The rest of the drive passes in tense silence as we take a circuitous route, making sure we're not followed, before finally pulling through the gates of our estate. The security team has already been alerted. Armed men patrol the perimeter, and I can see the glint of sniper scopes on the roof.
The moment we're inside, I have Alina in my arms, carrying her despite her protests.
"Dimitri, I can walk?—"
"Humor me."
I help Alina change into soft pajamas, my hands gentle on her skin. She's still shaking slightly, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving exhaustion in its wake.
"Come here," I murmur, pulling her into bed with me.
She curls against my chest, her head tucked under my chin, and I wrap my arms around her. For a long moment, we just hold each other, breathing in sync, grateful to be alive.
"I was so scared," she whispers. "Not for me, but for the baby. For you."
"I know. Me too." I press a kiss to her hair. "But we're okay. We're all okay."
Her hand slides up my chest, fingers tracing the line of my jaw. When I look down at her, there's something fierce and hungry in her eyes. Not fear anymore, but need. The need to feel alive, to reaffirm our connection, to push back against the darkness that tried to claim us.
I understand completely.
I kiss her slowly, deeply, pouring everything I feel into it. Love, fear, relief, determination. She responds with equal intensity, her body pressing against mine.
I undress her carefully, reverently, revealing pale skin and soft curves. Her breasts are fuller now with pregnancy, her nipples darker. I trace the small swell of her stomach with my fingertips, awed by the life growing there.
She reaches for my shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers. I help her, shrugging out of my clothes until we're both naked. The lamplight casts golden shadows across her skin.
My hands map her body, relearning every curve and hollow. I cup her breasts gently, thumbs circling her nipples until she arches into my touch. Her hands explore my chest, tracing the eight-pointed star tattoo over my heart, the dragon on my neck.
"I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much."
"I love you," I respond in Russian. Words I never thought I'd say to anyone.
I kiss down her throat, her collarbone, taking my time. When I reach her breasts, I lavish attention on each one, sucking gently, careful not to be too rough. She gasps, her fingers threading through my hair.
"Dimitri, please."
"Patience,lyubov moya." My love.
I continue my exploration, kissing down her ribs, her stomach. I pause at the small swell where our child grows, pressing a tender kiss there. Alina's hand covers mine, and we stay like that for a moment, connected.
Then I move lower, spreading her thighs gently. She's already wet, ready for me. I stroke her with my fingers first, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her head falls back, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
"So responsive," I murmur. "So perfect."
I replace my fingers with my mouth, tasting her. She cries out, her hips lifting. I hold her steady, taking my time, building her pleasure slowly. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her body trembling.
I kiss my way back up her body, settling between her thighs. She reaches between us, guiding me to her entrance. "I need to feel you."
I push inside slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She's tight and hot around me, perfect. When I'm fully seated, we both pause, just breathing together.
She wraps her legs around my hips. "Move, Dimitri."
I do, setting a slow, deep rhythm and bracing myself on my forearms, keeping my weight off her stomach. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled. I watch her face, memorizing every expression, every gasp and moan. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in.
"I've got you," I murmur. "Always."
"Always," she echoes.
