Chapter 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

"Everything you can imagine is real."

― Pablo Picasso

Caia

I took a sip from the cup of water Alexsei brought me and stretched a bit, pulling the cover tighter around my naked chest.

"You've worn me out," I yawned, as he tossed the cover aside and slid in next to me, our naked bodies pressing together like a puzzle piece.

He hummed, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, and let one hand slide between my legs. "Still dripping for me, huh? Can't get enough already?"

I chuckled, burying my face in his neck as his hand traced lazy circles on my back. His warm breath tickled my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I could seriously get used to this—his arms around me had become my favorite spot over the past few weeks.

After Igor's birthday bash, where I confessed my feelings and we skipped the cake because Alexsei couldn't wait to get me home and make me scream, we've settled into a pretty sweet routine.

I switched back to day shifts at work so I can have my evenings and nights free to indulge in all things Alexsei. My recent exam before graduation went off without a hitch, and I've been having a blast with the photography gallery and red room he gifted me.

And, oh yeah, I've practically moved in. Sleeping beside Alexsei every night is now my favorite ritual. His arms around me, his tender kisses, and those whispered words that wrap me in warmth—it's been nothing short of amazing.

We've also had a chance to dig into each other's quirks. Turns out, he's not a fan of pistachio ice cream, despite his previous attempts to fake it. I've also discovered he's obsessively organized and an incredible listener. There were moments I'd ramble on endlessly, and he'd just sit there, those killer blue eyes fixed on me, a comforting smile, and a hand always ready to hold.

He even showed me how to cook some basics over a couple of weekends. Surprisingly, I didn't torch his kitchen, so I guess I'm picking it up.

"I'm not sure I'll survive you," I whispered, grinning as I lifted my head to kiss him again.

We've explored each other's bodies like pros. We've had so much sex lately that I'm amazed my legs still work. We've done it everywhere: the kitchen, his office, his car, the shower, and even in the elevator—no place is off-limits. We've even managed quickies during my lunch break in my studio and gallery. The list just keeps growing.

And, honestly, I'm not complaining. Alexsei has this way of making all my past fears vanish with his touch, his words, and just his presence. In a weird way, I'm grateful for that.

"You will, moya solnyshka . Wanna know why?" He bit down on my lips, then shifted me beneath him, my legs instinctively wrapping around him.

"Why?" I moaned, my nails digging into his back as his cock slid inside me.

God, I'd never get tired of this feeling.

"Because you were made for me, Caia," he said, picking up the pace. My breasts rubbed against his chest, his pelvis grinding against my clit. "You and only you can survive me."

And with that, he fucked me so well, so perfectly, that I almost forgot my own name.

Alexsei

I used to think everyone who raved about marriage was full of shit. All those people talking about bliss seemed like they were just flaunting their so-called achievements.

But then I lived it.

Being married to Caia? Pure fucking bliss. She's my personal slice of heaven on earth. Every moment with her is nothing short of perfection. Just knowing she's the first thing I see in the morning and the last before I crash at night fills me with so much fucking joy. It's like I'm living in a dream.

I'm completely whipped for my wife, and I'm not even sorry about it.

So, yeah, forcing her into marriage wasn't such a bad move after all.

Caia raised an eyebrow as she handed me her alcohol-free pi?a colada, the little umbrella bobbing mockingly. "Oh, you have to try this, Lexi! I can't be married to a man who doesn't like pi?a coladas. Not liking pistachio ice cream is one thing, but mocktails? Seriously? What are you, a toddler?"

Lately, my cheeky little witch has been all about the teasing. A couple weeks back, we had a spat because she only ever calls me by my name, which started to bug me. I wanted something a bit more personal, so we decided to come up with nicknames.

She settled on ‘Lexi,' and despite my cringe, she insists on using it whenever she wants to rib me. But she's got a special touch—‘ zolotse ' when she's pleased, and ‘ zaychik ' when she wants to get laid. Yep, I've learned all the ins and outs of my wife.

"Oh, please, my taste buds are way too refined for basic drinks like that. I might skip the pi?a colada, but trust me, I've got other tricks that'll take you straight to paradise with just one sip."

She chuckled, "What tricks? I thought you'd shown me everything by now."

"Oh, I've got plenty more up my sleeve," I winked, placing her mocktails on the table before pulling her onto my lap, her legs straddling me on the couch.

Leaning in, I captured her lips in a hot, wet kiss, my hands firmly gripping her ass.

Her hands found their way around my neck, pulling me closer.

"I've put love into these mocktails, so you better try it, zaychik ," she said, her voice a breathy whisper as I licked and nibbled her neck .

Damn, I was frustrated that our clothes were in the way.

"Then pour it to me, baby," I replied.

She chuckled, grabbed one of the glasses, took a sip, then cupped my jaw as I opened my mouth. She brought her lips to mine, letting the liquid drip onto my tongue before sucking on it as I swallowed.

I hummed, licking her lips, my tongue mingling with hers.

"Good?"

"So fucking good," I groaned.

Her nails trailed down my chest, gripping as she unbuttoned my shirt, deliberately slow. "You wanna know what else feels good?"

I leaned back, eyeing her with a smirk. "Enlighten me."

Her hands splayed across my bare chest, sharp red nails biting into my skin. "The fifty grand I raked in last night."

Last night, after she threw that cocky little smirk my way, she claimed I wasn't avoiding poker because I was tired—no, according to her, I just didn't want to play because I couldn't handle having my ego bruised when she won. I tried to laugh it off, brush the whole thing aside. But come on, how the hell was I supposed to ever say no to her, not with those damn irresistible green eyes daring me, practically begging me to take the bait?

So, we played. And, to my surprise, she wasn't just good—she was ruthless. Every move, every bluff, she played me like I was some clueless newbie at the table. I didn't stand a chance.

By the end of the night, she walked off with fifty grand of my our money like it was pocket change. I didn't want to admit it, but watching her take me down so effortlessly? Fuck, I think I fell even harder for her.

I wiped the smile off my face with the back of my hand, shaking my head. "Never expected to lose against a girl, especially not my wife. "

She hummed playfully. "What would you have done if you lost to a guy?"

My eyes locked onto hers as my hand reached for a strand of her hair, shoving it behind her ear before letting it slide down her neck. I gripped it tightly, yanking her closer, her hands pressing flat against my chest to steady herself. Our lips were just inches apart.

"He'd be fucking dead the second he put his last card on the table."

Her lips brushed against mine.

"Then why am I still alive?" she whispered.

My fingers tightened around her neck. ?Because you're not just any player, baby. You're the only one I want at my table."

Her tongue slowly licked my lips, teasing me just enough to make my blood rush. Then she grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to meet her fiery gaze. "What if I like to play really dirty?"

"Then I'll have to show you exactly how dirty I can get," I replied, my voice low and rough. I leaned in, our breaths mingling, the tension between us electric.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear. "You think you can handle me?"

"Caia, I don't just handle you—I fucking own you," I whispered, my lips dragging down her neck, biting into that soft skin just enough to leave a mark. She gasped, shuddering as I felt her pulse racing beneath my mouth. "And trust me, I won't hesitate to remind you of that."

Her fingers tangled in my hair, gently tracing the scar at the back of my head. She knew the story behind it, the pain that shaped me. "How?"

I bit down on her earlobe, a low growl rumbling in my chest. "How about I show you?"

With that, I crashed my lips against hers, a fierce hunger driving me as I pushed her back onto the couch. I pinned her there, my body a heavy weight over hers, showing her just how much I craved her and why she'd always be mine—my wife, my obsession.