My heart breaks for her.
For the girl she used to be.
For the woman she is now, terrified she’ll bleed trauma into the next generation.
“Natalya…” I move without thinking, sliding off my chair and kneeling in front of her. I take both her hands in mine. Her fingers are cold. Too cold. “Look at me.”
She does. Because she always does when I ask like that.
“You’re afraid you’ll turn into Irina,” I say softly. “Is that it?”
Her eyes brim instantly with tears, and she presses her lips together, nodding as the first one spills over.
“What about me?” I ask. “Are you afraid I’ll turn into my father?”
Her head snaps up, horrified. “What? No!” She squeezes my hands hard. “Viktor, you are nothing like him. Nothing. You’re good.” Her voice breaks. “You’re good and steady and gentle and—” She chokes on the rest, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. You’ll be a wonderful father.”
I swallow, lifting one trembling hand to her cheek.
“That,” I murmur, “is exactly why I know you will be a wonderful mother.”
She sucks in a tiny breath.
“You love fiercely,” I continue. “You protect what’s yours. You nurture things.” I give her a small, crooked smile and brush my thumb under her damp eye. “Lepestok…if you baby our children half as much as you baby those orchids or Vanda…”
A watery laugh escapes her.
“…they’re going to be spoiled rotten. In a good way, of course.”
She laughs again, a soft, shaking sound that turns into a sob halfway through. Her body sags physically, and she leans forward, dropping her forehead against mine.
I hold her face in both hands, lifting her gently. Her lips brush mine. Then she kisses me, her hands sliding into my hair to pull me closer. I kiss her back slowly, following her lead.
Then I rise from my knees, sliding my hands to her waist as I deepen the kiss, taking control, steadying her trembling breaths with the sure, hungry pressure of my mouth. She softens instantly, melting into me like she always does, trusting me with her whole body—her whole heart.
“Viktor,” she whispers against my lips.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur back.
I always do.
Before she can say another word, I scoop her up into my arms. She lets out a soft gasp and wraps her arms around my shoulders, her cheek brushing mine as I carry her down the hall to the guestroom we’ve claimed as ours for this trip. We both undress quickly, quietly. Then I lay her carefully on the bed; she reaches for me immediately, pulling me down with her. I kiss her again, slow and claiming, and let my hands skim over her body, her still-flat stomach, the slightly fuller curve of her hips, the tender swell of her breasts.
She shivers under my touch.
“Beautiful,” I whisper against her skin as I trail kisses down her neck. “Every part of you.”
Her fingers curl in my hair. “Viktor.”
“You’re so damn beautiful,lepestok.”
I push her knees apart gently and lie down between her legs. Then I lean forward and kiss her hard and long on the mouth. She moans deeply, her eyes fluttering closed.
Without breaking the kiss, I take her hands and pin them above her head, then slide into her with a slight movement of my hips.
We both moan. Long and low.
Still kissing her, I start to move in slow, sure strokes, angling so deeply we both can barely breathe.
