth and felt powerful when he fell apart because of me.
The way I begged him to fill me.
Heat floods through me at the memory. What was I thinking? I don't know anything about being a mother. About raising children in this world of violence and power and careful hierarchies.
But when Gennady's hand had rested on my stomach, when he'd talked about watching my body change and grow round with his child, something inside me had wanted it. Had craved it with an intensity that scared me.
I want to give him children. Want to see his eyes light up when I tell him I'm pregnant. Want to watch him hold our baby and know that I created something good out of all this darkness.
I carefully turn in his arms, moving slowly so I don't wake him. The firelight has died down to embers, but there's enough glow to see his face. He looks younger in sleep, the harsh lines of command softened. His dark hair is mussed, falling across his forehead, and I resist the urge to brush it back.
This man killed my brother.
This man married me.
This man made me scream his name three times in one night.
Who am I now?
Not Matilda Lazovskia. That girl died when she gave up her brother and walked out of her father's house. Not the uncertain woman who stood in the orangery a few hours ago, unsure if she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
I'm Matilda Petrova.
The Pakhan's wife.
The thought settles over me with surprising weight. Like something solid and real that I can stand on instead of sinking through.
I have power now. Real power. Not the borrowed, conditional kind my father doled out in carefully measured amounts. Not the kind that came with endless restrictions and expectations.
The kind that comes from standing beside the most dangerous man in the city and knowing he chose me. Knowing that anyone who wants to touch me has to go through him first.
Knowing that I chose him back.
Some men whispered today. Called me a traitor. Questioned my loyalty. But they'll learn. They'll see that I'm not some temporary distraction, some girl who got lucky. I'm his wife. And I'm going to make damn sure everyone knows exactly what that means.
Including me.
The thought crystallizes into something sharp and determined. I don't want to just be the Pakhan's wife in name. I want to be his partner. His equal. The woman who stands beside him when things get hard instead of cowering behind him.
The woman who knows how to wield power instead of just benefiting from his.
And it starts with owning what I want.
My hand slides down between us, finding him soft against his thigh. He's spent, but I want to wake him up the way he promised to wake me.
I want to take control again.
I wrap my fingers around him gently, stroking slowly. He doesn't stir at first, but after a few moments, I feel him start to harden in my hand. His breathing changes, deepening, and I know he's waking up.
"Matilda?" His voice is rough with sleep.
"Shh." I continue stroking him, feeling him grow fully hard. "I want you."
