Page 46 of Till Death Saves Me

I thrust up into her, deep and hard. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. I can feel her orgasm building, her inner muscles clenching around me, squeezing me tighter and tighter.

"That's it," I grunt, my own release barreling down on me. "Come for me. Let me feel you come all over my cock."

And then she's there, her body convulsing, her pussy clamping down on me like a vice. She throws her head back, a cry ripping from her throat as she comes, hard and intense.

The sight of her, the sound of her, the feel of her—it's too much.

"Shit. Are you trying to fucking make me come?" She groans, nodding, still lost in the throes of her orgasm. "You want that? You want me spilling into you?"

"Please." My balls draw up at the whine in her voice. "I want you to fill me up, to bury so deep inside of me that I can't get you out."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

A dark chuckle escapes me as heat pours through my body, my orgasm already brimming. "I'll fucking give you that."

I grip her hips tighter, slamming up into her as my own orgasm hits. I groan, filling her, pumping rope after rope of cum into her tight, wet heat.

"Fuck, Virginia," I grunt, my body shaking with the force of my release. "Take it all. Take every fucking drop."

She collapses onto my chest, her body limp and sated. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as we both come down from the high. Our hearts pound in sync, our breaths mingling as we cling to each other.

In this moment, there's no Bratva, no Red Serpents, no fucking world outside this room. There's just us—and it feels real. More than I ever thought it could. And as I hold her, as I feel her heart beat against mine, I know—I fucking know—that I'm never letting her go.

22

GINNY

Iwake slowly, consciousness creeping in like a gentle tide. The first thing I notice is warmth—not just from the sunlight streaming through the windows, but from the solid body pressed against mine. My eyes flutter open, and I'm met with Ivan's intense gaze.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"You're still here," I breathe, surprise coloring my tone.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Took the day off."

I blink, processing this information. Ivan never takes days off. The Bratva is his life, his purpose. Or at least, it used to be.

I try not to let my heart run away with that information.

His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer. I melt into him, relishing the feel of his skin against mine. It's strange how natural this feels, how right. Just a few months ago, I couldn't stand the sight of him. Now, I can't imagine starting my day any other way.

"What are you thinking?" Ivan asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

I look up at him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, softened slightly by the morning light. "That I'm happy," I admit. "That I want to wake up like this every day."

Something flashes in Ivan's eyes—surprise, maybe even vulnerability. It's gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar intensity. "Good," he says gruffly. "Because you're not getting up yet."

I laugh softly. "Still a bossy asshole, I see."

"You wouldn't want me any other way," he retorts, and I can't argue with that.

As I lie here, wrapped in Ivan's arms, I'm struck by how much has changed. The arranged marriage that felt like a death sentence has become the greatest gift of my life. Ivan may be rough around the edges, dangerous even, but he's mine. And I'm his.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm really, truly happy I married Ivan Kozlov.

We lay in bed for another hour — in which Ivan makes me cry out his name a countless number of times — before he drags me into the shower. He fucks me in there, too, but we finally manage to dress before noon.

I don't want to stay cooped up in the house so I drag Ivan outside. He has a great piece of land with small trails cutting through a forested area. Ivan's hand finds mine as we stroll down the path, his thumb tracing circles on my skin.

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