Page 93 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

He nods once and escorts me through the main entrance, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back. The touch is careful, almost tentative. I don't pull away. I lean into it slightly, letting him know without words that I'm here and I'm staying.

We reach our bedroom and he walks over to the window, looking out with his back to me. His spine is so stiff, I'm amazed it hasn't cracked. I know I've been harsh on him and he's uncertain how to react around me.

I cross the room without speaking and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek against the warmth of his back. His entire body tenses in surprise, then slowly relaxes as I hold him tighter.

"I forgive you," I whisper against his spine. "I understand why you did it. I know it was necessary. And I forgive you."

His hands come up to cover mine where they rest against his chest, his fingers threading through mine and holding on like I might disappear if he lets go.

"The pain will take longer to fade," I continue softly. "I can't just stop grieving someone I loved for most of my life. But I know you did what had to be done, and I don't blame you for it anymore."

He turns in my arms and pulls me against him, his face buried in my hair. We stand like that for a long time, holding each other while the world continues outside. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my ear.

When he finally pulls back to look at me, his dark eyes are intense with emotion he rarely shows.

"I love you," he says roughly. "I should have said it before. I should have told you every day since I realized it was true."

My heart swells within my chest and a lump of emotion forms in my throat. I never thought I'd hear those words from him, and to hear them now humbles me.

"I love you too." The words come easily because they're honest. "Even when I was angry. Even when I couldn't look at you, I still loved you."

He kisses me then, slow and deep and full of everything we've been through together. His mouth moves against mine with deliberate tenderness. I open for him, letting him in, and the kiss deepens until I'm breathless and clinging to his shoulders.

His hands slide beneath my sweater, palms warm against my skin as he traces the curve of my waist. I shiver at the contact. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull the sweater over my head, and I reach for the button of his pants with trembling fingers.

"Ana." His voice is rough with longing as I work the button free and slide the zipper down. He kicks off his pants while I unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor between us.

For a moment, we just look at each other. His eyes travel over my body with such heat that I swear they scorch a fiery path across my skin. I reach out and trace the lines of ink across his chest, following the patterns I've come to know by heart.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his hands coming up to cup my breasts. His thumbs brush over my nipples, and I gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch.

I slide my hands down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath my palms. I trace the ridges of his abdomen, feeling them tense beneath my fingers, then wrap my hand around his cock.

He groans, his head falling back as I stroke him slowly. He's hard and thick in my hand, and the knowledge that I can affect him like this sends a thrill through my entire body.

He growls, then lifts me in his arms and carries me to the bed, his body covering mine as my back settles against the cool sheets. His mouth finds mine again as his hand slides between my thighs. I'm already wet for him, already aching, and when his fingers find my clit, I cry out against his lips. He strokes me, building the pleasure until I'm trembling beneath him.

"Please," I whisper, my hands gripping his shoulders. "I need you."

He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine. "I love you," he says again, and then he pushes inside me in one slow, deep thrust.

I gasp at the sensation of being filled by him, stretched and claimed. He holds still for a moment, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine. And then we're moving together. The friction is exquisite, and I moan as he sets a steady rhythm. His hips roll against mine, each thrust deliberate and controlled, hitting that perfect spot inside me.

I run my hands over his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves. His skin is hot beneath my palms, slick with sweat. I dig my nails in slightly, and he groans in response, his pace increasing.

"Ana." He buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "Fuck, you feel so good."

I tilt my hips to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure building inside me. This isn't just sex. This is us reconnecting and reaffirming the fragile bond between us that survived betrayal and grief and violence.

His hand slides between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure. The dual sensation of him inside me and his fingers on me is too much. I feel the orgasm building, coiling tighter in my core.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough. "Let me feel you."

The words push me over the edge. I cry out as the pleasure crashes through me, my body clenching around him. He groans, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm triggers his own. He thrusts deep one last time and holds there, his body shuddering as he comes inside me.

We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still joined. He kisses me softly, tenderly, before carefully withdrawing and rolling to the side. He pulls me against him immediately, tucking me into his side like he can't bear to have any distance between us.

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as it gradually slows. I trace the lines of ink across his skin while he runs his fingers through my hair.