Page 91 of Possessive Bratva’s Kidnapped Virgin

“Marrying you began as necessity,” I said. “Loving you was the risk I never planned for. And I would make it again. Every single calculation, every single compromise—I would make all of it again.”

“Are you, Alexei Golovin, saying you love me?” she asked with a wide smile, her tone soft.

“You know this,” I answered, chuckling. “And I love it when you call my name.”

She looked at me for a second. Then she leaned forward and put her mouth against mine, soft and certain, and I felt the truth of everything I’d said in the way it changed the contact.

I kissed her back the same way.

We undressed slowly, without urgency. The dark clothes she’d worn to the Voss building, my jacket, and the holster—all of it came away in the quiet of the room. I was conscious of the shedding of the weight, layer by layer, until there was nothing between us but skin and the soft light.

I lay her back and took my time. This was different from all the other times. This was a man who knew exactly what he had, finally allowing himself to want it without the overlay of control. I put my mouth to the curve of her throat and felt her pulse beat against my lips and stayed there, just stayed, until she moved beneath me with the small impatient sound that I knew was one of my favorite sounds in the world.

I moved lower. Traced the line of her collarbone with my mouth, her sternum, the soft skin below her ribs. She arched into each contact, and her hands went into my hair and gripped, and I felt the grip through my whole body.

I pressed my lips to the inside of her thigh and felt her muscles tighten. Then I put my mouth on her and worked slowly, with a single-minded focus I brought to everything.

“I want nothing but to satisfy your body with mine,” I told her, raising my head to meet her eyes before I continued eating her out.

“Ale...xei,” he breathed with shaky breaths.

I kept going until her thighs were trembling against my shoulders and her hands had tightened in my hair to a pressure that was nearly pain, which I found I didn’t mind at all.

When she came apart, it was with her whole body, a long shudder that I felt against my mouth, and I stayed with her through it until she stilled.

I moved up the length of her, and she pulled me to her mouth before I’d finished the motion. She kissed me deeply, her hands spreading across my shoulder blades and pressing in, like she was confirming the reality of me. I settled between her thighs and felt her lift toward me.

I pushed inside her slowly, all the way, and stopped there.

She let out a long exhale.

I moved, and she moved with me, and there was nothing careful about it this time. She wrapped her legs around me and dug her heels in, and I went deeper, felt her take it, heard the sound she made, and let it dismantle the last organized structure in my chest. We found the rhythm without negotiating it, the way we’d found the rhythm that first night, something that existed in the space between us and required neither explanation nor direction.

I had one hand braced beside her head and the other on her hip, angled to give her what I already knew she needed, and she moved into it with the focused intensity of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and had stopped waiting for permission to want it.

She came the second time with her face pressed into the side of my neck and her fingers gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks I would find in the morning.

“Ooh…Alexei!” she moaned. And the sound undid me. Totally.

I buried myself deep and let go of the last of it—the control, the calculation, the careful structure of a man who had spent decades ensuring he was never fully visible to anyone. Not here. Not with her.

Afterward, I lay with her weight against my side and her hand flat on my chest. The room was cooling around us, and I felt the reality of being fully still.

Just still. Just here.

She fell asleep before I did, which had become the pattern.

I lay in the dark and looked at the ceiling.

The threat model ran once, by habit, and arrived at its conclusion: the estate was secure, the team was in rotation, the perimeter was clean, and Siroc White was in a room he would not leave under his own authority for a considerable number of years. I filed the assessment and let it go.

It didn’t run again. That, I understood, was new.

I thought about what I’d told her—the words I’d selected with less care than I selected almost anything, let out into the room unarranged.

I had crossed a line. I understood that.

The woman beside me had seen to that, without trying, simply by being herself consistently in the face of everything that should have made consistency impossible.