My thrusts find a rhythm, deep and steady, claiming her with every inch. Her hips lift to meet each movement, her breath breaking in soft, frantic sounds that make my blood burn. My thumb finds her swollen clit and rubs slow circles as I pound into her.
Her body tightens beneath mine, thighs trembling.
“Samuil,” she sighs. “Oh?—”
“I know,” I murmur. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Her climax hits fast. Her entire body clenches around me, pulling me deeper as she cries out, her fingers gripping the countertop. I keep moving, drawing it out, fucking her through it until she’s shaking against me.
When she collapses back onto the counter, chest heaving, I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m too far gone. I lift her legs higher around me, angle her hips, and thrust harder, deeper, until I’m right on the edge of losing control.
“Say my name,” I growl, voice rough with need.
“Samuil—”
Something inside me snaps.
I slam into her one final time and come hard, groaning, my entire body shuddering as release tears through me.
When I finally pull back enough to look at her, her face is flushed and soft, her lashes damp. She looks wrecked and beautiful and mine in a way that terrifies me.
I know what comes next. Her fear. Her doubts. Her questions. This doesn’t erase her need to protect herself and our child from the world I live in.
I pull out of her slowly and help her sit upright on the counter, keeping my hands on her hips like I’m afraid she’ll disappear. She adjusts her shirt, cheeks still pink, breathing still uneven.
For a moment, we’re silent. Then she looks away. There’s the shift. The moment reality pushes its way back in. I rest my hand on the counter beside her thigh, letting my fingers brush her skin lightly. “Molly…”
She shakes her head, overwhelmed. I can see the battle in her eyes. She wants me, she wants this, and she wants our child. She’s also terrified of the truth of who I am. I’m both the man who brings her immense pleasure and the man who kills without hesitation, who commands an army of men trained to destroy anyone who crosses us.
“I don’t want to think about anything right now,” she whispers. “I just want to breathe.”
I swallow hard because I get it. God, I fucking get it. The sex was a brief reprieve, a moment where she could forget the weight of everything. In the afterglow, she’s left to remember every reason she’s afraid.
I step close again, gentler this time, and place my hands on her cheeks. “Molly,” I say quietly. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
She closes her eyes, and her voice breaks when she answers, “But Iamscared. Not of you hurting me. But of what loving you would mean. What it would cost.”
My chest tightens sharply at that word. She doesn’t realize she said it. I brush my thumb along her cheek, steady even though inside I feel anything but.
“I’ll protect you,” I say. “And the baby. I swear it.”
“You can’t promise that,” she whispers. “Not with what you do. Not with who you are.”
I inhale slowly, the truth heavy in my chest. She’s right.
“Can we forget, for just one night?”
She nods and I help her down from the counter, taking her hand.
Her breath stutters, and she lets me lead her, pliant, trusting. Dangerously trusting. I guide her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed, kissing her again.
She looks up at me with wide, softened eyes, and the fear she tried to hide earlier flashes behind them again. I shove the thought down before it can crack through the moment. I’ve only got so much time before reality claws its way in again, and I intend to take every second.
I lower myself over her, kissing down her neck, across her chest, down her stomach, right over the place where our child is growing. She makes a small, startled sound when I pause there, my breath warm against her skin.
“Samuil,” she whispers.
“Shh.” I press my lips there, slow and reverent. “Let me.”
