I strip away my clothes with shaking hands, then carefully unbutton the shirt she's wearing. Each button reveals more of her skin, the curve of her breasts, the swell of her stomach where our child grows. When she's finally naked beneath me, I take my time exploring her body with my hands and mouth.
I worship her breasts, feeling their weight, teasing her nipples until she's gasping. I trace the curve of her hip, the softness of her inner thighs. I taste her skin, memorizing the way she responds to my touch.
When I finally enter her, it's slow and deliberate. Our eyes lock, and I see everything I feel reflected back at me. Love. Need. Theterrifying vulnerability of letting someone see past the armor to the man beneath.
We move together with a rhythm that feels ancient and new all at once. Eva's legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her scent.
"I love you," I murmur against her throat, the words coming easier now. "My wife. Mysolnyshko. Mine."
"Yours," she agrees, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Always yours."
When we finally come apart together, it's with a connection that goes beyond physical pleasure. We collapse in a tangle of limbs, both breathing hard, our bodies still joined.
I pull her against my chest, and she curls into me with a contentment that makes my heart ache. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and she's asleep in my arms.
I lie awake, watching her sleep, feeling the weight of what we've just shared. I love her. She loves me. And somehow, against all odds, we're making this work.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the peace. I reach for it carefully, not wanting to wake Eva, and see a message from one of the Moscow delegates.
We need to meet. Tomorrow afternoon. Your office.
My stomach drops to my feet. The delegates want a meeting. After everything that's happened, after the chaos of the wedding and the evidence we've been gathering against Abram, they're ready to deliver their judgment.
Tomorrow, I'll learn whether I keep my empire or lose everything.
47
EVA
Iwake wrapped in Roman's arms, his chest warm against my back, his hand possessively splayed across my stomach where our child grows. The memory of last night crashes over me with devastating intensity, and heat floods through my body despite the early morning chill seeping through the estate's windows.
I love you.
The words echo in my mind, both his and mine, raw and honest in a way that still makes my chest tight. Roman Sokolov, Pakhan and monster, loves me. And God help me, I love him back. The realization should terrify me, but lying here in his arms, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Safe.
Roman stirs behind me, his hand sliding up from my stomach to cup my breast through the thin fabric of his shirt I'm still wearing. Even half-asleep, his body responds to mine, and I feel him hardening against my lower back. My nipples tightenimmediately, and I arch into his touch with a soft moan I can't suppress.
"Good morning,solnyshko," he murmurs against my neck, his accent thick with sleep and desire. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and pleasure shoots straight to my core.
"Morning." My voice comes out breathier than I intend, and I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin.
His hand drifts lower, sliding beneath the shirt's hem, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip. "I could stay here all day," he says, his voice rough.
The promise in his words makes my thighs clench with need. I remember how he felt inside me last night, the controlled power in his thrusts, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. My hand covers his, guiding it higher, and he groans against my throat.
But reality intrudes, as it always does. Roman's phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the moment. He reaches for it with visible reluctance, and I watch his expression shift from desire to cold calculation as he reads the message.
"The delegates," he says, his voice flat. "They want to meet this afternoon."
My stomach clenches with dread. "What do you think they'll say?"
"I don't know." He pulls me closer, his arms tightening around me. "But whatever happens, I'll deal with it."
The words should comfort me, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curl slightly at his sides. He's terrified, even if he won't admit it. These men from Moscow hold his future intheir hands, and after everything that's happened, I don't know which way they'll decide.
We shower together, and I have to force myself not to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth the way I've been fantasizing about. But Roman's mind is already shifting to business mode, his focus absolute as he prepares for the meeting that could determine everything.
