Neither of us is slave to the other.
If anything, we serve together as slaves to our connection, our bond, our chemistry, our love. But neither of us will ever be less than to the other. We belong to each other and we belong together.
Always.
That’s why it doesn’t even give me pause when I tell him, “I’m yours. Always yours.”
A low, guttural noise indicates his need to cement that vow from where our bodies join. He laces his fingers between mine, holding onto my left hand. His other hand pushes my knee down sideways to the floor, holding it down with his weight as he leans on it. And then, he fucks me, with rolling thrusts of his hips that drive his cock upward, forcing himself to rub against the perfect spot.
My eyes squeeze shut as that beautiful tension builds, twisting and dragging all the good feelings down low in my core. He thrusts and thrusts, bending to push our laced fingers to the floor just beside my head. He pushes down on my hand and my opposite knee so hard—bones-grinding-down-into-the-floor hard—that it causes the most incredible ache in my muscles. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t scare me, which surprises me.
It feels good.
I feel him everywhere.
I feel consumed by him.
I never want it to stop.
I’m shaking, literally trembling from the good feelings he gives me. He overwhelms my mind and takes control of my senses. I feel his eyes on me as he fucks me. I feel him pick up his pace when my muscles start to clench, when my fingers grip his harder, when I’m softly chanting, telling him of my frantic need for release with a single repeated syllable.
“Oh, oh, oh.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Come for me, baby.”
I feel his cock swelling, pulsing, nearing his own release. The extra tension as he grows inside me ignites a soul-searing fire—a flash fire that instantly consumes every part of my body.
It burns me, twists me, rumbles through me. I feel the explosion of it from deep within, bursting through my core. My pussy clenches and releases through a mind-numbing orgasm, tugging Ezra into coming hard inside me. His mouth drops open and somehow, I just know he won’t be able to hold back a primal roar from his release.
I untangle my fingers from his as he pushes his cock inside me deep with his final thrust. I reach around, grabbing the back of his head with both of my hands. I yank him down to me and cover his mouth with mine, swallowing his groan, his shout of pleasure as he spills the last of his seed inside me.
As our orgasms fade into satiated calmness, we kiss. We kiss like it’s the first time and the last time, like it’s the only time. We kiss like we might never kiss again.
My heart thumps, and though I’m probably just being crazy, I swear I can feel Ezra’s heart thump right along with mine, with the same rhythm and tempo.
This can’t be the last.
“I can’t live like this,” I say bluntly, breaking our kiss.
He studies my expression, brushing the hair from my eyes with his hand and stroking down the side of my face. He doesn’t say anything. He’s just quiet, watching me, waiting for me to go on.
His silence reminds me of the first night we kissed in my bedroom at Mikhailov Manor—the night Nikolai raped me with Ezra’s involvement. Ezra gave me silence when I needed it, allowing me quiet to process my thoughts before telling him what I was really thinking. He’s doing the same now—one of the many things I love about him—giving me pause and letting me think. It makes me feel as though my thoughts are valued…wanted.
I press up onto my elbows and he moves as I do, sitting up and sitting back on his heels. “Ezra…we have to escape.”
A neutral expression washes over his features and for the first time, I feel like I don’t really know what he’s thinking. He takes a breath, rises on his knees to pull his pants back up and buttons them, then lowers to sit back on his heels. “Do you mean it?”
I start to sit up, but it’s a little challenging with my position; even with such a small bump, my movements have begun to feel awkward and clumsy. Ezra reaches down to help me, grabbing me easily from my armpits and practically lifting me off the floor toward him. He pulls me up onto his lap where he kneels, my knees spread on either side of him. Immediately, I look down between us as I feel the evidence of our encounter drip out from between my legs, right onto the crotch of his jeans.
“I’ll leave a wet spot,” I warn him.
But he only wraps his arms around me tightly, holding me close to him. “I don’t give a fuck, Anya. Are you serious about escaping?”
I wrap one of my arms around his neck, but let the other fall between us, landing on my belly. “I’ve never thought it was possible. And I suppose I still believe that’s true.”
Hearing myself say that out loud makes me feel flutters in my belly like tiny butterfly wings that fan an anxious, urgent feeling through my body. It could be the baby moving for the first time—Doctor Lombardi said it would feel like tiny flutters at first, but likely not for several more weeks. More likely it’s a feeling of instinct.
“This probably doesn’t make any sense, but…I feel like I have to attempt the impossible. Like I’ll regret it forever if I don’t try. If we don’t try.” I lift my hand to join the other around his neck as I lean forward and place my forehead against his. “I know this baby is yours, Ezra. I just…I just know it. It has to be. I won’t accept anything else. And even if he’s not, the thought of him being raised among the four families?” I blow out a breath as the idea of it spikes anxiety and Ezra rubs my back. “It’s unthinkable.”
“It’s absolutely unthinkable.” He sighs. “Wait. You said he?”
I lift my head to look at him better. “I don’t know for sure yet. But I had a dream. I have dreams all the time actually. Nightmares. But he’s always a boy. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking because I don’t know what they’ll do if the baby is a girl.” They might kill her and probably me with her—not that I’d want to live if my baby died.
Ezra nods. “You know I’ve had dreams, too.”
My cheeks twitch, tugging a smile from my lips. “Yeah?”
“Always a boy. A little blond-haired boy with my eyes.”
My shoulders relax at that. “Always green eyes.”
“I know it doesn’t mean anything,” Ezra says. “It’s just a dream. But it feels real sometimes.”
I kiss him, just a peck at first, but it turns into a slow burning fusion of my mouth with his. We stay that way for minutes, holding each other, kissing each other, loving each other to spite all the ways we’ve been denied that privilege.