His breathing becomes ragged, hips starting to lift involuntarily to meet my movements. I can feel him getting close, can taste the change in his arousal. But I'm not ready for this to end yet.
I pull off completely, ignoring his frustrated groan, and kiss along his length from base to tip. My tongue traces the thick vein on the underside, and when I reach the head again, I swirl around it teasingly.
"You're torturing me," he grits out.
"I know." I smile against him. "But you love it."
I take him back in my mouth, deeper this time, establishing a faster pace. My hand pumps in time with my movements, twisting and squeezing. His grip in my hair tightens, and I know he's fighting to let me set the rhythm instead of taking control like he usually does.
"Hannah, I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "If you don't want?—"
I look up at him, making sure he sees the answer in my eyes as I take him even deeper. I want everything he can give me. Want to taste his surrender.
His control shatters. With a groan that sounds like my name mixed with Russian curses, he comes hard, spilling into my mouth. I swallow everything, working him through the waves of his orgasm until he's shaking and spent.
When I finally pull off, he's staring at me with something like awe on his face. I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and climb onto his lap, straddling him.
"I love you," I say, framing his face with my hands. "Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow, next week—I love you."
He pulls me close, his forehead resting against mine. "Ya tebya lyublyu," he whispers. "Forever,zayka. You're mine forever."
"And you're mine."
We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing together, drawing strength from each other. Then his hands slide down to grip my hips through the silk of my robe.
"My turn," he says, his voice rough but determined. "Let me show you how much I love you."
I let him lay me back on the bed, let him worship my body with his hands and mouth until I'm crying out his name. And when he finally slides inside me, it feels like coming home.
We make love slowly, savoring every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. There's no urgency now, just the two of us trying to memorize this moment in case it's our last.
But it won't be our last. I refuse to believe that.
We're going to survive this. We're going to build a life together, raise our child, watch Mila grow up. We're going to have the future we both deserve.
I have to believe that.
Because the alternative is unthinkable.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his hand resting protectively on my stomach where our baby grows. I'm almost asleep when I hear him whisper against my hair.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I murmur.
"For staying. For fighting. For loving me despite everything."
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
And I mean it. Even knowing what's coming. Even knowing the danger.
This is where I belong.
With him. With our family.
And I'll fight with everything I have to protect it.
"I'm going to marry you,” he says into the dark. “Make this official. Give our child my name."
