Page 135 of Santa Daddy
Then I dragged him to the edge and pushed him over.
For once, he didn’t fight it. Didn’t try to hold on to control like it was oxygen. He let go. His release hit with a full-body shudder, his breath coming in harsh, broken gasps.
When I crawled back up his body, he was looking at me like I’d just rewritten the laws of physics.
“You’re my undoing,” he said.
“Together,” I corrected, brushing my fingers over his lips, “we’re something new.”
He moved then, flipping us so I was on my back and he was above me, braced on his good arm. He kissed his way down my body, slow and reverent, stopping when he reached the gentle curve of my stomach.
Then he was between my thighs, parting me with patient hands. His tongue teased once, a testing flick, then settled into a rhythm that erased every other thought from my brain.
He worshipped me.
Not like a queen or a goddess. Like I was the last altar left standing in a ruined cathedral.
“Please,” I choked, arching against his mouth. “Konstantin?—”
A finger slid inside me, then another, finding the right angle like muscle memory. He curled and stroked and sucked until the tension coiled tight and then snapped.
I flew apart, his name on my lips, that little motel room dissolving into white light and certainty.
When I came back to myself, he was above me, breath ragged, pupils blown.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
“I’m going to make love to you now,” he said, voice low and rough. “And nothing is going to separate us again.”
“Nothing,” I said. “Our forever.”
He pushed into me slowly, giving my body time to stretch around him. The fullness was familiar and somehow entirely new. Every inch forward felt like another line crossed, another wall taken down for good.
His mouth found my breast, his hand slid along my thigh, his hips set a slow, steady rhythm that made everything else fall away.
“I told you once I’d burn the world to keep you,” he said, eyes locked on mine as he moved. “I meant it.”
There was no fire in his voice now. Just quiet conviction.
The second climax built like a tide, slow and inexorable. When it broke, it took my breath with it. I clung to him, riding the wave, his name a mantra.
He followed me over with a low, broken sound, burying himself deep as his body shuddered with release.
Afterward, we lay tangled in cheap sheets and each other. My head rested on his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong under my ear. One of his hands traced lazy patterns on my shoulder; the other stayed on my stomach, unconsciously protective.
Skin to skin. Heart to heart.
Finally home.
“No regrets?” he asked after a while, voice roughened by everything we’d just done and everything we’d already survived.
“Ask me in fifty years,” I said.
I hesitated, then huffed out a breath.
“For the record,” I said, tracing idle circles on his chest, “I never actually said ‘I do’ back there.”
