Page 192 of Marrying the Savage

She touches my face, forcing me to look at her. “It doesn’t,” she says again. “You can blame yourself but that doesn’t mean it was yours to control.”

I close my hand over hers. “She was my wife,” I say.

“And you are still allowed to survive her.”

The room goes quiet.

No one has said it to me like that before. Sofia says it like she’s angry on my behalf, and somehow that is worse than pity. Pity I can reject. This, I can’t.

I pull her down to me and kiss her.

At first, it’s only a kiss. Then she opens her mouth, and her body melts against mine, and the grief turns into heat because she is alive under my hands and I need that more than I want to admit.

“Sofia,” I say against her mouth.

“I’m here.”

That’s all she says. It’s enough.

I roll her onto her back and cover her with my body, careful of her throat, careful not to cage her even while I keep her beneath me. She parts her thighs for me without being asked. My hand slides over her breast, and she arches, giving me a sound that goes straight through my restraint.

I lower my mouth to her nipple and suck it into my mouth.

Her hand grips my hair at once. “Damir.”

I use my teeth lightly, then my tongue, then suck harder until her hips lift against mine. Her breast fills my hand. Her skin is warm, her body still sensitive from earlier, and I can tell by her breathing that she’s already close to losing patience.

I move to her other breast and give it the same attention, slow at first, then rougher when she pulls at my hair and whispers my name like an accusation.

My fingers slide between her legs.

She is wet. The feel of it almost breaks me.

I rub her clit while my mouth stays on her nipple, and she comes faster than either of us expects. Her body tightens hard, thighs closing around my hand, back arching off the bed as her orgasm takes her. I keep my mouth on her breast until she pushes weakly at my shoulder.

I lift my head. “You came quickly.”

She glares at me, breathless. “Do you want applause?”

“I want you again.”

Her eyes darken. “Then stop talking.”

I enter her slowly because she’s still sore, but once she takes me, she pulls me down and kisses me with no hesitation. I move inside her with enough control not to hurt her and enough force to make her nails dig into my back. It’s quieter this time than last night, but not gentle. Her legs lock around me, and every time I drive deeper, she meets me like she’s choosing me again.

I don’t last long. Not with her looking at me like that.

I come inside her with my mouth against hers, my hand in her hair, her body clenched around me. For a minute after, neither of us speaks.

Then she says, “Your pressing matters are going to be very angry.”

“They can wait.”

“They might start killing each other downstairs.”

“They know better.”

She exhales, almost a laugh, and turns her face into my shoulder.