Dmitry's arms are wrapped around me, his chest pressed against my back, and his cock buried deep inside me. He moves slowly, lazily, as if we have all the time in the world. His hands cup my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples until they’re hard and aching. Every touch sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core, where his cock fills me completely.
I lean back against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my skin. The room is hazy with steam, and it feels like we’re cocooned in our own little world, safe fromeverything outside. There’s a comfort in his embrace, a sensation of being home.
“Your pussy is like an angel’s,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “So tight and perfect.”
I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of him inside me, the warmth of his body against mine. “Maybe we should start using protection,” I say softly, even though the idea of it feels wrong, like it would shatter this perfect moment.
His grip on my breasts tightens slightly, his thumbs still circling my nipples. “It’s too late for that, babygirl,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I’ve been coming inside you for weeks now. My seed is already planted.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. I try to reassure myself that getting pregnant isn’t easy, that it won’t happen just because we’re having sex all the time. But the possibility fills my heart with a strange, warm joy. The thought of carrying his child, of our future intertwined, even if it’s still uncertain, makes me happier than I thought possible.
The smoke from the candles curls around us, and I feel a deep sense of luxury and comfort. This isn’t just about sex; it’s about intimacy, about feeling safe and loved in his arms. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to come home to him every day, to spend my time with him, to share a life together.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks, his voice soft but commanding. He knows me well enough to sense when my thoughts wander.
I take a deep breath, letting the steam fill my lungs. “I was just thinking about the future. About what happens if I get pregnant.”
His hands still on my breasts, and he leans forward to press a kiss to my shoulder. “If you get pregnant, I’ll marry you,” he says, without missing a beat.
My heart skips. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he confirms. “I’ve been obsessed with you, Callista. Stalking you, watching you, wanting you. But it’s more than that now. I love you. You fill a hole in my chest that I never knew was there. With you, I feel whole.”
Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink them away. “I feel protected with you too. And I might be falling in love with you.”
He smiles against my skin, his stubble rough and comforting. “That’s good to know. I guess that means we’re not fake dating anymore.”
I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. “It’s real now.”
He kisses my shoulder again, his hands resuming their slow, deliberate movements on my breasts. “My world isn’t like yours, babygirl. You’ll have to get used to it. I can give you opportunities to make your dream of being an event planner come true, but you’ll have to turn a blind eye to a lot of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He sighs, his breath warm on my skin. “We do the worst, evil things. Killing people, laundering money, dealing drugs. Just before dinner, I might order to have people killed. You need to be able to live with that.”
I swallow hard, trying to reconcile the man I know with the one he’s describing. “I like you as a person, Dmitry. Your job, even though it’s dangerous and bloody, doesn’t scare me as much as I thought. I can live with it, as long as I have you.”
He kisses the back of my neck, his lips lingering. “You need to think carefully about this, Callista. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words. But in his arms, with his cock still buried deep inside me, I feel at ease. Physical intimacy comes easily with him, and I crave his touch as much as he craves mine. My fingers trace patterns on his thighs, feeling the muscle and strength beneath his skin.
“I know,” I say softly. “I want this, Dmitry. I want you.”
He thrusts gently, a slow, deep movement that makes me gasp. “I want you too, babygirl. More than you know.”
The water laps around us, the steam rising, and I feel content, safe, and loved. Whatever the future holds, I know I want to face it with him. In his arms, I’ve found a home, a place where I belong. And I never want to let it go.
Steam still curlsin the air when we step out of the shower. Water trails down Dmitry’s chest, the robe hanging loose on his shoulders. I grab a towel and reach for the robe draped over the vanity, but before I can slip it on, his fingers circle my wrists.
“I want to dress you,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. “Let me take care of you, babygirl.”
I should laugh, tell him I can handle it, but something in his tone stops me. It isn’t a command—it’s affection disguised as authority. My heart flutters.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He grabs a towel. He kneels to dry my legs first, slow and gentle, his eyes intent. The towel moves in careful circles over my skin. Then he reaches for the silk slip he picked out, helping me step into it, drawing it up over my thighs and shoulders with reverence. Every touch feels deliberate, like I’m something fragile he wants to protect. When his knuckles brush against my collarbone, my heart skips.
“There,” he murmurs, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. “Perfect.”
