He deepens the kiss and flips us in one swift, silent motion, so I’m on my back, and he’s hovering above me. He slips the robe down my shoulders and away from my skin, exposing me to the hazy morning light. His hand finds my breast, warm and heavy in his palm, and he twists my nipple gently, still kissing me like his life depends on it.
I moan into his mouth, a low, broken sound of absolute surrender. He drags his mouth away from my lips and lowers his head, sucking my nipple into his mouth.
As he sucks, his hand snakes down my body and parts my legs, his fingers finding my clit. I writhe beneath him, the combination of deep suction and careful friction driving the blood to my core. He’s gentle, softer than he ever has been, treating my body like delicate glass even as he consumes it.
He kisses a hot, searing path down my stomach, and then his mouth settles at the junction of my thighs. He sucks my clit into his mouth, and I cry out, grasping the sheets as the overwhelming pleasure washes away all the lingering trauma.
I writhe, desperate, my hips lifting and rocking against his mouth, begging silently for him to take me over the edge. His tongue is merciless and skilled, and the sensation is blinding.
Just when I’m about to climax, he pulls his mouth away from me. The loss is a shocking jolt of raw yearning.
“Roman….”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he grunts and drives inside me with desperate need. He plunges deep, filling me completely. I cling to him, whispering his name over and over again, the raw rhythm of our bodies chasing the pleasure he just gave me.
“Elara, I fucking love you,” he growls into my ear, his hips slamming into mine, and I believe it. I believe the savage love that moved mountains and brought me to this bed.
My world explodes in a final, searing wave of release. Because no man has ever sacrificed as much for me as this man. And I’ll love him for the rest of my life.
Epilogue – Elara
Two Years Later
The glass walls of the serene gallery shimmer in the late afternoon sunlight, turning the polished wood floor into a warm expanse of gold. My name is printed in elegant, simple letters on the program near the entrance:Elara Rusnak, Curator and Director. It’s still a shock to see, but a quiet victory.
I laugh, a genuine, unburdened sound, as I adjust the stroller where Erik sleeps. He’s barely a year old, and Roman and I love him with all our hearts. Children run past, their footsteps echoing lightly on the stone, their parents admiring the exhibition of restored artwork I spent the last two years securing. This place, this purpose, is my peace.
I feel Roman before I see him. We’ve been together two years, and it’s always been like that. My body always registers him before my vision does.
He enters quietly through the heavy doors, a shadow of fierce control in this serene space. Roman is in a sharp suit, his long brown hair tied back severely, but his expression is softer than any man with his power should possess.
He walks straight to me, bypassing the art and the crowd. He bends down, his scent—woodsmoke and expensive cologne—a familiar anchor. He kisses my temple, his lips warm and firm.
“I’m not late, am I?”
“Are you?” I tease, physically restraining myself from looping my arms around his neck. He always has that effect on me.
He leans down to whisper, “What’s with that tone? Should we use one of the spare rooms?”
“Roman!” I slap his chest and push him away. “Not in front of your son.”
“Oh, right!” Laughing, he bends to kiss a sleeping Erik. “See, he’s asleep. I’ll be quick.”
“You’re never quick.”
“That’s a compliment.”
I roll my eyes. “Get over yourself.”
His eyes turn naughty, that familiar smirk curving his mouth. “You know how hot you always look when you put on a suit with these heels. It’s not my fault.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” he says, grinning as he takes my hand. The warmth of his palm still sends sparks up my arm, even after all this time.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my fingers. “I promise. You deserve this.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my chest tightening a little.
