Page 80 of Cruel Submission

“Come with me,” he demands. “Need to feel you— Need—”

“Yes.” I’m already there, already tipping over again. “Yes, Arkady, yes—”

We fall together.

The pleasure crashes through me, stealing my breath, turning my bones liquid. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth as he comes, and the intimacy of it—of him coming undone inside me—makes tears leak from beneath my closed lids.

He collapses onto me, burying his face in the curve of my neck, breathing hard.

We lie tangled together, sweat-slicked and trembling, and there are no words. No explanations. No apologies or promises.

Just this.

Him inside me. My arms around him. Our breathing gradually slowing, syncing, becoming one rhythm instead of two.

His hand finds my stomach—the slight swell that’s barely visible but that we both know is there. He spreads his fingers wide, palm flat against my skin, and I feel the reverence in the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally. “For everything.”

“I know.”

“I should have told you—”

“Shh.” I stroke his hair. “Not now.”

He nods against my shoulder. Then he carefully withdraws and shifts us so we’re lying face to face, legs still intertwined, foreheads touching.

His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, wiping away the tears I didn’t realize were falling.

“Sleep,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”

And God help me, I believe him.

I let my eyes close fully. Let the exhaustion pull me under. Let myself trust that when I wake up, he’ll still be here.

His arm tightens around my waist. His breath is warm against my lips. And in that moment, with his heartbeat steady beneath my palm and his child growing inside me and my sister alive upstairs, everything feels like it might be okay.

Not perfect.

Not without scars.

But okay.

I fall asleep in his arms.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Arkady

I watch her sleep.

The night has passed. The room holds the half-dark of early morning—that suspended hour when the darkness hasn’t quite lifted. Her breathing is soft, steady, the kind of rhythm that makes you believe nothing bad can touch you.

The sheets are tangled around her hips. One arm curves above her head, the other rests across her belly.

Our baby.

The concept feels foreign. Dangerous. Like something that could come apart if I examine it too closely. But the possessiveness… that’s familiar territory. Mine. She’s mine now in every way that matters. Legally, soon, if she says yes. Biologically already.