Page 110 of Porcelain Vows

“What? You mean….” Her eyes widen, tears gathering at the corners. “You’re asking me to marry you?”

“Da.”I chuckle softly. “I’m asking you to marry me, woman.”

Her throat works, and then she nods. “Yes,” she breathes. “Oh, my God, yes, I’ll marry you, Aleksei Tarasov.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly the answer I wanted to hear.” I pull her against me, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens with hunger and need. Her body melts into mine, her arms winding around my neck as I lift her, carrying her to the bed.

Our clothes fall away piece by piece, revealing skin flushed with desire. I trace the curve of her breast with exploring fingers, watching her eyes darken as my thumb circles her nipple. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“I need you,” she whispers, pulling me down to her.

I kiss a path down her body, lingering at the sensitive spot below her ear, the hollow of her throat, the underside of her breast. Her skin tastes of soap and something exquisitely her, and I savor each inch. When I reach the apex of her thighs, her legs part for me, an invitation I eagerly accept.

I settle between Stella’s thighs, spreading them wider with gentle pressure from my palms. The sight of her laid out before me— flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling with quickened breath— sends heat coursing through my veins. Even now, with everything we’ve shared, the raw vulnerability she shows me feels like a gift I haven’t earned.

“You’re fucking beautiful,zaychik,” I murmur against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

She shivers at the brush of my beard against sensitive flesh. “Aleksei,” she breathes, her fingers tangling in my hair.

I take my time, deliberately building anticipation. My lips trace random patterns across her thighs, close enough to her pussy to make her squirm, but never quite where she wants me. The sharp intake of her breath when I nip the tender skin near her hip sends a jolt straight to my cock.

“Please,” she whispers, lifting her hips slightly. The desperation in her voice feeds something primal in me.

“Patience,zaychik,” I murmur, my breath hot against her core. “I’ve waited so fucking long to taste you.”

Her thighs tremble under my hands. The sweet musk of her arousal fills my senses, drawing me closer. When I finally drag my tongue along the length of her slit, she bucks off the bed with a strangled cry that might be my name.

I grip her hips firmly, holding her in place as I explore her with deliberate precision. Slow, broad strokes alternate with quick flicks across her clit. I read her responses like I’m decoding valuable intel— the hitch in her breathing when I suck gently, the way her thighs tighten against my shoulders when I probe deeper with my tongue.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice thickening with arousal. “Right there.”

I smile against her, focusing my attention exactly where she wants it. The power of reducing this strong woman to wordless sounds feeds something dark and possessive in my chest. Only I get to see her like this— completely unraveled, defenseless with pleasure. Only I know the precise rhythm that makes her fall apart.

My throbbing cock strains against the mattress, demanding attention I refuse to give. This moment is about her pleasure, not mine. About watching her come undone under my mouth. About reminding her what we have together, beyond the complicated web of our shared history.

I slip two fingers inside her, curling them against her smooth walls. The wetness I find there is overwhelming— slick and hot around my fingers as I establish a steady rhythm.

“Aleksei! Fuck, I’m close,” she warns, her voice pitched higher than normal. “So close.”

I increase the pressure of my tongue, flicking relentlessly across her clit while my fingers work inside her. Her inner walls begin to clench around me, her thighs trembling with the first signs of release.

“Come apart,zaychik,” I command against her sensitive flesh. “Let me taste you.”

The combination of physical sensation and words pushes her over the edge. She shatters with a cry that echoes through my bedroom, her hips thrusting up sharply as pleasure claims her. I maintain the pressure, gentler now but still unrelenting, drawing out her orgasm until she’s gasping and pushing weakly at my shoulders.

“No more,” she pleads, oversensitized. “I can’t.”

I give her one last, deliberate lick before raising my head, taking in the vision of her post-orgasm. Her hair splays across my pillow in chestnut waves, her skin flushed pink from chest to cheeks, her eyes half-closed in drowsy satisfaction. My cock throbs painfully at the sight.

I slide up her body, positioning myself above her. The head of my cock nudges at her entrance, slick and welcoming from her orgasm.

“Look at me,” I command softly.

Her eyes flutter open, green irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. The naked desire I see there makes my chest tighten. This woman— this complicated, maddening, incredible woman— sees every dark piece of me and still looks at me like this.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.I love you,” I say, the words still new and strange in my mouth, but no less true.

She reaches up to trace my jawline, her thumb brushing my bottom lip. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.

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