“No one is watching now.”
“No.” His hand stills over my heart. “No one is watching. No one is going to take this away. For now, we are safe.”
Safe.
The word settles into the space between us. A concept I have never fully understood, never truly believed in. My entire life has been defined by threat and response.
But here, in this bed, with this man, I think I am beginning to understand.
Maksim kisses me again, and this time there is intent behind it. His mouth moves from mine to my jaw, my throat, the hollow where my pulse beats steady and strong. He takes his time, exploring every inch of skin he encounters.
When his mouth reaches my chest, I close my eyes.
The pleasure builds slowly, layer upon layer. Maksim’s hands and lips work in concert, mapping my body with a patience that leaves me trembling. He is not trying to drive me to the edge. He is savoring me.
“Maksim...” His name escapes on a breath.
“I have you.” He looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “I have you. Just feel.”
His mouth continues its journey downward. Across my stomach, along my hip, tracing the line of muscle. When he finally takes me in his mouth, the sensation is almost overwhelming—not because it is particularly intense, but because it is so deliberately gentle.
He worships me. There is no other word for it. Each movement of his tongue is designed to give pleasure without urgency. He is not trying to make me come. He is trying to make me feel.
And I feel.
When he finally releases me, I am trembling, my hands fisted in the sheets. He crawls up my body, pressing kisses to my skin as he goes, until we are face to face again.
“Inside me,” I say. “Please.”
He nods, reaching for the nightstand where the supplies have been placed. The preparation is slow, careful—his fingers working me open with the same patient attention he brought to everything else. When he finally presses inside, the stretch is gradual, giving me time to adjust, to accept, to welcome him.
He begins to move.
On the jet, we were desperate. The sex was fast and hard, driven by the need to confirm that we were both still alive. This is different. This is the slow roll of waves against a shore.
Each thrust is deliberate. He watches my face as he moves, reading my reactions, adjusting his rhythm based on what he sees there. It is intimate in a way that goes beyond the physical—an act of communion rather than consumption.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his skin. Our foreheads press together. Our breath mingles.
“I spent three months dreaming about this,” he murmurs against my skin. “Not the desperation. Just this. Being with you.”
“You have me now.” I tilt my hips to meet his next thrust, drawing him deeper. “You have me for as long as you want.”
“Forever, then.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “I want you forever.”
Forever.
The word settles into my chest like something warm and permanent. A concept I never allowed myself to consider.
“I love you,” he says, the words pressed against my lips.
“I love you.” I arch into his next thrust, feeling him sink deeper. “I love you, and I am never letting you go again.”
The pleasure builds in slow waves, cresting and receding, each peak a little higher than the last. Maksim’s rhythm stays steady, patient, building toward something inevitable but unhurried. When I finally come, it is not with a cry or a shout but with a long, shuddering breath, the release rolling through me in pulses that seem to go on forever.
Maksim follows moments later, his own release quiet and profound, his body going still as he empties himself inside me.
We lie tangled together afterward, neither of us willing to separate. His head rests on my chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. I stare at the ceiling and try to remember the last time I felt this complete.
