And she’s beautiful.
There’s something unguarded and real in her that I’ve never seen before. The walls she usually keeps up—the careful politeness, the wariness, the fear—all of it’s stripped away, leaving just...her.
Her lips are slightly parted, swollen from crying. Her warm brown eyes that haunt my dreams are searching my face like she’s trying to understand what’s going on and why I’m here. Why am I still holding her instead of letting go and leaving?
I can’t answer that question as I don’t even know the answer.
I just know that her pressed against me makes something I’ve been trying very hard not to feel fight to come to the surface.
“I should go,” I hear myself say. But I don’t move and Idon’tlet go. “You need to rest.”
“No. Please don’t.” Her hand fists in my shirt, holding me there and warmth spreads through me at her touch. “Please don’tleave me alone. Not yet. I can’t—” Her voice breaks again. “I can’t be alone right now.”
I know what she’s really saying.I’m afraid to fall asleep again because I’m afraid the nightmare will come back.
I should leave anyway. I need to maintain boundaries. She’s carrying my brother’s child for fuck’s sake, This situation is complicated enough without adding... whatever this is.
But her hand is still fisted in my shirt and she’s still pressed against me and she’s looking at me with such desperate need that walking away feels impossible.
“Okay,” I whisper, my hand splaying against her back. I feel her lean further into my touch and my heart jumps. “I’ll stay.”
Relief floods her face and she relaxes slightly against me, her head coming to rest on my chest. I can feel her heartbeat against mine. It’s fast at first, but gradually slowing. The warmth of her body seeps through the thin nightgown and I can smell the soap or shampoo she uses. It’s fucking intoxicating.
I’m built like a furnace (always running hot) and she seems to sense it because she burrows closer, seeking that warmth, her body fitting against mine in a way that feels…right.
This is dangerous. Iknowit’s dangerous, but I can’t make myself move.
We sit like that for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. Her breathing gradually evens out and the tension leaves her body. She’s exhausted, I can feel it in the way she’s starting to go limp against me.
“Stay,” she whispers again, so quietly I almost miss it. “Please, Dimitri, don’t leave me alone.”
Fuck me. I can’t walk away.
What happens next isn’t planned.
It starts with me brushing a tear from her cheek. Just a simple gesture, meant to be comforting. But my thumb lingers on her skin, and her breath catches. She leans into the touch instead of away from it, and suddenly the air between us changes.
Charges.
My thumb traces along her cheekbone, down to her jaw, then—without me consciously deciding to do it—brushes across her bottom lip.
Her eyes fly open, meeting mine. They’re wide and uncertain but she’s not afraid and she’s certainlynotpulling away.
We both freeze like that for a moment. My thumb on her lip. Her breath warm against my skin. Something building between us that I don’t understand but can’t seem to stop.
Then she’s leaning in, or maybe I am, or maybe we both are simultaneously. Our lips meet in the space between us, hesitant at first, questioning.
But the moment we touch, something ignites.
This isn’t like our wedding night which was about establishing ownership. This is different. It’s born from grief and loneliness and this desperate need to feel something other than pain.
I need this. I needher. And I can feel in the way she’s kissing me back—hungry and desperate and clinging—that she needs this too.
My hand slides into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She makes a small sound against my mouth—not fear, but want—and it undoes me. All the control I’ve been maintaining, all the distance I’ve been trying to keep, it crumbles like dust.
“Dimitri,” she breathes against my lips, and the way she says my name, with so much need and want sends desire straight through me and into my dick.
This needs to stop. I need to pull back before we cross a line we can’t uncross. But when I try to lift my head or put space between us, she makes a small sound of protest and pulls me back.
