His hand dips below the waterline. His palm traces the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, the swell of my stomach.
"This body isn't a trade-off," he murmurs against my ear. "It's a weapon and a miracle at the same time. Every inch of youwas built for exactly what you are, and what you are is the most extraordinary thing I've ever been in the company of." He moves to the side of the bath and looks at me. "I can't believe you're mine. I can't believe I get to touch you. I get to be with you, be inside you." He slips two fingers between my folds, dragging a moan from me.
He sees me. All of me. The killer and the woman. The muscle and the curves. The scar on my thigh and the softness of my stomach and the hands that have taken lives and the heart that has never, until now, been held by anyone.
I place the wine glass on the shelf and part my legs to give him better access. Then I look up at this man who is kneeling beside the tub in damp sweatpants with an expression on his face that would bring me to my knees if I wasn't already sitting down.
His fingers curl deep inside my pussy. The water laps gently against my skin, warm and silky from the oil, but it does nothing to hide how soaked I am. How he made me.
“Yevgeny…” His name slips out on a broken breath as his thumb finds my clit and circles it with that perfect, unhurried pressure. My hips jerk up without permission, sloshing water over the edge of the tub, and he makes this low, approving sound that vibrates straight through me.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark eyes locked on where his fingers disappear between my thighs. “Still so full of my cum from earlier, and now you’re dripping for more. Such a greedy, needy cunt.” He pumps deeper, scissoring his fingers, stretching me open while his thumb keeps working my swollen clit. “You killed a man tonight, Stefania. You were ruthless. Precise. And now you’re spread open for me like this. Soft and wet and mine. Fuck, I love how your cunt clenches when I praise you.” He groans quietly, like he is savoring the way my body responds to him.
Heat floods my face, my chest, my core. I can’t stop the moan that tears out of me. My legs fall wider apart, one knee hooked over the edge of the tub, the scar on my thigh gleaming wet under the low light. He leans in and presses a kiss right over that raised line, tongue tracing it like it’s sacred, and the tenderness of it mixed with the filthy way his fingers are fucking me makes my head spin.
“Please,” I gasp, hips rolling to meet his hand. “I need—God, I need more.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me wider, and my back arches hard enough that my tits break the surface of the water, nipples tight and aching. “That’s my good girl. Taking three fingers like you were made for it. This pussy was built to be filled, wasn’t it? Built to take my cock, take my cum, take everything I give you until you’re full of me, marked by me.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “I’m going to breed you so full, Stefania. Watch this soft belly swell and grow.”
The words hit me like a spark to dry tinder. My walls flutter around his fingers, and I come with a sharp cry, thighs trembling, water splashing over the sides as my body seizes and pulses. He keeps stroking me through it, drawing it out until I’m shaking and whimpering his name like a prayer.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s standing. Sweatpants shoved down, cock thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. He steps into the tub with me, water surging up and over the rim in a messy wave that drenches the floor, but neither of us cares. He sinks down and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him, my knees braced on the slick porcelain, my soaked pussy hovering right over that gorgeous cock.
“Ride me in here,” he growls, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “I want to feel you lose control while thewater’s splashing all over us. Want to watch these perfect tits bounce while I fill you up again.”
I don’t hesitate. I sink down onto him in one slick, greedy slide, taking every thick inch until he’s buried to the hilt and I’m gasping at how full I feel. I brace my hands on the sides of the tub and start moving, rolling my hips at first, then sliding back and forth, the slap of wet skin and splashing water echoing off the tiles.
“Fuck yes,” he groans, head tipping back against the tub edge. One hand stays on my hip, guiding me, the other palms my breast, thumb flicking my nipple. “You’re so fucking beautiful. These thighs pinning me down, big tits bouncing while you ride my cock. And your cunt is so fucking tight it makes me see stars.”
The praise makes me clench around him so hard he curses. I ride him harder, faster, my scar rubs against his thigh with every downstroke, a sharp little reminder of who I am, and he traces it with his fingers like he loves it. Like he loves all of me.
“I’m going to come again,” I pant, grinding my clit against his pelvis on every drop. “Yevgeny—please—”
“Come on my cock, Stef. Milk me. Take every drop so I can breed this womb right here in our bath.” His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit again, rubbing fast and perfect circles. “You’re going to look so good pregnant. Round belly, leaking tits, wide hips. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
I shatter. My orgasm crashes through me, my walls clamping down on his cock, thighs shaking, a raw cry tearing from my throat as I grind down hard and take him impossibly deeper. He follows right after, hips snapping up, groaning my name as he floods me with hot, thick pulses of cum. So much of it that it leaks out around where we’re joined, mixing with the bathwater.
We stay locked together, panting. His hands move from my hips and palm my breasts, his cock jerking inside me in response.
“I’ve never felt like this, been like this, with anyone,” he says, rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger, making my body spasm in response.
“Like what?” I ask as another aftershock shivers through me.
“Insatiable,” he says.
Yevgeny
She's at the kitchen table when I return from a morning meeting with Artem. Coffee in one hand, her phone in the other, wearing one of my t-shirts and nothing else. The hem hits her mid-thigh and the scar is visible. I love that she doesn't try to hide it.
She doesn't hide anything from me.
It's been three days since the wedding and two since the alley. Two days of learning each other in ways that have nothing to do with the dark. The way she drinks her coffee black but stirs it anyway, a habit from stirring sugar she stopped taking years ago. The way she reads with her knees pulled up and the book balanced on her thighs. The way she goes quiet when she's thinking about something important and how her voice changes when she is thinking about me.
I know her rhythms already and have no intention of ever stopping.
I set the morning paper on the table in front of her.
She glances at it. Then she sets her coffee down and picks it up, scanning the article on page five with the same calm, methodical focus she uses for everything.
