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My hand moves down, the tips of my nails teasing his thigh as I inch closer to his manhood.
“What changed? What made you finally admit your feelings?”
“Seeing you in the ring. Seeing how goddamn strong yet vulnerable you are. Fear isn’t a normal emotion for me, but with you, it’s like a living thing. I needed you to know. I can’t lose you.”
Samuil’s words warm my heart. I take hold of his cock, stroking him slowly, groans flowing from his lips. His hand moves over the flat, toned surface of my stomach, across the thatch of hair above my pussy, then finally between my thighs.
“Oh… oh…”
It’s all I can say as he touches me, spreading my lips apart, his fingertips finding my most sensitive place, making slow circles around my clit. My back arches, and it’s not long before I feel the stirrings of a climax.
He kisses me hard again, the pleasure building and building until I can’t take it anymore. His lips on mine, his fingers inside of me, I release, my body filling with warmth as the explosion of pure ecstasy rips through me.
I grip his cock tightly, the sensation of his heavy length in my grasp bringing how good I feel to another level.
“I need this inside of me,” I say. “Right now.”
He rolls onto his back and I straddle him, careful not to disturb his injury.
I take him by the base of his length and guide him inside. I’m so wet, so ready, that his impressive size glides into me easily, my walls stretching around his thickness. I moan and grindinto him as he pushes deeper, that familiar fullness making me feel so good right away. It’s not long before he’s bottomed out, holding fast for a few moments before I start to rock back and forth.
Every motion, every caress, carries an urgency, a depth of feeling that neither of us can deny. With Samuil, images seem more vivid, sensations more pronounced. As he moves within me, we form a perfect rhythm, one that’s passionate, synchronized, and alive with energy. I can feel the raw emotion coursing through him, mirrored in the rise and fall of his chest, the fierce grip of his hands.
As our pace quickens, there's a beautiful desperation in our movements. I cling to him, our souls intertwined, as we both tumble into the abyss of pleasure.
The aftermath leaves us breathless, a tangle of limbs and sheets. I curl up next to him, my head nestled against his chest. His heart beats strong and steady beneath my ear, the sound lulling me into a sense of euphoria.
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I'll always protect you, Ana. Always."
His words envelop me, their sincerity anchoring me to the moment, to him. A smile tugs at my lips, and I let out a contented sigh. As sleep beckons, I surrender to its call, knowing that with him, I'm truly safe.
Chapter 19
Samuil
The first light of dawn casts a pale glow across the room, gently illuminating the figure beside me. There's a quiet beauty in the way Anastasia sleeps, her face relaxed, free of the fierceness and determination she so often carries. Her chest rises and falls rhythmically, strands of hair falling across her cheek, and she seems so delicate, so vulnerable.
As I lay there watching her, an overwhelming need to protect her surges within me. It's more than just the Bratva lieutenant in me. It's personal, intimate. It's a silent promise I’ve made to myself, one that runs deeper than any oath I've ever taken. She's agreed to not fight in the Death Match and knowing that causes a heavy weight to lift from my shoulders.
I carefully slide out of bed, ensuring I don’t disturb her. As I dress in the muted light, my thoughts turn to what lies ahead. The memory of our night together still lingers, but there’s something I need to take care of.
Once dressed, I approach the bed, leaning over to brush a tender kiss on her forehead. Her eyelids flutter briefly, but she remains in the throes of sleep. It’s a comforting sight, seeing her here, safe.
My wound, though still fresh, feels surprisingly better. Nat did good work. A quick check assures me it's healing as expected. No complications. That's something to be grateful for.
Stepping into the fresh morning air, the scent of impending rain hits me. The streets are quiet, the world seemingly at peace, but I know better. Somewhere in this vast city, there are men who wish to do us harm, men who are threatened by Ana's strength and the power of our family.
The Romanians. The champions of this bloody fighting ring. They won’t be expecting a visit, but then again, I’ve made a career out of being unpredictable. I need to make them understand, without a single punch or a shot being fired, if possible. However, if they push me, I'll push back harder.
In the end, nothing, and no one, stands between me and the safety of those I hold dear.
I check the message again, confirming the address. I didn’t tell Andrei that I was going to be paying them a visit, and as the location leads me to a gritty neighborhood on the outskirts of Moscow, I begin to think that might’ve been a mistake. The Popescu safehouse looks no different than any other ramshackle building in the area, a calculated move, I'm sure. But it doesn't fool me. The aura of danger and secrecy is unmistakable.
Pulling into the uneven driveway, I notice a pair of broad-shouldered guards already waiting for me. Before I even turn off the engine, they’re approaching, hands ready to ensure I’m not armed.
Stepping out, I flash a grin. "Careful there, boys. No need to mess up the handiwork one of your mates already did." I gesture at the stitched-up wound on my side. One of the guards smirks, though the humor doesn't reach his eyes.
After a brief, but thorough pat down, they seem satisfied that I'm not carrying any concealed weapons. They motion for me to follow them inside. The building's exterior might havebeen unassuming, but the inside tells a different story. A low-lit hallway leads to a central lounge area, filled with the scent of cigars and the faint sounds of an old Romanian ballad playing in the background. The place has the vibe of a sleazy underground club, with plush red velvet chairs and beads hanging over doorways. There’s a bar stocked with an array of liquor bottles placed against mirrored shelves. While it's meant to exude a sense of luxury, it makes me feel a touch claustrophobic.
