“But I didn’t.”
“I almost lost you.”
“But you didn’t.” I reach for his jaw, thumb brushing the dark stubble that’s grown in rough and fast. “We survived.”
Something in him softens. Or maybe unravels.
His kiss is slow at first, like he’s memorizing me all over again. His mouth moves against mine with aching sweetness, and my whole body leans into it, into him, like I’ve been waiting for this moment without knowing it.
When his hand slides up under my shirt and brushes the curve of my side, I shiver. We break apart for a breath. His lips are swollen, his eyes wide.
“I want to feel you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t ask if I’m sure. He sees it in my eyes. He stands and takes my hand, leading me to the bedroom, which is filled with golden light spilling in through the city windows. Everything feels soft. Quiet. Safe.
He lifts the shirt over my head, fingers slow but sure. We’re in no rush. He kisses my shoulder and unclasps my bra, not breaking eye contact. When it falls, his gaze drops to my breasts. He lingers there for a moment, then bends to kiss the top of my belly.
“I still can’t believe this,” he murmurs against my skin. “Our future.”
My throat tightens. “They’re kicking,” I say. “They always do when they hear your voice.”
He lays his hand gently on my stomach. Waits. And when they do it again, his breath catches. “I felt it.”
I nod, tears forming. “They know you.”
He undresses slowly. Every inch of him is strength and heat. When he lifts me onto the bed, it’s effortless. When he lays beside me, naked and real and utterly mine, I forget everything else.
He trails kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, then lower. When he takes one nipple into his mouth, I gasp. My hands twist in his hair as pleasure spirals out from the heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth.
“I missed this,” he whispers.
His fingers slide between my legs and I arch into him. I’m already slick, already begging without words. He knows every part of my body, and he maps it now like he’s coming home. He murmurs things in Russian, things I don’t understand but feel in my bones.
When he finally pushes inside, I cry out. He groans, head bowed, his breath ghosting across my throat. His hands are braced oneither side of me, muscles taut, arms trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. His dark hair hangs forward, damp at the edges, and his jaw clenches as he slides deeper, the corded strength of his body coiled above mine.
“You feel like heaven,” he says, voice hoarse.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, pulling him deeper until I can feel the length of him buried inside me—thick, pulsing, perfect.
“Then don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Each thrust is steady and unhurried, a slow claiming. His hips roll into mine, powerful and controlled, his body moving with a rhythm that’s both primal and achingly tender.
I tilt my head back and watch him through heavy-lidded eyes—watch the way his mouth parts with each thrust, the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way his skin glows golden in the low light, kissed by sweat and need.
He’s beautiful. His abs tighten with each stroke, his chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm. I feel him everywhere—his weight above me, his breath mingling with mine, the delicious drag of his cock inside me, each movement slick and perfect, sending heat blooming through my belly.
His hands find mine again, fingers twining tight, anchoring me as he kisses me—deep and searching, messy with want. He groans into my mouth when I arch to meet him, our bodies moving together as if they’ve always known how.
The pace builds slowly, a tide gathering strength, our sweat-slicked skin sliding together as we find the rhythm of each otherall over again. My breath hitches with every thrust, every sweet grind of his hips against mine, the pressure building to a fever pitch.
“I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking. “God, Astrid. I love you.”
My climax hits like a wave crashing against the shore. Full. Shattering. I cry out his name and feel him follow, hips stuttering, breath breaking against my shoulder.
We lay together, tangled and trembling. His forehead presses to mine, sweat cooling on our skin. He shifts only enough to kiss the trail of tears down my cheek.
“We made it,” I whisper.
