Page 169 of Sweet Deception
“Gleb,” she whispered against my lips, shaky. “The food...”
“Forget it.” I lifted her onto the counter, her legs parting as I stepped between them. Bowls clinked, a spoon hit the floor, I didn’t care. My hands found her thighs, rucking up the shirt, exposing soft skin. She wasn’t wearing much underneath, and that realization snapped what little control I had left.
Her breath came fast, chest rising against mine. I kissed her again, deeper, my tongue sliding against hers as my fingers dug into her hips. She arched, a small sound escaping her, and it drove me wild. I pulled back just enough to yank the shirt higher, baring her stomach, her ribs, stopping short of her bandaged shoulder.
“You’re hurt,” I muttered, voice thick, almost angry. “Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t. Her good hand slid to my neck, pulling me back. “Don’t.”
That was it. I shoved her thighs wider, my mouth dropping to her throat, tasting the pulse hammering there. She squirmed, hips shifting, and I pressed myself against her, hard, insistent, letting her feel what she did to me. Her gasp was raw, unrestrained, and it broke me.
My hand slipped between her legs, finding her already wet, and I cursed under my breath. “You want this,” I growled, more to myself than her, as my fingers moved, rough but deliberate. She moaned, head tipping back, and I watched her unravel, innocent Anna, mine now, trembling under my touch.
I couldn’t wait. Not after everything. I fumbled with my belt, shoving my jeans down just enough, and pulled her closer by the hips. Her eyes locked on mine, wide and trusting, and for a second, I hesitated, her shoulder, the blood, the fear of losingher flashing through me. But then she whispered, “Please,” and I was gone.
I entered her in one sharp thrust, her cry echoing in the kitchen. She was tight, hot, and I stilled, breathing hard, giving her a moment. Her nails dug into my arm, her legs wrapping around me, and when she nodded, small, desperate, I moved. Slow at first, then faster, deeper, the counter rattling beneath us. Every sound she made, every shudder, fueled me. I needed this, needed her more than air.
My hand gripped her thigh, the other braced beside her, careful of her sling. Sweat beaded on her skin, her lips parted, and when she clenched around me, I lost it. “Anna,” I rasped, burying my face in her neck as I drove harder, chasing that edge. She came first, a broken moan spilling out, and it pulled me over with her, raw, messy, overwhelming.
I stayed there, panting against her, our breaths mingling. Her good hand slid into my hair, weak but steady, and I felt her heartbeat under my palm. Alive. Mine.
The borscht simmered on the stove, forgotten
ANNA
Eight years later, the Moscow estate hummed with life, our life, carved from the ashes of a war we’d barely survived. The night unfurled above us, a tapestry of stars spilling across the sky, bright and boundless. The air carried the scent of earth and pine, a quiet freedom we’d clawed our way to. Inside, our children slept, or so I thought until I heard a giggle from the doorway.
“Papa, look!” Our son, Sasha, seven years old and all mischief, darted onto the balcony, his dark hair a wild mess like Gleb’s. He held a toy plane, zooming it through the air with a dramatic whoosh. “It’s flying to the moon! And it’s gonna fight aliens, Papa! Pew Pew!”
Gleb turned, his broad silhouette softening as he crouched to Sasha’s level. “The moon, huh? You’ll need more fuel for that, malysh.” He ruffled Sasha’s hair, then scooped him up, tossing him lightly into the air. Sasha’s laughter rang out, sharp and bright, slicing through the stillness.
I leaned against the railing, watching them, my chest swelling. Then came the patter of smaller feet. our daughter, Katya, four and fearless, toddling out with a stuffed bear clutched to her chest. “Me too, Papa, Lift me higher! I wanna catch a star!” she demanded, tugging at Gleb’s leg.
“Both of you, now?” Gleb grinned, rare and unguarded, and hoisted Katya up with his free arm. He spun them together, Sasha shrieking with delight, Katya’s bear flopping wildly. “You’re heavier than the Bratva’s secrets,” he teased, but his eyes shone, warm and alive.
“Put them down before you strain something,” I said, smirking, though my voice betrayed the ache of love in it.
He set them on the stone floor, and Sasha immediately tackled my legs, wrapping his arms around me. “Mama, tell Papa I’m stronger than him!”
“Oh, you are,” I said, bending to kiss his forehead. “But don’t tell him that, he’ll sulk.”
Gleb snorted, pulling Katya onto his shoulders. “Sulk? Never.” She giggled, tugging his damp hair, and he pretended to wince. “This one’s the real boss, though. Look at her.”
Katya beamed, all dimples and pride, and I laughed, a sound that still felt like a gift after so long in the dark. Eight years since hate had burned between us, since love had forged us in blood and chaos. Now, here we were, parents to these wild, beautiful souls.
“Go inside, you two,” I said, shooing them gently. “Bedtime. We’ll come kiss you goodnight.”
Sasha pouted but obeyed, dragging Katya by the hand, her bear trailing behind. The door clicked shut, and silence settled, save for the rustle of the night. I turned back to the sky, stars glinting like shards of hope. My shoulder twinged faintly, a ghost of that bullet from years ago, but I felt safe. Whole.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, tracing the endless glow above.
Gleb’s gaze shifted, not to the stars, but to me. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, rough with something raw. “You are.”
I met his eyes, catching the depth there, no longer the sharp edge of a cartel king, but a man unarmored, mine. “I meant the stars.”
“So did I.” He stepped closer, his hand finding my waist, warm through my sweater. “But they’re nothing next to you.”
A laugh slipped out, soft and real. “You’re getting soft, Gleb.”
