“Here?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow at her choice of location.
“Here,” Anka confirmed, her hands pushing his shirt off his shoulders with deliberate slowness. “I want to make new memories in every room of this house. I want to replace all the lonely nights with something better.”
The admission hit Viktor like a physical blow, reminding him of the months they’d spent apart, the nights when he’d wandered through their home like a ghost haunting his own life. He’d told himself at the time that her absence was temporary, that his revenge against Adrian was more important than his marriage, but the truth was that every day without her had felt like dying slowly.
“Never again,” Viktor said fiercely, his hands framing her face with gentle intensity. “I will never choose anything over you again, Anka. Not revenge, not pride, not my own fears about vulnerability or loss. You are my priority, always.”
“I know,” Anka replied, her voice carrying absolute conviction. “I can see it in the way you look at me, in the choices you make, in the man you’ve become. You don’t have to keep proving it to me, Viktor. I believe you.”
The trust in her voice was humbling, a gift Viktor wasn’t sure he deserved but was determined to honor for the rest of his life. He pulled her closer, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was meant to convey everything words couldn’t express—gratitude, devotion, the kind of love that transformed people from the inside out.
Anka melted against him, her body fitting against his with the perfect alignment of two people who’d learned eachother’s rhythms through months of patient rediscovery. Her hands moved across his chest with familiar confidence, mapping muscle and scar with equal reverence, reminding him that she loved all of him—the beautiful parts and the damaged ones alike.
“I love your hands,” Anka murmured against his throat, her lips trailing fire across skin that had become hypersensitive to her touch. “I love how gentle they can be when you think I’m not paying attention, and how possessive they become when you think someone else might be looking.”
Viktor groaned at her words, his hands tightening on her waist in response to her observation. She wasn’t wrong—he was possessive of her, protective to a fault, constantly aware of other men’s attention, and ready to eliminate any perceived threats to their happiness.
“Is that a complaint?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“No,” Anka replied, her smile wicked against his skin. “It’s an invitation.”
Viktor didn’t need to be asked twice. He lifted her easily, settling her on the edge of the coffee table and stepping between her spread thighs with the kind of deliberate intent that made her breath catch. The position put them at eye level, allowing him to study her face as he slowly worked at the buttons of the shirt she wore.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Viktor said, his voice rough with sincerity. “But it’s not just your face or your body that takes my breath away—it’s the way you look at me like I’m worth loving, like I’m worthy of your trust and forgiveness and devotion.”
Anka’s expression softened at his admission, her hands reaching up to frame his face with tender reverence. “You areworthy of all of that and more,” she said firmly. “You’re worthy of happiness, Viktor. You’re worthy of love that doesn’t come with conditions or requirements or the constant fear that you’ll do something to lose it.”
The words hit something deep in Viktor’s chest, some old wound he’d carried for so long that he’d forgotten it was there. Growing up in the Bratva had taught him that love was always conditional, always dependent on strength, success, and the ability to protect what mattered. The idea that Anka could love him simply for who he was, flaws and all, still felt like a miracle he didn’t quite understand.
“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real,” Viktor admitted, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones with reverential gentleness. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll wake up and discover this is all an elaborate dream, that I’m still alone and angry and convinced that revenge is more important than happiness.”
“Then let me prove to you that this is real,” Anka said, her voice carrying promise and desire in equal measure.
She kissed him with the kind of intensity that made coherent thought impossible, her mouth moving against his with practiced skill and genuine passion. Viktor responded instinctively, his hands tangling in her hair as months of rebuilt intimacy flowed between them like electricity.
The shirt she wore—his shirt—fell away under his attention, revealing the curves and valleys of a body he’d memorized through countless nights of worship and exploration. Anka was self-conscious about her size sometimes, despite his constant reassurances that she was perfect exactly as she was. But tonight, there was no hesitation in the way she arched into his touch, no shyness in the way she demanded his attention.
“I missed this,” Anka gasped as Viktor’s mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “I missed the way you touch me like I’m something precious, like you can’t get enough of me.”
“I can’t,” Viktor replied honestly, his hands mapping familiar territory with renewed appreciation. “I’ve been addicted to you since the moment we met, and three months of having you back in my bed hasn’t been nearly enough to satisfy the craving.”
Anka laughed, the sound breathless and delighted. “Three months, several years, fifty years—I don’t think it will ever be enough. I think I’ll want you just as desperately when we’re old and gray as I do right now.”
The image she painted—them growing old together, still reaching for each other with desperate love and undiminished desire—filled Viktor with contentment so profound it felt like drowning. This was what he’d almost thrown away in his pursuit of revenge, this perfect happiness that transformed every day into something worth celebrating.
“Promise me,” Viktor said, his voice rough with emotion and desire. “Promise me we’ll have that future, that we’ll grow old together and never stop wanting each other.”
“I promise,” Anka replied without hesitation, her hands already working at his belt with efficient determination. “I promise to love you through every challenge and celebrate every victory and choose you over everything else, every day for the rest of our lives.”
Viktor felt something settle in his chest at her words—peace, maybe, or simply the absence of the fear that had driven him for so long. He had her promise, had her love, had her bodywarm and willing beneath his hands. Everything else was just noise.
“Then let me worship you properly,” Viktor said, lowering her back onto the plush rug in front of the fireplace with careful reverence. “Let me show you how grateful I am that you chose to build something beautiful with me instead of walking away when it got difficult.”
What followed was a slow exploration of rediscovered intimacy, hands and mouths relearning familiar territory with the kind of focused attention that made time cease to matter. Viktor took his time with her, using every skill he’d learned over months of patient study to drive her toward the edge of madness before pulling her back, building pleasure layer upon layer until she was trembling beneath him.
“Please,” Anka gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he continued his torturous pace. “Viktor, please, I need—”
“Tell me what you need,” Viktor commanded, his voice rough with his own barely controlled desire. “Tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
