He pulls back enough to look at me, those grey eyes dark with everything he's held back today. His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as he peels it off. The bra follows, his fingers deft despite the faint tremor in them. When his mouth closes over my breast, tongue circling my nipple, I gasp and rock against the hard line of his cock. The friction through my jeans is maddening.
I reach between us, palming him, stroking the thick length until he hisses and bucks into my hand. "Off," I demand, tugging at his belt. He helps me, shoving his trousers and boxers down just enough. His cock springs free, heavy and flushed, the head already slick. I wrap my fingers around him, thumb sweeping over the tip, and he curses in Russian, low and filthy.
He doesn't waste time on my jeans. The zipper rasps, then denim and panties are dragged down my legs in one rough motion. Cool air hits my wet folds, and I shiver. Nick's hand is there instantly, two fingers sliding through my slickness before pushing inside me. I clench around him, already so close from the adrenaline and the relief and the sheer need to feel him claim me.
"You're soaked," he murmurs against my throat, curling his fingers just right, stroking that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. "For me. Only me."
"Yes," I breathe, riding his hand. "Only you."
He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with the blunt head of his cock, rubbing it up and down my slit, coating himself in me. Then he pushes in. Slow at first, stretching me open, inchby thick inch, until he's buried to the hilt. We both groan. He fills me completely, the pressure perfect and overwhelming. For a moment we just stay like that, breathing each other in.
Then he starts to move.
Deep, steady thrusts that rock the bed. Every slide drags against that sensitive spot inside me, building heat that coils tighter and tighter. I meet him thrust for thrust, nails digging into his back through his shirt. His rhythm falters when I clench around him, and he curses again, hips snapping harder.
"Look at me," he growls. His eyes are locked on mine, intense and possessive, like he's memorizing this too. This moment where the world narrows to just us. Sweat beads on his top lip; I lean up and lick it away, tasting salt and him. He rewards me with a particularly deep thrust that punches the air from my lungs.
The orgasm hits me hard and sudden, crashing over me like a wave. I cry out his name, body seizing around him, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure rips through every nerve. He doesn't stop, fucking me through it, drawing it out until I'm trembling. Then his pace turns punishing, short, brutal strokes that chase his own release.
"Come inside me," I whisper, lips against his ear. "Fill me up, Nick."
He shudders, buries himself deep one last time, and comes with a guttural moan. I feel the hot pulse of him, the way he throbs and spills inside me, marking me in the most primal way. His hips jerk a few more times, milking every drop, before he collapses half on top of me, careful not to crush my wrists.
We stay like that, his cock still twitching inside me, our breaths slowing together. His hand strokes my side, gentle now, tracingthe curve of my hip. I turn my head and kiss his temple, feeling the ring on my finger catch the light when I move.
"I love you," he says quietly, voice rough.
"I love you too." I squeeze around him once more, just to feel him twitch.
A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest. He shifts, slipping out of me with a wet sound that makes me blush, and pulls me against him. Cum trickles down my thigh, but I don't care. I curl into his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Tomorrow there will be captains and consequences and a wedding to plan. Tonight there's just this: his arms around me, the ring on my finger, and the certainty that whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
Nick
The room is dark except for the faint glow of the glucometer on the nightstand. My arm is still draped over Sadie’s waist, her back pressed to my chest, the steady rise and fall of her breathing the only sound that matters.
Two-thirty in the morning. I slide out from behind her carefully, reach for the meter and a fresh lancet. She stirs but doesn’t wake, murmuring something soft and half-formed as I ease her onto her back. Her left hand rests on the pillow, the oval diamond catching even this weak light. My ring. My wife-to-be. The sight of it on her finger still hits me like a fresh bullet. Possession and pride and something deeper, something that feels like the first real peace I’ve known since my father fell ill.
I prick her finger with practiced gentleness, the way I’ve watched her do it a hundred times. The meter beeps quietly. One-thirty-eight. Good. Stable. The insulin and the meal did their job. I set everything aside, then just look at her.
She’s naked under the sheet, hair spilled across the pillow like gold silk, lips slightly parted. The gauze on her wrists is a stark reminder of the day, but even that doesn’t diminish how fucking perfect she is.
I pull the sheet down slowly, exposing her body to the cool air. Her nipples tighten instantly. Even asleep, she reacts to me. My cock hardens at the sight, but this isn’t about me right now. Thisis about her, worshipping her, reminding myself that she’s alive and safe and wrapped in my protection.
I settle between her thighs, spreading them wider with my palms. She’s still slick from earlier, my cum and hers mixed together, glistening on her folds. The scent of her hits me like a drug: sweet, musky, feminine. Utterly addictive. I lean in and drag my tongue up the length of her slit in one slow, reverent stroke.
Fuck. She tastes like heaven and sin and everything I’ll never deserve but will never let go of. Sweet from the remnants of her earlier release, salty from me, warm and soft and so fucking wet already. I groan against her, the vibration pulling a sleepy little whimper from her throat.
I lick her again, deeper this time, parting her folds with the flat of my tongue, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her hips twitch. Her taste floods my mouth, delicious and intoxicating. I could do this every night for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. Bury my face between her thighs until she’s shaking and begging, until her fingers are in my hair and my name is the only word she remembers.
“Nick…” Her voice is husky with sleep, surprised, already needy. Her hand finds my hair, pulling me closer.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them against that spot that makes her gasp, and seal my mouth over her clit, sucking gently. She’s so responsive, clenching around my fingers, hips rolling up to meet my tongue like her body was made just for me.
She’s perfect. The way she takes everything I give her, my darkness, my violence, my obsession, and still looks at me like I’m the safest place in the world. The way her body opens for me, wet and eager even when she’s half-asleep. The way she killed for herself and then let me kill for her without a single hesitation. I want to spend the next fifty years waking her up like this, tastingher, filling her, reminding her every single day that she belongs to me and I belong to her.
I devour her like a starving man. Long, hungry licks. Tight circles on her swollen clit. Fingers pumping steadily, curling, scissoring. Her thighs tremble around my ears. Her breathing turns into soft, broken moans that go straight to my cock.
