Page 116 of Cruel Submission

“And?” She knows me too well. Knows when I’m telling partial truths.

“Because… he’s my father, Mirabel.” The admission scrapes my throat raw on the way out. “The man who gave me life. I owe him something for that.”

Her palm finds my jaw. Warm. Steady.

“That man is dead, Arkady.”

“I know. But knowing and accepting are different things, zaychik.”

She shifts closer, eliminating the last inch between us. Her belly presses firm and round against my stomach. The proof that I’m building something instead of just destroying.

“Our family is the most important thing now.” I let her hear the rawness beneath the words. “You. Our daughter. Aleks. Debra. Everyone under this roof is mine to protect. And I will never let Gavriil Laurov hurt any of you.”

Something shifts in her expression. The fear doesn’t disappear—fear is smart when the threat is real—but it makes room for something else.

“I believe you,” she says.

Two simple words. And yet they mean everything.

I kiss her because I don’t know what else to do with what’s flooding my chest. My mouth finds hers in the dark, and she opens for me immediately. The kiss starts gentle—reassurance, promise—but heat builds fast between us the way it always does.

She makes a small sound against my mouth, and the noise travels straight to my cock. I’m hard already, and she’s rolling her hips, seeking friction.

“Arkady—”

“I need you.” I don’t frame it as a request. This thing between us has never been about asking. It’s about claiming and being claimed in equal measure.

“Yes.” Her hands are already sliding over my torso, nails scraping across my stomach.

I roll her onto her back, careful of the baby, and settle between her thighs. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else. I push the fabric up to expose her breasts—fuller now with pregnancy, the nipples darker, more sensitive. I palm one, feeling the weight, then lower my head to take the other into my mouth.

She gasps, fingers tangling in my hair. I work her with my tongue, alternating between soft licks and harder suction, finding the rhythm that makes her breathing stutter and her thighs tense around my hips.

“Too sensitive,” she manages, but her hand on the back of my head keeps me exactly where I am.

I release her and kiss my way across to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Every time I think I’ve memorized her body, pregnancy changes the landscape. New curves. New responses.

My hand slides down her side, over her hip, between her legs. She’s wet already, slick and hot against my fingers. I stroke her through the cotton, feeling the shape of her, the way she swells and opens under my touch.

“Take them off.” She’s breathless. Desperate.

I hook my fingers in the waistband and drag her panties down her legs, tossing them into the dark. Then I’m touching her properly, fingers sliding through her wetness, finding her clit and circling it with the pressure I know undoes her.

“Blyad, you’re soaked.” I watch her face as I work her—the flutter of her eyes, the part of her lips, the flush spreading across her chest. “All this for me, zaychik?”

“Don’t tease. Not tonight.”

She’s right. Tonight isn’t for games. Tonight is about reconnection after trauma. Reassurance that we’re both still here. Still whole.

I withdraw my hand, and she makes a noise of protest that dies the moment I settle between her legs, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance. I shove my briefs down, line up, and push inside with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The heat of her. The tight, wet grip of her body around mine. I have to stop. Have to breathe through the urge to just lose myself.

“Okay?” I ask because pregnancy changes things, and I’m aware of the life between us.

“More than okay.” Her legs wrap around my hips, heels digging into my arse. “Move, Arkady. Please.”

I start slow, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in. She’s having none of it. Her hips rise to meet mine, demanding more, harder, faster. So I give it to her. Deep and steady, each thrust hitting the spot that makes her gasp and claw at my shoulders.