Page 25

I don’t have any gentleness left in me when I pull my sexy as fuck wife down onto my lap.

She’s limp, boneless from taking her pleasure.

Fuck, I can still taste her, smell her on my skin.

I am so damn obsessed with this woman.

And I am nowhere near done with her.

Starving for her, I don’t have time to do anything but free my cock and flex my hips, then bam, I am balls deep inside her sopping wet sheath.

And it—it’s like coming home.

Not to a place. To her.

Her flushed face, wild with pleasure.

Those precious jewels that are her eyes, burning with something deeper than lust.

Her mouth, kiss-bruised and parted on a gasp that sounds like my name turned prayer.

This body I can’t get enough of— soft, strong, mine.

She doesn’t even realize the power she holds over me.

Doesn’t see how she’s taken every jagged edge I’ve ever carried and smoothed it with a touch, a sigh, a look.

And now that I’ve had her?

There’s no going back.

I’ll ruin myself a thousand times if it means keeping her.

She’s not just under my skin—she’s in my blood. My bones. My fucking soul.

She came once already, but three’s always been my lucky number, and I slide my hand between us.

I’m determined to get two right now.

“Balor,” she moans, mouth wide as I flex and rub.

“Gonna give me one more, Diamond Girl. Right now.”

She shakes her head. That long mane of hers whipping from side to side. She thinks she can’t. But that’s not true, I know she can.

“You feel so fucking good, Wife. Better than I dreamed.”

“You make me feel so full,” she moans, her hands clutching at my shoulders.

And I wish my shirt was off so she could leave marks on me with those pretty painted nails of hers. That’s how fucked up I am.

I want her to brand me. To claim me like I’m claiming her.

“I-I can’t,” she whimpers, but she’s moving with me now. Faster. Grinding into my cock.

“Yes, you can, Angel. You can do it. Now, be my good girl, and come all over my dick.”

Her pupils are blown, but her gaze doesn’t waver, and when the first tremor shakes through her body, I feel it down to my core.

“That’s it. That is fucking it,” I growl, switching our positions.

I don’t stop fucking her as I lay her on the tiled floor. I rip my shirt off, pushing it under her head.

Then, I grab her thighs and spread her wide open. On my knees now, I’m lifting her hips so she’s practically floating as I continue to thrust. This woman was made for me.

I know her body. I can feel the way she heats and swells. Can feel her pussy tightening as she prepares for number three.

“This body of yours is like heaven, Angel. You feel so good. Wanna stay buried in this pussy forever,” I confess.

And her eyes widen. Then she shudders. Her cunt squeezes, fluttering around my cock, and this time, well, this time, I follow her right over the edge.

When I can breathe again, and she finally stops pulsing, I gently lift off her.

“Don’t move,” I murmur.

Kicking off the rest of my clothes as I walk to the sink to grab a washcloth.

“What are you?” she starts to stir, but I stay her with my hand on her hip.

Then I clean some of the mess we made from her sweet pussy and her thighs.

Next, I scoop her off the floor like she weighs nothing.

“I’m too heavy,” she murmurs, startled. Vulnerable.

Her words gut me, not because they’re true— they’re not —but because someone, somewhere, made her believe they were.

I pause, meeting her eyes.

Just one look. One slow, quiet look.

My eyebrow arches. Her breath hitches.

And just like that, she settles, melting into me with her arms draped around my neck like she belongs there.

Because she does.

“Wanna take a dip?” I ask, my voice low and full of promise.

She grins and nods, and damn if it doesn’t make my chest feel too small for the way my heart pounds.

So I carry her out onto my private deck.

It’s late. The world is sleeping.

But not us.

Not here.

My estate is locked down tight, fenced and fortified—layers of silent security, cameras, and tech no one can outsmart. I made sure of that. No one sees her unless I say so.

No one touches her.

No one breathes near her without bleeding for it.

And that’s the only reason I allow my wife to step foot, gloriously naked , into the open air.

What can I say?

I might have a slight jealousy problem.

Tiny. Barely there.

Okay, maybe not barely there.

But even possessive as I am, I’m her husband . I won’t be her prison guard.

And I’m with her, so I know nothing will happen.

I’ve got my security system so fine-tuned I’d capture the sound of a mosquito farting if it so much as dared fly on to my property.

No one can get to us here.

And for the first time since I’ve known her, my wife looks blissful. I like that look on her face.

Wanna keep it there.

The infinity pool glows under dark blue lights, casting her in an otherworldly shimmer.

A fucking goddess carved out of desire and moonlight.

I gently lower her to the ground and her bare feet touch the warm deck. Then she turns away from me— trusting me —and walks toward the water like a vision.

Every curve, every sway of her hips, every glint of moonlight on her damp skin has me feral with the need to claim her all over again.

She doesn’t see me as I stand there, watching. But I see everything.

And in this moment, I understand why the world is in love with Lucy Volkov.

But the world doesn’t know her.

Not like I do.

The world sees the polished smile, the press-perfect beauty, the imitation of a person flashing across an iPhone screen.

But I’ve touched the real woman underneath.

I’ve heard her laugh when she thinks no one’s listening.

Felt her tremble with need and trust.

Seen the doubt in her eyes when she thinks she’s too much— or not enough.

She’s both. And neither. She’s just her.

And I didn’t marry her because her father threatened me.

I didn’t marry her because of a scandal.

I married her because somewhere between obsession and protection, I fell.

Hard.

And now I can’t get up.

Not when she's the one thing that makes me feel alive.

Like I have somewhere I belong.

Lucy is my reason.

Not the job.

Not the money.

Not the scars I carry in silence.

Her.

And as I stand there, frozen on the deck, lost somewhere between shadow and light, I watch the woman I married rise from the crystalline water like a dream made flesh.

Moonlight dances along her skin, droplets sliding down her curves like they worship her too.

I don’t blame them.

Her eyes find mine.

And in that moment, an expression touches her face— pure joy, raw and real —and it guts me. Completely.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

Not because she’s flawless. But because she’s real. Mine.

And letting me see this part of her— the soft, unguarded part —is the most sacred thing I’ve ever been given.

And I know— I know —there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her just like this.

Happy.

Safe.

With me.

Always.

I’ll burn down the world if I have to.

For her?

I’d do it with a big, fat fucking smile on my face.