Page 104 of Little Blue

“Oh, Ilya.”

I love when she says my name.

“Oh—oh my?—”

“Let go, baby. Come for me.” I kiss her, swallowing her cries of release as she shatters around me.

I thrust through the waves of her orgasm, feeling my own build. Then, as the pressure climaxes, my body tightens, and I root myself deep inside her. Seed spills deep, filling her up as I pump wave after wave of my cum into her tight pussy.

Staying rooted deep inside her, I murmur against her lips, “Home. I’m home.”

Forty-Two

Irelynn

December twenty-fifth in Russia isn’t what it is in America, or so I’m told. Here, Christmas day is celebrated in January. But for me, even in Russia, December twenty-fifth comes with a Christmas surprise like no other.

Throughout the night, Ilya fed the fire, so even now when I wake, the flames are dancing in the hearth. We slept on the pile of blankets on the floor next to the flames all night long, naked, in each other’s arms.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined a night so perfect. I wake with a bright smile on my face and an impossibly full heart. Ilya has an arm thrown around my waist, his big body spooning mine. His breaths are deep and even, and I figure he’s still asleep as I start to stretch slowly in his hold, still grinning wide.

That smile falls, though, ripped away by shock as a flash catches my eye mid-stretch. Frozen in shock and awe, I stare wide-eyed and mouth agape, at the massive diamond that glitters on my ring finger.

How’d that get there?

Does it mean…

“Marry me, Irelynn Orla Taylor. Be my wife, my heart.” I slowly shift to lay flat on the bed of blankets as Ilya perches above me, looking so beautifully handsome even cast in flame. “For the rest of your life, let me be the man who loves you. Let me make you happy. Be the woman who makes my still heart thunder. Who makes it race. Say yes, my lovely Little Blue, and make me the happiest man alive.”

He looks so sincere as he waits for my reply. I know in truth; I don’t have much choice. He’s told me that I’ll be his wife whether I like it or not. He stole my body, my heart, and my soul for his own. But I want to give him this. I want to give him my willing hand, a vow for forever, and to stand by him until the end.

I’m aware of who he is, scars, demons, and all. But beyond, or maybe because of all that, his heart is so beautifully unguarded for me. And I’m in love with him for it.

“Yes.” Surprise alights in his blue eyes. He honestly thought I’d refuse him. Silly man. “I want to be your wife, Ilya, until the very last breath I breathe.”

“You will be my wife beyond that breath, my heart. Until the end of eternity.”

Breathless. I am breathless.

I repeat, “Until the end of eternity.”

“Merry Christmas, my heart.” He dips his head to kiss me gently, and with so much affection, I feel it explode in the corners of my heart.

“I love you,” I say between kisses. He hovers over me, careful not to crush me with his weight even as my fingers grip his shoulders, trying desperately to pull him down to me. Into me.

“Little Blue,” his deep voice is a protest. “You must be sore.”

I shake my head. “Not sore enough.”

A low growl is his only response as he slips a knee between my legs, transferring the rest of his bulk a moment later. He’s already hard for me, ready to slide inside and root himself deep.

My heart pounds in anticipation, my body burning, blood simmering. Wet heat spills between my legs simply at the thought of having him inside me again. Only growing more intense as the tip of his erection parts my seam to slide into that wet heat.

My back arcs off the bed of blankets, and he sucks a breast into his hot mouth. The moan he pulls from the depths of me is husky and pleading, my nails biting into the flesh at his shoulders. He notches his tip, his hungry mouth claiming mine in a deep kiss, before he starts to sink in. The stretch is a burn that has breath locking in my lungs moments before it breaks free in sharp gasps.

Ilya just kisses me deeper, hungry to devour every sound I offer him, as he stretches me wider, sinking deeper.

I’m not sure that I’ll ever have enough of this. Of him.

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