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I slide one finger inside her, then another, feeling her inner walls clench around me. Her head falls back, throat exposed as she pants my name. The sight of her— sprawled across my bed, legs spread for me, taking my fingers so greedily— makes me throb with want.

“Aleksei,” she breathes, “more. Please.”

I’m careful with her, mindful of her condition, but she’s having none of it. Her nails rake down my back, urging me closer, deeper. Blood rises under her scratches— little marks of possession that make me growl with satisfaction. She’s marking me as I’ve marked her, claiming ownership in her own way.

“I need to feel you,” she whispers against my ear, her breath hot and desperate. “All of you.”

The last of my restraint shatters at her words. Something fierce awakens in me— the need to possess, to claim. I grip her hips, positioning myself at her entrance, the head of my cock sliding through her wetness.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I demand, voice barely recognizable even to myself.

Her eyes fly open, locking with mine. “I’m yours,” she whispers. “Only yours.”

I claim her mouth in a bruising kiss as I enter her in one smooth thrust. The tight, wet heat of her cunt nearly undoes me— it’s like coming home, like claiming territory that belongs exclusively to me. She cries out, her body arching beneath mine, taking me deeper. Her walls pulse around me, adjusting to my size, drawing me in further.

“Fuck,” I groan against her neck. “So tight. So perfect.”

I withdraw almost completely before driving back in. Each thrust pulls a moan from her lips, each withdrawal a whimper. We find our rhythm quickly, bodies moving together with the familiarity of longtime lovers despite the strangeness of her memory loss. Some things, it seems, go deeper than memory— some connections are written in the body itself.

I hook one of her legs higher over my hip, changing the angle to hit just the right spot inside her. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head. I want to wreck her, to make her forget every man who came before me.

“Mine,” I grunt, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she gasps, her inner muscles clenching around me. “God, Aleksei— I’m yours.”

Her eyes lock with mine as we move, and something passes between us— something deeper than physical pleasure, more complex than desire. Her face is flushed, her lips parted, her breathing ragged.

“Aleksei,” she gasps, her voice breaking on my name. “Who are you? To me? Why do I feel this way?”

The questions cut through me, sharper than any blade. In this moment, joined as intimately as two people can be, she still doesn’t know me. Doesn’t rememberus.

“I’m yours,” I tell her, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. “And you’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

Her eyes widen, something like recognition flickering in their depths. “Why do I feel like I love you?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “How can I love someone I don’t remember?”

The word—love— hits me. No one has said that to me since my mother disappeared. Not even Olga, Bobik’s mother. Certainly not Sofia, with her cold calculation. Only this woman, this impossible woman who should hate me but doesn’t remember why.

“Ty moya dusha,” I growl against her throat, unable to say the words in English. You are my soul. “Mine.”

She stiffens as I say it, but it’s not in objection. I can feel her muscles spasming around my shaft as her pleasure begins to peak. Her climax takes her suddenly, her body tightening around mine, pulling me over the edge with her.

“Oh God! Oh, God, Aleksei, I’m coming!” she pants out the words. “Yes! fuck, yes!”

“Stella,” I groan low in my throat and bury my face in her neck, my release shuddering through me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. For a moment, everything else falls away— the Bratva, the blood on my hands, the secrets between us. There’s only this, only her.

As my cock finally stops twitching, I sink down carefully, withdrawing from her warm body and pulling her against my side. We’re both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. The aftershocks of pleasure still ripple through me as I wrap my arm around her, feeling her skin slick with sweat against mine. I brush my lips over her forehead, tasting the salt there, inhaling the scent of sex and sweet woman that surrounds her. My heartbeat gradually eases, but the intensity of what just happened between us remains, settling into something deeper that I don’t quite understand.

“Bozhe moy,” I breathe out. It amazes me that even after all these months, the woman can still affect me this way. Ihold her close, cupping her belly. Her breathing begins to slow, exhaustion finally claiming her. I brush damp strands of hair from her forehead, studying her face in the dim light.

“You’re going to sleep here with me tonight,” I tell her, though she’s already half-asleep and probably doesn’t hear me.

She murmurs something unintelligible, nestling closer to me. I pull the covers over us both, my arm tightening around her. Her skin is soft and smooth against mine, her body fitting perfectly against my larger frame. I breathe in the scent of her hair; it still smells of flowers, even though it’s damp with sweat.

There’s something satisfying about holding her this way, knowing she’s safe with me, completely mine. It’s a possessiveness I’ve never felt before her, and it both unsettles and pleases me.

In sleep, her face loses that wariness she sometimes carries around me— now she looks peaceful, trusting. I allow myself this quiet moment of contentment before the world inevitably intrudes again.

Tomorrow, everything might change. Her memories might return, unleashing a tide I’m powerless to stop. But tonight, she’s here. In my bed. In my arms.