"I've never said that to anyone." His voice is rough. Raw. "Fifty years, and I never once felt it. I thought there was something wrong with me. Something broken. And then you—" He stops. Swallows. "You cook for me. You wear my shirts. You remember that I mentioned my mother's stroganoffonceand you spend hours making it because you thought it might make me happy."
My eyes are burning. "It's just dinner."
"It's not just dinner. It's—" He shakes his head. "You make this place feel like home. You makemefeel like home. I've never had that. Never thought I wanted it. And now I can't imagine my life without you."
"Leonid—"
"You don't have to say it back." His thumbs brush my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn't know had fallen. "I know this is fast. I know I'm old and fucked up and you deserve so much better—"
"I love you too."
He goes still.
"I love you," I say, and now I'm crying for real, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't think I'd ever get to say that to anyone. I didn't think anyone would want to hear it."
"I want to hear it." His voice cracks. "Every day. For the rest of my life."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you. I love you. I—"
He kisses me.
It's not soft. Not gentle. He kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I kiss him back just as desperately, clinging to his shoulders, trying to get closer.
"Bedroom," I gasp against his mouth.
"Can't wait." He lifts me, sets me on the kitchen table. Dishes scatter, something crashes to the floor, neither of us cares. "Need you now."
He shoves my shirt up, yanks my leggings down. I'm still wet from this morning—from him, from wanting him all day—and when he drives two fingers inside me, the sound is obscene.
"Still full of me," he growls. "Still dripping with my cum."
"Leonid—"
"I'm going to fuck you on this table." He withdraws his fingers, fumbles with his belt. "And then I'm going to carry you to bed and fuck you again. And then I'm going to hold you all night and tell you I love you until you're sick of hearing it."
"I won't be." I reach for him, help him shove his pants down. His cock springs free, hard and leaking. "I'll never be sick of hearing it."
He notches himself at my entrance. Pauses. Holds my gaze.
"I love you, Lily."
"I love you too."
He pushes in.
I cry out, back arching, hands scrabbling at the table for purchase. He's not gentle—doesn't try to be—just fucks me with everything he has. The table scrapes across the floor with every thrust. Dishes rattle. Somewhere behind us, a glass rolls off and shatters.
"Mine," he grits out. "My girl. My pussy. My fuckingeverything."
"Yours." I'm sobbing now, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion andhim. "All yours. Only yours."
He reaches between us, finds my clit. Rubs it in tight circles while he pounds into me.
"Come for me." His voice is wrecked. "Come on my cock while I tell you I love you."
