Page 136 of Vendetta Vows

Aurora did.

"Aurora," I whisper, tasting the name on my tongue. It feels right in a way I never expected. "I'd like you to call me Aurora."

Ruslan's eyes soften, the gold in them warming like sunlight. His thumb traces circles on my wrist. "Aurora," he says, his accent caressing each syllable. "My beautiful Aurora."

He leans closer, his voice dropping to that intimate timbre that makes my pulse quicken. "My wife."

My heart skips at those words. Not just any words but a declaration. A promise made before all those people, a promise we both meant despite everything else happening around us.

"Say that again," I whisper, needing to hear it one more time.

His lips curve into a smile that's both tender and possessive. "My wife."

Then he's kissing me, soft and reverent at first. I melt against him, my hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The taste of him, familiar now yet still intoxicating, washes away the last of my doubts.

We sink to the floor together, a tangle of tears and sighs and wedding dress. His weight shifts over me, careful not to crush me beneath him. The kiss deepens, transforms from comfort to something hungrier. His hand slides beneath my veil, cradling my head, protecting me even from the hard floor beneath us.

"Aurora," he murmurs against my lips as his fingers start undoing the delicate buttons running down the back of my wedding dress.

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AURORA

Ruslan's handsmove with exquisite care as he undoes each tiny button down my back. I hold my breath, feeling the slight tug as each one releases, the whisper of air against newly exposed skin.

"You're okay," he murmurs against my neck, his voice vibrating through me. "You'll be okay."

The dress loosens and slides down my shoulders as his fingers guide it—not rushed, not hasty, but with a reverence that makes my heart swell.

"So beautiful," he whispers, pressing his lips to my shoulder blade.

His touch is like fire, but it doesn't burn. Instead, it warms me from the inside out. I feel my body responding, arching slightly toward him as the dress pools at my waist.

There's no fear here. No panic at being exposed. The room could have a hundred windows and I wouldn't care. With Ruslan, I feel hidden. Protected. The only eyes on me are his, and they hold nothing but wonder.

His fingers trace the curve of my spine, a feather-light touch that makes me gasp. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he says, always asking, always making sure.

"Don't stop," I breathe, turning to face him, helping him push the dress down past my hips until it's a white cloud surrounding us on the floor.

Ruslan cups my face in his hands. I'm trembling, not from fear but from the intensity of feeling safe with a man who knows every terrible secret I've kept hidden and still looks at me like I'm something precious.

"You're crying," he whispers, catching a tear with his thumb.

Am I? I hadn't noticed. These aren't tears of sadness or fear. They're tears of release at finally finding shelter after years of running.

Ruslan kisses away my tears, his lips gentle as they brush across my cheekbones. Each touch feels like absolution for sins I've carried alone for too long.

"You're safe with me," he whispers, his lips now at my temple. "Always."

I believe him. God help me, I believe him completely.

His mouth travels lower, pressing kisses down my neck. My breathing quickens as his stubble lightly scratches the sensitive skin just above my breasts. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle there.

"Ruslan," I breathe, his name a prayer on my lips.

His eyes meet mine. Molten gold against the backdrop of our wedding night. Then he lowers his head again. The first touch of his mouth against my breast sends electricity through my body, and I press myself closer to feel him.

When his tongue circles my nipple, I gasp. The sensation travels straight through me until it gathers hot and liquid between my thighs. His hands hold my waist, steadying me as my knees threaten to buckle.

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