When Sabrina kisses me with everything she’s been holding back, something inside my chest breaks open. All the careful control I’ve maintained since bringing her here dissolves under the desperate hunger of her mouth against mine. She tastes like hope and danger and everything I’ve been trying not to want.
I should stop this, pull away, and remind us both of all the reasons this complicates an already impossible situation. Yet when her fingers tangle in my hair, and she makes that soft sound of need against my lips, rational thought abandons me entirely. “Sabrina,” I say against her mouth, her name coming out like a prayer.
“Please,” she whispers back, and the single word undoes me completely.
I roll us carefully so she’s beneath me, mindful of the life growing inside her, and take my time mapping the changes in her body. Her breasts are fuller than I remember, and more sensitive if the way she arches into my touch is any indication. The slight curve of her belly where our child grows makes something possessive and protective surge through me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say, pressing kisses along the column of her throat. “Even more beautiful than I remembered.”
She pulls my sweater over my head with trembling hands, skating her palms across my chest like she’s memorizing the feel of my skin. When she traces the scar along my ribs from a knife fight three years ago, I tense automatically.
“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.
“Not anymore.” The truth is more complicated than that, but right now, nothing matters except the way she’s looking at me with tenderness that makes my chest ache.
I help her out of the silk nightgown she’s wearing, revealing the body that’s haunted my dreams for weeks. Her skin is softer than I remember, and when I lean down to trace my tongue along the sensitive spot just below her ear, she gasps and presses closer to me.
“I’ve thought about this,” she says breathlessly, “Every night since I got here. Many nights before too, when I was in my apartment. I’ve thought about what it would feel like to have you touch me again.”
“Just touching?” I ask, sliding my hand down her side to rest on her hip.
“More than touching.” Her confession comes out in a rush, like she’s embarrassed by her own desire. “I’ve thought about everything.”
I capture her mouth in another kiss, deeper this time, letting her taste the promise of what’s coming. I find the side of her panties, and when I slip beneath the silk to touch her pussy, she’s already wet and wanting. I press my forehead against hers, struggling to maintain some semblance of control. “You’re perfect.”
She rocks against my hand, chasing the friction she needs, and the sight of her losing herself to pleasure makes my cock ache with the need to be inside her. I force myself to go slowly, to worship every inch of her body the way she deserves.
I take my time removing her panties, pressing kisses to her inner thighs as I work my way higher. Her skin is soft as silk, and she trembles under every touch of my lips. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause to look up at her, taking in the flush spreading across her chest and the way her lips part in anticipation.
“You’re sure about this?” I ask one more time, even though my body is screaming at me to stop talking and start tasting.
“Absolutely.” She fists her hands in my hair, directing me where she wants me
When I finally taste her, she cries out and lifts her hips off the mattress. Her pussy is sweet and intoxicating, and I lose myself in the sounds she makes as I explore her geography with my tongue. I take my time, learning what makes her gasp, moan, and her entire body shake with need.
She writhes and pants as her thighs tremble on either side of my head. “That feels incredible.”
I slide one finger inside her while continuing to work her clit with my tongue, and she practically comes apart beneath me. Her walls are tight and hot around my finger, and when I add a second, she rocks against my hand desperately.
“More. Please, I need more.”
I curve my fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her back arch off the bed, and work it relentlessly while my mouth continues its assault on her clit. She’s so close her body coils tighter with every stroke.
“Let go,” I coax against her skin. “Come for me, Sabrina.”
When her orgasm hits, she screams my name as her whole body convulses. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the waves subside, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs while she comes back down.
“I…” She trails off, apparently unable to find words.
“That was just the beginning,” I whisper, returning my mouth to her clit to make her come again.
“Nikandr, please—”
“Let me take care of you,” I say, lifting my head slightly. “Let me make you feel good.”
I use my mouth and tongue to bring her right to the edge, then pull back when she’s trembling and desperate. She makes a sound of frustration that goes straight to my cock, but I want to draw this out, want to make it last.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, reaching for me. “Please don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping. Just slowing down.” I kiss my way back up her body, paying special attention to her breasts until she’s arching beneath me all over again. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”
She helps me out of my pajama pants, her hands shaking with need and anticipation. When she wraps her fingers around my shaft, I groan and have to grab her wrist to keep from losing control entirely.
“Your hands…” I let my head fall back as she strokes me slowly. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Good,” she says with a wicked smile, twisting her wrist in a way that makes me see stars. “I want you as desperate as you made me.”
She leans down and takes me in her mouth, and I nearly come off the bed. Her tongue swirls around the head of my cock while her hand works the base, and the combination of sensations is almost too much to bear.
“Sabrina, stop.” I’m gasping and pulling her away reluctantly. “I need to be inside you.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she asks, lying back and spreading her legs in invitation.
I position myself carefully between her thighs, hyper-aware of her pregnancy and the need to be gentle despite the fire burning through my veins. The head of my cock brushes against her entrance, and we both shudder at the contact.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” I ask, even though I’m dying to push inside her.
“I’ve been ready since the moment you walked into the room,” she says, reaching down to guide my cock inside her opening.
When I push inside her slowly, inch by inch, she makes a sound of pure satisfaction. She’s so tight and hot and perfect that I have to stop moving entirely to keep from coming immediately.
“Christ…” I inhale and exhale slowly while bracing myself on my forearms above her. “You feel incredible. Better than I remembered.”
She lifts her hips experimentally, taking me deeper, and the movement sends shockwaves of pleasure through both of us. “You’re so big,” she whispers, her nails digging into my shoulders. “I can feel every inch of you.”
I start to move slowly, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, and she meets every thrust with enthusiasm. Her breasts bounce with each movement, and I can’t resist leaning down to capture one nipple in my mouth.
“Yes.” She arches into me. “Just like that.”
I increase the pace gradually, building a rhythm that has her gasping and clinging to me. Every thrust brings us closer together, not just physically but emotionally, like we’re finally acknowledging what’s been building between us since that first night at the safehouse.
“Harder,” she urges, wrapping her legs around my waist. “I need more.”
I give her what she wants, driving into her with more force while being careful not to put pressure on her belly. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, along with her moans and my harsh breathing.
“Touch yourself,” I say, voice rough with desire. “I want you to come first.”
She slides her hand between us, finding her clit, and the sight of her touching herself while I’m buried inside her is almost my undoing. Her walls flutter around me as she works herself, and I know she’s close.
“That’s it.” I change my angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out. “Come for me, Sabrina. Let me feel you fall apart.”
With a breathless whimper, she presses on her clit and cries out. Her pussy clamps around me as she comes, milking my release. With a shout of relief, I let go, spilling my seed inside her, bare this time, with no barriers between us. Fucking perfection.
Afterward, we lie in silence, the sheets tangled between us, with her head tucked beneath my jaw. Her breathing gradually slows, and I notice the moment the tension leaves her body completely. I expect the guilt to creep in as I worry about what this means for our already complicated situation, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a strange calm settles over me, like the last piece of a puzzle has shifted into place.
Sabrina speaks first. “We need to figure out how to raise this child together. Civilly.”
I nod against her hair, though something about the word “civilly” sits wrong with me. It sounds distant and formal, like we’re business partners negotiating a contract instead of two people who just made love with desperate intensity.
“I know the circumstances aren’t ideal,” she says, tracing lazy patterns on my chest with her fingertip, “But I want us to be able to co-parent without drama or resentment.”
Tension flares in my chest at the word “co-parent,” though I can’t entirely explain why. The term implies separation, division of responsibility, and shared custody arrangements that would require me to give her up half the time. The thought makes my skin itch with something that feels dangerously close to panic. “I’ll try,” I say instead of voicing any of that.
What I don’t tell her is this isn’t about civility for me. It’s about proximity, and the fact that I can’t breathe properly when she’s not within reach. The idea of her taking our child and disappearing into a life I’m not part of makes me want to tear apart the world.
She tilts her head up to look at me, and in the dim light I see the uncertainty in her expression. “I have an appointment with my doctor in a few days. It’s the sixteen-week checkup, and maybe a gender ultrasound if the baby cooperates.” She pauses, like she’s gathering courage. “You can come if you want.”
The offer surprises me. I’ve been expecting her to maintain boundaries around her medical care, to keep some parts of the pregnancy separate from my involvement. “You want me there?”
She barely hesitates. “I think you should be there… If you want to be.”
“I want to be.” The response comes without hesitation. “I want to be part of all of it.”
She settles back against my chest, apparently satisfied with my answer. “Good. I hope we can find out if we’re having a boy or a girl.”
“Do you have a preference?”
She shakes her head. “Healthy is all I care about, but I have to admit the idea of a little boy with your eyes is pretty appealing.”
Something warm and dangerous spreads through my chest at the image. A son. A child who might grow up to be strong and protective and loyal like Yaroslav was. Or a daughter who inherits Sabrina’s courage and compassion and stubborn independence. I’d be thrilled with either. “What about names?” I ask.
“I haven’t really thought about it yet. It still feels surreal sometimes, knowing there’s a whole person growing inside me.”
“It’s not surreal to me.” I slide my hand down to rest on her belly, marveling at the subtle changes in her body. “Every time I see you, I think about them. I wonder what they’ll look like, what kind of personality they’ll have, and whether they’ll be more like you or me.”
“Hopefully more like me,” she says with a soft laugh. “The world doesn’t need another person with your particular skill set.”
The comment stings more than it should, even though I know she doesn’t mean it cruelly. “My particular skill set is what’s keeping you safe.”
She blinks, and her expression becomes serious instead of teasing. “I know. I’m grateful for that, but I want our child to have choices you never had.”
Our child. Not “my child” or “the baby,” but “our child.” The possessive pronoun does something to me, making the reality of what we’ve created feel more solid and permanent. “I can’t disagree with that,” I finally say.
We fall silent again, but it’s comfortable now, weighted with exhaustion and satisfaction and something that feels remarkably like contentment. Sabrina’s breathing evens out, and I think she’s asleep until she speaks again.
“Nikandr?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you for making me feel safe enough to let you in.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the lingering traces of our lovemaking. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
She doesn’t respond, and this time, I can tell from the rhythm of her breathing that sleep has finally claimed her. I watch her face in the moonlight, memorizing the peaceful expression that’s been so elusive during her time here.
As my eyes drift closed, I realize it’s the first time in ten years I haven’t felt alone in the world. Since Yaroslav’s death, I’ve surrounded myself with loyal men and strategic alliances, but none of it filled the hollow space where my family used to be.
Now, lying here with her curled against my chest and our child growing safely inside her, that hollow space doesn’t ache anymore. For the first time since I was twenty-four-years-old, I’m not facing the world completely alone.
The thought should terrify me. Caring this much about someone makes one vulnerable by creating weaknesses enemies can exploit, but as I hold the woman carrying my child, listening to her soft breathing in the darkness, I can’t bring myself to regret any of it.
