Page 102 of Ruthless Serenade

Slowly, reverently, we begin to explore with our hands. My fingers trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble beneath my touch. His hands skim down my sides withdeliberate slowness, finally settling on my hips and pulling me closer to him. Every touch feels charged with meaning, electric with promise. It’s achingly familiar yet thrillingly new, like discovering a favorite song in a different key.

I let my hands wander over his broad shoulders, down the solid expanse of his chest. Even through his shirt, I can feel the coiled strength beneath, the power he wields. My body responds to his proximity and heat begins blooming low in my belly. I want him - God, how much I want him - but there's no need to rush. We have time now. Time to savor, time to reconnect, time to heal from the past.

Maron’s hands move to frame my face, and I’m struck again by how this man, who I’ve seen command an empire with iron fists, can touch me with such exquisite tenderness. His eyes search mine, and what I see there - vulnerability, hope, fear - steals my breath anew.

"Mindy," he says, his voice rougher than usual, heavy with emotion. "I need you to know... You and Sharon, you're everything to me now. I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to keep you both safe. To make you happy."

His words hit me like a physical blow, and tears spring unbidden to my eyes. This is a side of Maron few ever see - the fierce protector beneath the ruthless exterior, laying his heart bare. I blink rapidly, refusing to let tears blur my vision. I need to see him clearly, need to remember every detail of this moment.

"I trust you," I breathe like it’s a prayer, "With my life, with our daughter's life."

I punctuate my declaration with soft kisses - to his jaw, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. He groans softly, his grip onme tightening possessively. When our lips finally meet fully, it’s like a match to gasoline. The kiss is deep and passionate, years of longing and unspoken promises poured into a single burning moment.

As we break apart, both breathing heavily, I see something dangerous ignite in his eyes. The predatory gleam I remember so well, the one that makes my pulse quicken and my skin flush. His hands grip my hips with new urgency as he walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.

"I want you," he growls, his accent thick with desire. "Now."

"Then take me," I manage to choke out, my voice husky with want. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the buttons of his shirt, taking my time despite the urgency thrumming through my veins. Each new inch of skin revealed is a gift to be savored. The fabric is stiff with dried mud - a reminder of what he risked to save our daughter. My throat constricts painfully at the thought.

"You could have died," I whisper, the words catching in my throat.

Maron’s large hand covers mine, stilling my movements. "For you and Sharon? I’d face far worse."

The raw honesty in his voice makes my heart stutter. I look up, meeting his intense gaze. The tenderness I see there, barely contained beneath his usual fierce exterior, steals my breath away. This man, this dangerous, powerful man who makes hardened criminals tremble, would lay down his life for us without hesitation. The realization is both thrilling and terrifying.

I resume undressing him with reverent hands, pushing the ruined shirt from his broad shoulders. My fingers trace over his chest, mapping the landscape of scars both old and new. Each mark tells a story of violence and survival, a testament to the world he inhabits - the world he’s now sworn to protect us from.

Maron’s breath catches as I explore him. His hands, which had been resting possessively on my hips, begin to roam with purpose. He tugs at the hem of my shirt, and I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head.

As cool air kisses my skin, I fight the instinct to cover myself. Instead, I force myself to remain still, offering myself to his heated gaze. His eyes darken with desire as they roam over me, and I feel an answering heat building low in my belly.

"Krasivyy," he murmurs thickly, the word wrapped in his accent. His hands ghost over my sides, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers find the clasp of my bra, my breath hitches as he removes it with practiced ease, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

We continue our slow exploration, removing each piece of clothing with deliberate care. Every newly revealed expanse of skin is worshipped thoroughly with hands and lips. By the time we’re both naked, I’m trembling with need, my skin hypersensitive to his every touch.

He lifts me onto the bed effortlessly, his powerful body covering mine as he settles between my thighs. The weight of him, the scorching heat of his skin against mine, is better than any fantasy I’ve entertained during our separation. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me.

"I will always keep you safe," he vows, his voice rough with emotion. "You and Sharon."

The fierce protectiveness in his tone sends shivers through me. I know these aren’t empty words - this man would move heaven and earth, would burn the world to ashes, to protect what’s his. The intensity of it should terrify me. But it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me feel cherished, protected, treasured beyond measure.

"I know," I breathe, running my fingers through his thick hair. I pull him down for a kiss that starts tender but quickly blazes into something more urgent. Maron’s hands roam my body with increasing hunger, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

When his fingers finally dip between my thighs, I can’t suppress a throaty moan. He finds my clit with unerring accuracy, stroking me with the perfect pressure, building my arousal with each expert touch. I writhe beneath him, craving more friction, more pressure, more of everything he can give me.

"Please," I gasp, my nails digging into his broad shoulders. "I need you inside me."

A low growl rumbles through his chest, purely predatory and entirely male. He positions himself at my entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing hard against me. Our eyes lock as he pushes inside with agonizing slowness.

The delicious stretch as he fills me is overwhelming in its perfection. I throw my head back, lost in sensation. Whatever distance time and circumstance put between us doesn't matter now - my body remembers him perfectly, accepts him completely. We fit together as if we were carved from the same stone.

"Fuck,lisichka," Maron grunts, his forehead pressed to mine, his accent thick with pleasure. "You feel like heaven."

He begins to move, setting a rhythm that’s deep and controlled, each thrust deliberate and devastating. Every movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body, building something massive and inevitable inside my core.

As our bodies move together in this ancient dance, I’m struck by the bone-deep rightness of it all. This isn’t just physical pleasure - though God knows there’s plenty of that. This is something deeper, more profound: a sense of coming home, of pieces finally clicking into place. For the first time in my life, I feel completely safe, utterly cherished, truly loved.

Maron’s pace increases, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. I match him movement for movement, my hips rising to meet each powerful stroke. The room fills with the symphony of our passion - skin against skin, breathless moans, whispered endearments escaping our lips.

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