Yuri is beside me before I hear him enter. He crouches and wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me close. Solid. Steady. “If you want everything moved, we’ll do it,” he murmurs.“We’ll have it all out by the end of the day. You can have your own space set up at the mansion, just like this.”
I shake my head, pressing my forehead to his shoulder. “It’s not that,” I whisper. “It’s…”
I don’t even know where to begin.
He doesn’t push. He just holds me. And for a while, that’s all I need.
I look up. His face is so close, his jaw tight, eyes stormy with concern. Protective. Fierce.
God, he’s beautiful.
“Kiss me,” I say.
And he does.
His lips claim mine—slow at first, then deep and searching, like he’s trying to kiss every bit of pain away. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek like I might shatter if he holds me too tight.
I lean into it, into him.
His other hand slides around my waist, drawing me closer until there’s no space between us at all.
His breath is warm on my mouth when he whispers, “I’ll do anything for you. For them. There’s nothing I won’t give.”
I believe him.
I grip the hem of his shirt and pull. He moves with me, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. I run my hands down hischest, feeling the solid heat of him, the tension he carries like armor.
He pulls off my sweater then leans in, kissing every inch of skin revealed—my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, my neck. Reverent. Tender.
We shed the rest of our clothes with quiet urgency, each piece falling like soft whispers. When we slip beneath the sheets, the rain is tapping against the window in a steady rhythm.
By the time he reaches the inside of my thighs, I’m trembling. His breath is warm, teasing. Finally, his fingers find me and I gasp, hips pressing into his touch before I can stop myself.
He groans low in his throat, like the sound of me unraveling undoes something in him.
He doesn’t go for intensity, just slow, steady circles, gentle pressure in a precise rhythm. Like he’s listening with his hands, learning me all over again. His fingers tease my entrance then retreat, spreading wetness with knowing ease. When his thumb brushes against my clit, I cry out softly, and he smiles into my skin.
I can barely breathe, barely think. My fingers twist in the sheets. He takes his time; watching me, coaxing pleasure with patience and skill that borders on cruel.
When my body is strung tight with want, trembling and desperate, he rises over me, bracing himself with one arm, his other hand still between my thighs, keeping me at that perfect edge.
His eyes lock on mine. Deep. Dark. Serious.
“Please,” I moan.
He enters me with one long, smooth thrust, and everything falls away. The stretch, the fullness, the dizzying depth of it. My breath catches as he buries himself within. I clutch his shoulders, my nails pressing into the muscle there, and for a second I forget how to think, how to move. There’s only him. The heat of his skin, the sound of his breath, the way he fills every inch of me like he belongs there.
Yuri stills for a moment, like he wants to savor the feel of us joined.
“God, Astrid,” he murmurs against my jaw. “You feel like home.”
My chest tightens with emotion.
He moves slowly, powerfully. Each thrust is deep, steady, like he’s not just taking me—he’s memorizing me. Our hips move in sync, my body rising to meet his. We’ve always had this rhythm, but it’s different now.
It’s perfect.
His perfect body works, his muscles tensing and flexing as he drives into me, each stroke so perfectly full.
