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She rested her hand against his chest. “You don’t have to be the same.”
“The men —”
“The men see what is in front of them.” She tilted her head to look at up at him. “You can save the Lion for them. I want this. I want my husband.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I may not be very good at this.”
She smiled a little. “I’m not looking for perfection. I’m not looking for you to tell me every feeling you have the second you have it. I know this will take time. I just want…” He looked at her questioningly, as if he really needed the answer. “I just want you. All of you.”
“What if you can’t handle all of me?” he asked.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “I think I’ve proven that I can.”
He slid his fingers forcefully into her hair, tipping her head back, and she suddenly wondered if they were still talking only about the emotional intimacy that so scared him.
“You’ll wait for me?” he asked. “To… learn this?”
“Forever,” she said without hesitation.
He slammed his mouth down on hers.
She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his as his tongue invaded her mouth. He was already hard, his erection pressing insistently against her stomach, and she immediately grew wet for him.
He pulled away and stared down at her. “Have we done enough talking?”
“For now.” She’d meant what she said: it would take time. The bratva was nothing if not a bastion of toxic masculinity. She didn’t expect Lyon to suddenly wax poetic about every feeling he had. That they’d opened the door to the kind of emotional intimacy she craved was enough for one night.
“Then can I please take my wife to bed?” he asked.
She ran her hand down his chest and stroked his cock through his pants. “You may.”
He growled, swept her into his arms, and headed inside.
37
He would have expected all the talk of emotions and feelings to dampen his physical passion, but it had the opposite effect. He was burning for her, their conversation opening a final door in his heart, one that had hidden his most secret fears, the ones that would make him look weak or unable to lead the bratva, that might make him look weak to his wife.
What do you want from me?
Everything.
The words echoed in his mind as he made his way through the silent house. He climbed the stairs to their bedroom, their eyes locked, her soft weight a comfort in his arms.
He turned into their bedroom and carried her to the bed, setting her gently onto the floor.
She’d told him not to treat her like something fragile, but now he had he urge to worship her slowly and carefully, not because she was pregnant, but because something had shifted between them, and he wanted to explore the new boundaries of the territory that was his love for her.
He slipped her sweater off her shoulders, then unzipped the jacket to her track suit to reveal a long-sleeve T-shirt stretched over her stomach.
He chuckled. “You’re wearing a lot of clothes, darling.”
She smiled up at him in the darkness of the room, the lights from the city casting a glow over the bed. “It was cold out there.”
“Let me warm you up,” he said.
He lifted the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, then reached around to unclip her bra, freeing her breasts, heavy and swollen and begging for his mouth and tongue.
Soon.
