Page 60 of Hostage of the Russian
“I won’t,” he promised, teeth grazing her shoulder. “I’ll never stop.”
Her body seized around him with a second climax, stronger than the first, and this time she sobbed his name, arms clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her anchored.
He followed, hips jerking as he came with a deep, hoarse groan, emptying into her with a relief that felt like breaking and healing all at once.
They stayed tangled, panting, foreheads pressed together. Her fingers traced the back of his neck, slow and soothing, as his heart thudded against hers.
“You didn’t just take your time,” she murmured. “You gave me something back.”
He kissed her, softer now. “You gave me something, too. Everything.”
They lay tangled together afterward, her head on his chest, their breathing slowly returning to normal. He traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, marveling at how right this felt, how perfectly she fit against him. The moonlight streaming through the windows painted silver stripes across her skin, and he found himself memorizing every detail of this moment.
“I never thought it could be like this,” she whispered against his chest, her breath warm on his skin.
“Like what?” he asked, though something in her tone made his chest tighten.
“Safe. Wanted.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and he saw something vulnerable there that made him want to tear apart anyone who had ever made her feel otherwise. “With my father, I learned that love meant pain. That caring about someone meant they could hurt you worse than anyone else.”
The casual way she mentioned it, like it was simply a fact of life, made rage simmer in his veins. But he kept his voice gentle when he spoke. “That wasn’t love,solnyshka. That was abuse.”
She smiled at the Russian endearment, her fingers tracing the tattoos that decorated his ribs. “I’m starting to understand the difference.”
The simple statement hit him harder than any declaration of love could have. She was learning to trust again, learning that intimacy didn’t have to come with pain, and somehow she was learning it with him. The responsibility of that trust felt heavier than any business deal he’d ever negotiated.
“Stay with me,” he murmured into her hair, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
She lifted her head to look at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean, really stay. Not because of our marriage or your father’s debt, but because you want to. Because this means something to you, too.”
The vulnerability in his own voice surprised him, but he couldn’t take the words back. Didn’t want to. She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing circles on his chest, and he held his breath waiting for her answer.
“It does mean something,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “You mean something to me, Kostya. More than I expected, more than I thought possible.”
Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by something that felt dangerously close to love. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, pulling her closer.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “Never wanted to protect someone the way I want to protect you. Never needed someone to be safe and happy the way I need you to be.”
She was quiet for so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, but then she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes I wake up and forget where I am. For just a second, I think I’m back in that house, waiting for the next explosion, the next punishment for existing. But then I remember I’m here, with you, and it feels like I can breathe again.”
The confession broke something open in his chest. He tilted her chin up so he could see her face, allowing her to see the fierce protectiveness blazing in his eyes.
“He will never touch you again,” he said, each word a solemn vow. “Never even get close enough to breathe the same air as you. I promise you that.”
Something flickered across her expression, too quick for him to read, but she nodded and settled back against his chest. “I believe you.”
“Good,” he said simply, but the word carried the weight of everything he couldn’t yet say, everything he was planning to do to make sure that promise became reality.
***
Three hours later, they sat around the massive dining table in the main Nikolai family home, surrounded by the controlled chaos that defined any gathering of his siblings and cousins. Azriel had changed into a soft blue dress that made her eyes look like storm clouds, and Kostya found himself stealing glances at her throughout dinner.
She’d grown more comfortable with his family over the past few weeks. Where once she’d been quiet and watchful during these gatherings, now she laughed at Viktor’s stories and traded barbs with Irina like she’d been part of their circle for years.
“So then,” Viktor was saying, gesturing dramatically with his wine glass, “this idiot decides the best way to impress the mark is to order everything on the menu. In French. Except his French is complete shit, so he ends up ordering what he thinks is beef wellington but is actually sweetbreads.”
“Sweetbreads,” Fedya said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “He ate cow pancreas and raved about how authentic it tasted.”
