Page 111 of Porcelain Vows

I love you, too,” she whispers, and the raw honesty in her voice threatens to undo me completely.

I push into her in one smooth stroke, both of us groaning at the sensation. The tight, wet heat of her body welcoming mine steals my breath. I remain still for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, savoring the perfection of our joining.

“You feel like forever,” I murmur, the words escaping before I can censor them. I’ve never been much of a romantic. This woman makes me want to quote fucking poetry.

Her eyes widen slightly before a smile tugs at her lips. “So do you,” she admits.

I begin to move then, setting a deliberate pace that builds gradually. Each thrust pushes deeper, claiming every inch of her. Her hands roam my back, nails scoring my skin when I hit a particularly sensitive spot. The slight sting only heightens my pleasure, reminding me that she’s just as hungry for this connection as I am.

“Harder,” she demands, wrapping her legs around my waist, ankles hooked over my ass.

I drive into her with increased force. The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall, the sound punctuating our harsh breathing and tangled moans. I grip her hip and angle her up until my cock bumps up against a spot deep inside her that has her writhing beneath me.

She gasps, her inner muscles clenching around me in response. “There,” she breathes. “Yes! Right there.”

I maintain the angle, pounding into her with controlled force. A fine sheen of sweat covers both our bodies, making our skin slip and slide together in the most delicious way. The wet sounds of our joining, the musky scent of sex— it floods my senses until there’s nothing in the world but Stella beneath me, around me, consuming me.

“Touch yourself,” I direct, needing to see her come again, needing to feel her spasm around my cock.

She obeys without hesitation, her fingers sliding down her body, finding her clit and circling in time with my thrusts. The sight nearly finishes me— her hand working between us, her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes half-lidded but fixed on mine.

“I’m close,” I warn her, feeling the tension building at the base of my spine.

“Me too,” she gasps. “Together.”

I increase my pace, chasing our mutual release. Each thrust now is bordering on violent, the bed frame protesting beneath us. But Stella meets me stroke for stroke, her body arching to take me deeper, her fingers working faster against her clit.

When she begins to shudder beneath me, inner walls clamping down on my cock in rhythmic pulses, it triggers my own release. I bury myself to the hilt inside her and let go, my climax tearing through me with an intensity that is mind-numbing. White-hot pleasure floods my system as I empty myself inside her, marking her from within.

“Stella,” I groan, my voice so rough it’s barely my own. “Moya.”

Mine.

Her second orgasm seems to last forever, her body milking every last drop from me as we ride out the waves together. She clings to me, face buried in my neck, making those little gasping sounds that I’ve grown addicted to hearing.

Eventually, the intensity subsides, leaving us trembling in its wake. I remain inside her, unwilling to break our connection just yet. Her hands trace lazy patterns across my back, soothing the scratches she left in her passion.

“I’m sorry I took so long to come to you.” She smiles, her lips swollen from kisses.

“Me too,” I agree, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But we’ll make up for it.”

Eventually, I roll to my side, bringing her with me so we remain in contact. Her leg drapes over my hip, her arm rests across my chest, her head tucks neatly beneath my chin. The perfect fit— as if her body was designed specifically to complement mine.

As our breathing slows and her body grows heavier against mine, I find myself marveling at the unlikely path that brought us here. From enemies to lovers. From strangers to family. From revenge to redemption.

“I meant what I said,” I murmur against her hair. “Marry me, Stella.”

She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes still hazy with satisfaction but suddenly serious. “I meant my answer,” she replies softly. “Yes.”

“Soon,” I press. “I don’t want to wait.”

A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Afraid I’ll change my mind?”

I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Afraid life will interrupt again. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

She studies me for a moment, then nods. “A small ceremony. Just family.”

“Just family,” I agree, thinking of the unusual collection of people we now call our own— Bobik, Polina, Diana, my mother, Sasha, Vasya if he can be persuaded to travel, maybe even Sofia. A far cry from the traditional Bratva wedding that was planned for Sofia and me, with its hundreds of guests and political overtones. This will be something real. Something true.

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