I pulled her waist closer, then bent over and wrapped my lips around her nipples.
“Yes,” she breathed, stroking the back of my head. “Just like that.”
They were hard and pink, anticipating my touch.
She held my waist, pulling me closer to herself as if unable to get enough. “I wanna make you come so hard. Over and over again. Until you get me pregnant.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I teased, driving deeper and deeper inside her.
“Yes, I would,” she moaned. “Now fuck me like you want me to carry your baby.”
Epilogue – Emika
Three Months Later
It turned out that I was Yelena Petrov’s worst enemy because I stole her man twice. First, it was when they were just lovers with no strings attached. Then it was after our breakup, when he was instructed to marry her to secure an alliance between their families.
She hated me so much for ruining her plans of being Mrs. Tarasov. But inmydefense, I’d never meant to hurt her. I just didn’t want to lose the man I fell helplessly in love with.
I’d tried to live without him, to move on and pretend he never existed. However, I couldn’t. I’d tried; I really had. But the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to move on. It was a good thing I accepted my truth when I did. And I didn’t regret it.
Yelena must think that I was selfish and wicked. I wasn’t sure about “wicked,” but maybe Iwasselfish. She was, too, because she wanted him all to herself. It was a battle, and I won. No hard feelings.
Besides, Adrik had made his choice. He chose me. It wasn’t my fault that we fell in love; neither of us planned it. And even after one whole year, the flames of our passion for each other still burned just as bright.
I wasn’t to blame for what happened to her. It was quite unfortunate that he turned her down twice. But she had an entire year to make him hers. Yet she couldn’t. That’s because he didn’t feel anything for her. They weren’t meant for each other.
I honestly hoped that she moved on and found a place in her heart to forgive me.
Adrik had told his Pakhan that he wasn’t going to trade his future for an alliance with the Petrov family. He told the Bratva elites that he and I had worked things out and had decided to stay married.
Although a few were disappointed by his choice, most still respected his decision. Pakhan Artem gave us his blessings and the approval we needed. To Adrik, that was all that mattered; everything else was bullshit.
These past three months had been filled with joy and bliss. I finally found the happiness I craved and the peace I so much wanted. And I found them in the same mansion that was once nothing but a gilded cage.
My husband and I had sex all the time, as though we were trying to make up for all those months we spent apart. We made love everywhere around the house: the bathroom, the attic, the kitchen, the living room, and on the balcony.
Just yesterday, we’d had sex on the staircase in the middle of the night. And the night before that, we did it in the backseat of his car in an alley downtown.
I’d become so addicted to this man that I couldn’t go one full day without craving his touch. He was the drug that I couldn’t live without—the very air that I breathed.
Every day, our bond grew stronger, connecting us together on so many levels. Some mornings when I woke up, I’d take a moment to wonder how I got so lucky. Even if I hadn’t believed in destiny before now, our story had made a believer out of me.
Destiny. Fate.
That was the only explanation as to why two very different individuals from separate worlds would find themselves and end up falling in love. Despite all the drama, the secrets, the lies, the deception, the death, and the destruction, we still chose each other.
Adrik was still the same ruthless monster people knew him to be. He was just different around me. His calmness and gentleness were reserved only for his wife. Me.
What the rest of the world was allowed to see was the version of him that kept the fear and respect. The beast.
Recently, he’d been accused of money laundering and was brought to court. He didn’t panic, even though he knew he was guilty. Why would he, when he had me as his wife and attorney?
On the day of the hearing, the courtroom hummed with restrained tension, the kind that pressed against the ribs.
I rose quietly from my seat, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on my black skirt. “Your Honor,” I began, “the prosecution has accused my client of money laundering. There’s no proof—no evidence whatsoever.”
“Objection!” The prosecutor rose to his feet, fingers adjusting the bridge of his glasses. “The defendant funneled money through multiple shell companies to hide illegal profits.”
