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For a long moment, he stays collapsed on top of me, both of us breathless and trembling.

After our breathing finally steadies, Roman slowly pulls out of me. I expect him to roll away or put some distance between us, but when I open my eyes, he’s still hovering over me, staring down with that intense, unreadable gaze.

“You squirted,” he says.

For a second I’m confused. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or apologize. I just soaked the sheets, and I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life.

He must read the uncertainty on my face because his voice softens just a fraction. “That was fucking fantastic. I made you squirt. I’ll have to make sure it happens again.”

I bite my lower lip, looking up at him. “That’s… never happened before.”

A possessive satisfaction flickers in his eyes. “Good. That only happens with me. You’re not to ever touch yourself and make yourself squirt. As a matter of fact, you’re not allowed to touch yourself at all anymore.”

I can’t help the reply that slips out. “Well, if you don’t want me touching myself, then maybe you shouldn’t disappear for days on end.”

His expression tightens for a brief second, something unreadable crossing his face, before it settles back into that controlled mask. Without answering, he reaches between my legs and scoops up the mixture of his cum and my own release from my entrance. He brings his glistening fingers to my lips.

I open for him without thinking, tasting both of us on his skin. It should feel dirty. Instead, it feels intensely intimate.

He leans down and covers my mouth with his, kissing me deeply, like he’s chasing the shared taste on my tongue. Then he gathers me into his arms, lifts me off the bed, and carries me into the bathroom.

I fully expect him to leave me there alone. Instead, he steps into the shower with me. The hot water cascades over both of us as he washes me carefully, his hands moving over my body with a quiet thoroughness that surprises me. When we’re done, he dries me off with the same unexpected gentleness, then carries me back to the bed.

He lies down and pulls me against his chest, my head resting over his heartbeat.

There are so many questions still burning in my throat. The argument we had earlier isn’t resolved. We can’t keep hiding behind sex. But a part of me is too exhausted, and too unwilling to shatter this fragile peace.

So I stay quiet and close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and let myself drift, choosing for now to hold on to this quiet moment between us.

❦ ❦ ❦

I reach across the bed for Roman and find only cold emptiness.

My eyes open slowly. His side of the bed is vacant. Whatever fragile happiness I felt last night falling asleep against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, vanishes in an instant. Emptiness and a familiar sadness rush in to take its place.

He left. Again. I stare at the ceiling, my mind already spinning. Is this going to be our routine? Him disappearing for days, only to return when he wants to fuck me, then vanishing once more?

What happens when we have children? Will he abandon me and them the same way? Maybe that’s all this is, get me pregnant, secure an heir, then keep living his separate life.

Where does he even go? Has he been with another woman these past days? Does he already have a mistress? Why is he avoiding me so deliberately?

The questions pile up until my chest feels tight. Sighing, I force myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I take care of my needs, brush my teeth, and decide I need to eat.

I skipped dinner last night, and despite how angry and hollow I feel, my body is hungry. For the past few days, I have always eaten very little due to anxiety, but starting today, I refuse to starve myself over Roman.

Just as I step out of the bathroom, something on the bedside table catches my eye. It's an invitation to a gala. Tonight. Inside it is a short note in Roman’s bold handwriting: Be ready by 8.

I pick it up and study it for a long moment. I had no idea we had a gala to attend tonight. I'll need to go shopping for a dress. A smile curves my lips as an idea begins to form.

❦ ❦ ❦

After breakfast, I take a long shower, get dressed, and tell my bodyguard to bring the car around. We’re going to Roman’s office.

He looks surprised. “Did you inform Mr. Sokolov that you’re coming, ma’am?”

“No,” I answer. “I don’t have to. He’s my husband. I’m surprising him.” I give him a firm look. “And don’t call ahead to warn him.”

He hesitates only a second before nodding. “Understood.”