“Double-check security,” he says. “No one moves alone tonight.”
Viktor nods and leaves. The door clicks shut.
Silence settles between us, heavier than before. Simon stands with his back to me, breathing slow, controlled, but the tension in him is coiled tight enough to snap. I rise from the couch and walk toward him, my bare feet silent against the hardwood. I stop behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Simon,” I whisper.
He turns.
The moment our eyes meet, the weight of the world around us fractures. All the threats, all the danger, everything that’s pressing in from outside, none of it matters in this pocket of silence.
He lifts a hand and cups my face. His palm is warm, calloused, steady despite the storm in him. I lean into it instinctively, and he exhales a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it for hours.
“You’re the only thing that makes any of this bearable,” he says softly.
My chest tightens painfully. “You don’t have to protect me alone.”
His thumb strokes my cheek, slow and reverent. “I do, and I will.”
He leans down, kisses me with a restraint that trembles at the edges. Slow. Deep. A kiss that makes my knees weaken and my breath catch. His other hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there like I’m the only thing keeping him from flying apart.
The kiss deepens—not hungry, but intense, full of everything he can’t say out loud. A promise. A vow. A plea.
When our mouths part, our foreheads stay pressed together. His breath brushes my lips.
“There is nothing in this world I won’t do to keep you safe,” he murmurs. “Nothing.”
“I know,” I whisper, my hands gripping the front of his shirt. “I believe you.”
His eyes darken not with danger, but with something far more fragile. He lifts me easily, setting me on the desk behind him, stepping between my knees. His hands rest on my hips, not pulling, just holding. Anchoring. His touch is tender, almost reverent.
I cup his face, forcing him to look directly at me. “You don't carry this alone,” I repeat.
His jaw flexes, the only sign of the emotions he keeps locked away. Then he nods just once, small but real.
I kiss him again—slow, lingering, unhurried. This time, he lets the world go completely. His hands slide up my back, gripping me with a need that’s fierce but controlled. I melt into him, letting all the fear and tension drain out of me.
For a moment, we’re not prey or predator. Not hunted or hiding.
Just us.
When the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead on my shoulder, arms wrapped around me as if shielding me from everything outside these walls.
***
The world is loud, dangerous, and spinning outside the walls of this room, but inside, it’s just us—Simon, his touch, the low hum of my breath caught somewhere between want and wonder.
He’s impossibly gentle with me these days. Pregnancy seems to have sharpened every nerve, every pleasure, every fear. My body aches and changes in ways I can’t predict, and there are moments I catch Simon staring at me with a hunger that terrifies and thrills me at once.
Sometimes it feels like he’s the only thing holding me together.
Tonight, the apartment is quiet: no meetings, no distant voices, no guards whispering in the hall. He locks the door behind us, shuts out the rest of the world, and turns to me. His eyes burn with something I recognize now—not just desire, but devotion.
He comes to me slowly, tracing his fingertips down my bare arm. The contact is so light I almost shiver. His thumb lingers at my elbow, and he watches the way I breathe, as if he’s waiting for permission to go further. I don’t hesitate. I lean into him, letting my lips find his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin, the stubble rough against my mouth.
“Careful,” he murmurs, but his hands settle on my hips, guiding me backward until the backs of my knees find the bed.
My heart beats faster. Everything feels sharper—his scent, the weight of his hands, the heat rolling off his body. I sink onto the mattress and he follows, hovering above, his gaze tracking every flicker of emotion across my face.
