“Come with me,” he orders. I nod mutely, focusing on doing just that.
“That’s my girl,” he says. “So gorgeous.” He palms my breasts and tweaks my nipples and I moan on the cusp of orgasm. “So perfect. I love every inch of you and always will.”
I can’t talk because I’m going to come. He nods, his eyes falling closed as he loses himself to pleasure right along with me. My breath hitches and I shake beneath him, riding the waves of ecstasy as he throws his head back and gives himself over to this perfection. We’re fused together, joined in our pain and longing, and I know this is what we needed. This is what we needed, just this, me and him joined together like this.
He rocks against me, and the spasms begin to subside. He lowers his forehead to mine and our breaths become one in the stillness.
“That was fucking beautiful,” he says in a choked whisper.
“It was,” I agree. “Thank you.”
He captures my mouth with his and folds our fingers together. There’s so much to say… so much to forgive… but now we’re putting that behind us. We have to. For in Bratva life—or in any life, really—there’s pain and sorrow, tragedy and heartache. But real love forgives. Real love takes the ashes and transforms the tragic into something beautiful.
We don’t speak for long minutes in the quiet aftermath of our lovemaking. We clean up in silence and come back together, and I lay, naked and vulnerable, beside him. He pulls me up to him and tucks my head under his chin, holding me. I lay my hand on his chest and breathe him in. I fall asleep like that. I wake in the night when he does, and he slow-kisses me until I’m wet, then rolls me over and makes sweet love to me with tender, languid strokes until we’re panting and sated. We fall asleep again, and when we wake with the sun, we lay together in silence. We’ve already said everything we need to.
I love this man. And I’ll weather whatever we have to. I’ll fight for him. I’ll fight for us.
Because our relationship—what we fought for, what we have—is the true king’s ransom.Chapter 21TaaraI’m in a deep, luxurious sleep when I hear Stefan stirring about the room. It’s warm in here, and last night was utter perfection. Simple, utter perfection. Instead of his usual late-night brooding in front of the fireplace, I joined him. I always do, now. I pour him a drink and sit beside him. He lights the fire, and we sit together. Sometimes I put my head in his lap, sometimes I sit in his lap, and he holds me close as we watch the flickering flames and listen to the soothing crackling sound. Sometimes he tells me about his day, and I love to listen. I always have. But sometimes he doesn’t want to talk to me about it at all.
After the fire died down, we came up to bed, and he seemed a bit preoccupied. I didn’t push, though. He’ll tell me when it’s time.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.” His deep, rumbling voice, sleep-filled and sexy, wakes me up. I smile up at him, still groggy.
“Mmm?” It’s Saturday morning, and I usually sleep in. I never have sleep issues like I did before but sleep like a rock now. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock,” he says. “And I was hoping someone would make me some pancakes.”
“Oh?” I ask teasingly. “Maybe we should call someone.”
“You know I would,” he says. He’s mentioned a few times now hiring someone to come in and take my job, as if now that we’re a couple I somehow weirdly don’t want to cook for him anymore.
I give him what I hope is a withering glare, though my crazy bedhead and daisy pjs might lessen the impact.
“I am perfectly capable of making you pancakes,” I tell him haughtily. “And I swear to God, if you mention hiring someone one more time—”
He’s got me on my back and pinned beneath him in ten seconds flat.
“You’ll what, babygirl?” he says, moving his body over mine. “Give daddy an ultimatum? Hmm? You know where that will land you, don’t you?”
My breasts tingle and my core clenches. I swallow hard, because my mouth is suddenly dry.
“Over your lap?” I say, giving him what I mean to be a pout, but which is probably pathetic bedroom eyes. My ass still stings from a session the other night, and I’m not exactly against the idea of going over his lap again and letting him renew that sting. I love being dominated by him.
I love being held by him.
I love being cherished by him.
Hell, there isn’t much I don’t love about the two of us together.
“Exactly,” he says.
“Kinda hard to make pancakes when you’re trapped beneath a big badass,” I mutter.