Page 41 of Tattooed Heart

“P-please…y-yes…just like that…” she pants, chasing her orgasm.

I keep up the pace, slamming my fingers into her while stroking her G-spot with every thrust. With one final suck to her clit, she shatters around my mouth and fingers. I continue to fuck her through her orgasm, her fingers tangled in my hair.

Finally, I release her, leaving her writhing on the bed. I slide onto the bed and pull her against me, curling my large frame around her.

“I love you,” I whisper against her hair.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, her body relaxing against mine.

I hold her close, listening as her breathing slowly steadies. Within minutes, she’s asleep in my arms, soft and peaceful. I stay there, unmoving, wrapped around the woman I love, knowing I will never let her go.

14

SANDY

The morning light slips through the curtains in soft ribbons, spreading warm golden stripes across the sheets. I lay in the hush of the mansion's guest bedroom, listening to Dimitri's breathing beside me.

For the first time in weeks, I don’t wake up with dread curled around my ribs like barbed wire. There is no panic clawing at the back of my throat. No sharp stab of fear when I reach for him and find his side empty. He is here. Flesh and bone and scars and warmth. He is finally here.

My body aches in all the right ways. The kind of ache that makes me press my thighs together, remembering the way he worshipped every inch of me last night like a man starved. Like he had been counting the hours until he could touch me again. There was nothing rushed or careless about the way he claimed me. His hands had been firm but reverent. His mouth had found every place in me that ached from grief and filled it with something I thought I might never feel again.

Love. Need. Redemption.

I turn my head slowly on the pillow and look at him. Dimitri lay on his stomach, half-buried beneath the ivory sheets, one arm tossed across the mattress as if he were reaching for me in his sleep. The light traces the rough edge of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, and the thick line of a scar I never saw before stretching along his bicep. His hair is a little longer than usual and slightly disheveled, making him look younger, less hardened, and almost vulnerable.

Seeing him like this twists something tender in my chest and settles low in my belly, right where our child grows.

My hand drifts instinctively to my bump. It’s more prominent now. It’s not huge, but it's enough to make my clothes fit differently and make strangers glance twice. I can feel the changes in my body every day. The shifting balance and tighter skin, and the way my heart beats a little faster, even when I’m standing still.

For weeks, I felt like I was doing this alone. I never said it out loud, but I lay in bed every night and imagined him missing everything. The soft kicks. The sound of the heartbeat on the monitor. The quiet conversations I had with our baby when the fear of losing him was too much to carry. But now he is here. And that changes everything.

As if he senses my thoughts, Dimitri stirs. He lets out a low groan, then turns onto his side, reaching for me with a heavy arm that curls possessively around my waist. His hand finds the bare skin of my hip and stays there, warm and solid.

His voice is rough with sleep. “You're awake.”

I smile into the pillow. “So are you.”

He kisses my shoulder softly, then nudges the sheet down to place another lower, near the curve of my spine. “Couldn't sleep without you,” he murmurs.

I roll toward him and bury my fingers in his hair. “You say that like you weren't passed out ten minutes after we... collapsed.”

He smirks, lifting his head to look at me. “I wasn't passed out. I was satisfied.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks, but I don’t look away. “I think I've missed your cocky mouth almost as much as the rest of you.”

He chuckles, then kisses me slowly. Not with heat this time, but with something softer that feels like home. When he pulls back, his hand slides between us and rests over my bump.

“Still feels surreal,” he says quietly. “Knowing you're carrying my child.”

I cover his hand with mine. “You should have seen your face last night when you felt the baby move. You looked terrified.”

His brow furrows slightly as if the memory of that moment still grips him. “I was. I am...not of being a father. I want that. But I spent so long preparing for death. I don't know if I ever prepared for this.”

My pulse drums, but I force myself to keep my voice steady. “Then we learn together.”

His eyes lock with mine. “You really want to build something with me after all this? You still trust me to be good for you? For the baby?”

I lean in and press my forehead to his. “You're not good for me, Dimitri. You'reeverythingfor me.”

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