Half an hour later, we’re at the lake, a heavy boulder tied around Lucia’s torso.
And it’s my wife—my beautiful, fearless, merciful wife—who rolls the body off the edge of the pontoon alongside me. I halt, watching her, her face tensing from the struggle. But she does it, grunting and whimpering, like a true fucking warrior.
I step back, shoving my hands in my pockets, allowing her the chance to finish what she started. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t seek my help. She just does it.
Eventually, the first splash rings through the quiet corner of the forest, Lucia’s face rolling away from Cecilia for the last time. The second splash follows, the boulder sinking with her.
“Go to hell,” my wife murmurs, her breath shallow, chest heaving from the effort.
When she looks over her shoulder, I’m right here, where I’ll always be. Wanting her. Needing her to survive like I’ve never needed anything my entire fucking life. Watching her reclaim her power has been a privilege. I don’t think she understands how fucking proud I am. I can’t wait to show her when we get back.
“Lastochka…are you?—”
“Thank you, Mikhail,” she says. “For being by my side. For not judging me. For teaching me it’s okay to be myself.”
She blinks, her arms circling my waist as she makes a home at my chest, where she belongs. My once empty, aching heart pulses with something forceful, stronger than before—love, I realize, in its purest, darkest form. I only recently understood the true meaning of the word. Before, it was just another bunch of letters in the alphabet. Now, when I think of it, I think of her. Of my Cecilia.
I frown, the sentiment overpowering, lowering all my defenses. For this woman, I’d burn the world, go through every bit of my dreadful past infinite times over just so we can end up here, in this exact spot. She hurts, I hurt. She dies, I die. I’d blow my fucking brains out if I ever failed to protect her.
She’s mine. Mine. Mine. And I’m never letting her go.
Cecilia
I look up at the man I love, and something makes me want to get down on my knees. Right here, on the pontoon, where we just pushed the corpse of the woman I thought was my family.
The reality of what I’ve done settles deep inside me, sending my adrenaline through the roof. My breathing hastens, my heartbeat matching the pace. I don’t regret it, but this feeling…I don’t know what to do with it. It’s almost as if I’m flying high above the world, where nothing can touch me.
My husband’s eyes blaze a deep green, a contrast to the dead nature around us, the sweep of his dark eyelashes lightly concealing the fire igniting beneath. They follow the movement of my body as my bones make contact with the thick wood underneath.
Blood smears his clothes, hands, and face, some of it now on me. It doesn’t bother me anymore. We’re raw. Messy. Dangerous. A curse on anyone who’ll ever come between us.
As I work the button of his jeans, his hand gently tangles in my hair, a silent invitation to possess him. My core trembles with need, my lips plump and swollen, wanting ruinous things.
Because God, how I want him…
“Lastochka…” he murmurs, caressing the top of my head. Even now, he’s worried about me, worried I might be feeling remorse or guilt. He has no idea how alive I feel, how much I need to show him.
But any words I might want to utter fail me as the button unfastens, and I pull his hard cock out of his briefs. It stands long and steady, a thick vein throbbing down its length, the head soft and glazed with a bit of pre-cum. Swallowing, I open my mouth and take him, wrapping my tongue around what I can. I’ve never done this before.
He’s so big, my lips stretched to the max as they try accommodating him. A groan rumbles above me, primal and desperate, a responding throb erupting down in my pussy. It’s impossible to ignore.
“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, his fingers tightening in my hair, a painful pull that turns delicious in a heartbeat.
More. I need more.
And when I wrap my hands around that length, another, more painful tug at my scalp sends a moan tumbling out of my chest.
“Just your mouth, sweetheart.”
Obeying, I breathe in through my nose, the air cold and dry but warming around us. And because I can’t hold his cock to steady myself, I pull it into my throat so deep, a gag makes my body quiver.
Again that tug on my hair, again those butterflies in my cunt.
Then, he’s sliding himself out of my mouth.
Have I done something wrong?
But no. It’s not that. It’s just him, watching me with a satisfied smile, waiting to do terrible, delicious things to me.
