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She gasped, and I swallowed it with hungry lips, my mouth reclaiming hers with a ferocity that left her breathless. The room spun around us, and I willingly surrendered to the all-consuming heat, thrusting like a starved predator. Fucking her like both our lives were on the line. Kissing her in every place I latched my mouth on.
She tasted sweet, and her pussy around my erection felt even sweeter.
I licked her throat, swallowed her sighs of pleasure, gripped the edges of the counter with one hand, and sunk my fingernails in the soft flesh of her thighs with the other. Our heartbeats raced, and our rhythms matched in perfect synchrony. Nothing had felt more fucking good than being inside her.
Freya wound her arms around my neck, sucked on my lower lip, and ran her fingers through my hair, her touch setting me on fire, driving me closer and closer to the edge.
Rather quickly, I began losing my grasp.
Our kisses grew sloppier, and her thighs clenched around me. I pulled back, smirked at the dazed look in her eyes, obviously wanting more, and jerked forward with an intensity that shattered her walls.
She moaned loudly and whimpered, coming undone in my arms.
I smiled against her temple and pressed a kiss to it. “That was only the first one, wife. Tonight, there are promises of many more to come.”
I didn’t go out to check, but the moon turned pink tonight.
Chapter 20 – Freya
The soreness between my legs made me open my eyes. Yawning, I stretched and leaned on the headboard, fighting yet failing to resist the urge to stare at the reason I ached everywhere—the man lying peacefully beside me.
The midnight blue curtains were drawn apart, and warm, white-golden rays of sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, pouring on his fair skin.
He was beautiful and strangely peaceful as he slept without the covers, allowing me to feed my eyes on the magnificent sight of his firm buttocks, alongside everything else.
Pink, puckered lips that tasted like vodka and wicked intentions. Thick, dark eyebrows that could pull to the most condescending thing I had ever seen. Brown tousled sex hair that even felt softer than it looked. The breadth of his shoulders glowing with faint red spots of my nail marks…and long muscled legs that inched over the bed frame.
Heat crept up my neck.
I’d marked him as much as he’d marked me and wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Triumph? Irritation? Uncertainty latched on the walls of my heart like a leech.
It was rather amazing how just watching his chest rise and fall gently made warm tingles spread throughout my body, evoking something unbelievablyintimatein that space. It was almost like I could grow into this routine of watching him sleep every morning beside me.
He was everythingman.Hard and big and defined. My fingers itched to trace the sculpted outlines of his small waist and the esoteric black design inked across his back—black butterflies choked in long, thick thorns.
It was unique and unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and knowing Egor, a design like that surely meant something. Not like he was ever going to be willing to share a part of his life with me.
Alright, Freya.
I’d had enough of the view of the insanely attractive man,my husband,and decided to put my time to much better use.
Gingerly, so as not to wake him, I got off the bed and padded over to his closet in the corner of the room. It was huge, almost as big as my bedroom back in my now abandoned apartment in LA. Jackets, plain dress shirts, pants, ties, and a neat array of other casual t-shirts and sweatshirts hung—loosely coordinated by color. On one side, sleek black drawers with glass lids showcased his impressive collection of luxury timepieces.
I traced my hand over the rim, secretly admiring how everything appeared in order and was super spick and span. For a man known to cause disastrous chaos, his display of perfect organization was almost…impressive.
Catching myself before I further fell into the trap of delusion, thinking I could find any more things admirable about him, I snagged on a baggy t-shirt from his spacious closet before strolling off to the kitchen.
Anna was already there early, promenading across the hardwood flooring with her graying blonde hair in a neat ponytail, her regular drab white blouse, and her black below-the-knee skirt. She stood by the sink, her sleeves rolled up to her elbow, washing the silver utensils when I came up beside her, propping my hip against the counter.
“Ah! The bride is awake. And glowing, I see.” She laughed, and I forced my lips to curve, at least to mirror her enthusiasm.
I couldn’t keep fighting the truth of what my life had become, as much as I hated it. In the eyes of society, I was officially Mrs. Yezhov now, the wife of one of the most dangerousmen in the world. That status came with influence, wealth, and power.
It should have felt good that I had married one of the most sought-after men—in every sense of the word—but it didn’t.
I brushed my hand over my stomach, suddenly conscious of the implications of carrying his child. A man like him didn’t lack enemies, and following the announcement of our wedding, I was flung into the limelight, inheriting his enemies—and so had his unborn child.
Despite my reluctance to acknowledge it, the only person capable of keeping us both safe was, ironically, the same person who had initially entangled us in this mess.
