"I'm close," I gasp. "Misha, I'm so close—"
"Let go." His hand slides between us, finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, Bianca. Let me feel you."
The orgasm rips through me with the force of a hurricane. I scream his name, my body clenching around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. He follows moments later, his rhythm stuttering, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills himself with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his soul.
We collapse together, tangled and sweating, our hearts pounding in unison.
***
Afterward, we lie in the darkness, wrapped around each other.
His hand rests on my belly, fingers splayed over the slight curve where our child grows. I can feel him breathing against my hair, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
"I never thought I'd have this," he says quietly.
"Have what?"
"Any of it. Someone to hold. Someone to come home to." His hand moves in gentle circles on my stomach. "A family."
"You had family. Dmitri. Anna."
"That's different. That's blood obligation, shared history, people bound together by circumstance." He presses a kiss to my temple. "This is something I chose. Someone I chose."
I turn in his arms, facing him. In the dim light, his features are softer than usual, the sharp edges blurred by shadows and satisfaction.
"I chose you too," I say. "Even when I didn't want to. Even when I was fighting it with everything I had."
"And now?"
"Now I'm done fighting." I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip. "Now I just want to build something. With you."
He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm, then to the ring that glitters on my finger.
"We'll build it together," he promises. "Whatever you want. Whatever you need. A home. A family. A life."
"A life," I echo. "I like the sound of that."
He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin, his arms wrapped around me like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "I've got you."
And I do. For the first time in weeks—maybe for the first time ever—I fall asleep feeling completely, utterly safe.
***
I wake to sunlight and the smell of coffee.
Misha is already awake, propped up against the headboard, watching me with an expression I can't quite read. The sheet has pooled at his waist, leaving his chest bare, the tattoos dark against his skin.
"Good morning, fiancée," he says.
The word sends a thrill through me. Fiancée. I'm engaged. To him.
"Good morning, fiancé." I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles I forgot I had. "How long have you been watching me sleep?"
"Long enough to memorize the way you look in the morning light." He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face. "I could get used to this."
"You'll have to. You proposed. No take-backs."
