90. Chapter 90

90

Wren

H e kisses my forehead like I'm the most fucking precious thing in his life.

" Krasotka, " he whispers beside my ear, "I'll be right back."

My mind is still reeling from the orgasms from earlier. "Mm-hmm," I murmur.

I watch him slip out of bed, his movements slow and careful, like he's handling a goddamn bomb. The sheets are still warm, his body heat clinging to them like a damn reminder of the night we just had.

I pull the sheets around me, closing my eyes, breathing in his scent. Fuck, I'm starting to think this domesticated shit ain't so bad.

I hear him move across the room, his bare feet making barely a whisper against the floorboards. I know exactly where he's headed—straight to Alex's room. Of course. That man might act like the toughest son of a bitch out there, but when it comes to our kid, he's a damn puddle.

I try to close my eyes, let sleep take me, but my mind won't shut up.

I can't help it.

There's this stupid ache in my chest, a twinge of jealousy I can't shake.

Yeah, I'm jealous of my own kid. How messed up is that?

It's just… lately, Alex has been calling for "Papa" more than "Momma." Every time he sees D, it's all "Papa, this" and "Papa, that," and I swear, the kid's obsessed.

And, okay , I get it. D's his hero . But still , there's a part of me that wants to pout like a damn kid myself.

I let out a long sigh, shaking my head.

Ugh, get a grip, Wren. You're jealous of a two-and-a-half-year-old over his dad?

The door creaks open, and I hear him slip back in, his footsteps soft as he comes closer. I peek an eye open and see that smile—the one that's all for me. He's got that fucking goofy grin on his face, the kind that makes my heart do some kinda stupid, involuntary dance. I know I should roll my eyes or something, but I can't. He's got me wrapped around his finger, and I'm too far gone to care.

"He asleep?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"Knocked out," he replies with a chuckle. "Maybe we can turn up the volume a notch next time." Still grinning like an idiot, he pulls me close, his arm slipping around my waist, and I feel his warmth, the weight of him settling back in beside me.

He can't stop talking—it's almost funny.

"You should've seen him," he whispers, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath. "Had his little bear, holding on to it like it was gonna save him from the world."

I let out a scoff. "You're obsessed, you know that?"

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Yeah, maybe I am. He's just… so damn adorable. The way he curled up, all snug with that blanket of his? Couldn't stop myself from watching for a minute."

I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You're getting soft , D. You know that, right?"

His eyes flick to mine, that grin of his growing. "Soft for my family," he says. "But not soft for you, krasotka. " In an instant, he grabs my hand, guiding it to his hardening cock. "You made this," he whispers, his voice low and lustful. "Now you're gonna finish what you started."

I smirk, my fingers trailing down his length, teasing him. "Make me. Bad boy."

Before I can say another word, he pounces, his body pinning me down. I let him hold both my arms above my head, submitting to his touch.

I open my legs, wrapping them around his hard body, feeling his steel-hard cock pressing against my pussy. D's taking his goddamn sweet time, though, kissing me like a man who knows he's got all day to mark me as his, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine like a fucking claim of ownership.

He finishes owning my mouth and moves on to my earlobes, sucking them like a starving man. Then, like the dirty fucker he is, he shoves his face into my armpit, licking and flicking with his tongue until my body is writhing in fucking ecstasy.

"Mmm…" I groan, my body arching up, my cunt pulsing with desire.

And while he's busy licking and sucking and fucking driving me wild, his rock-hard cock grinds against my swollen clit, pushing me closer and closer to the fucking edge.

He releases his grip on my hands, his fingers tracing down my arms, his touch electric. He's still pinning me to the bed with his body, but I don't feel trapped. I feel fucking free.

"Wren," he whispers, his eyes burning into mine, his touch like a goddamn confession.

"D."

I pull him in closer, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss, like I'm trying to fucking imprint myself on him, like he needs to understand how deep I fucking feel for him.

He moves against me, his hard cock sliding into my waiting cunt. My nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck, yes." A moan escapes my lips. "I want you so bad."

In that moment, it's just us. Just him and me, our bodies moving together, our hearts beating as one. All the bullshit, the fear, the anger, it all fades away, and there's just this raw, intense connection between us.

I look up at him, my vision blurring slightly, and I see him—really see him—the man who's fought for me, who's stood by me, who's loved me even when I didn't deserve it. And I feel it, deep in my chest, that warmth, that certainty, that love that's always been there, even when I tried to ignore it.

His lips crash into mine, and it's just this intensity between us that blocks out everything else.

When we finally break away, gasping for air, he looks down at me, his eyes soft, vulnerable, like he's letting me see something he doesn't show anyone else. And he smiles, a real, honest smile that makes me feel like I'm floating.

I smile back, and then we fuck. We fuck like animals, our bodies moving together, wild and desperate. His cock is like a goddamn piston, driving into me with such force I can barely breathe, but I don't want him to stop, not ever.

We lock eyes, his gaze as blue as the fucking ocean and twice as deep, our bodies moving in perfect sync until we're both shaking, our release shattering through us like a fucking earthquake.

"Fuck, D," I whisper, the sheets tangled around our legs. I'm sprawled across his chest, my fingers lazily tracing patterns over his skin, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under me.

D lets out a soft groan, stretching his arm over his head.

"What do you wanna eat tomorrow?" he asks.

I blink. Eat? I snort, shaking my head. "You're already thinking about food? We just had the kind of sex that should be illegal, and you're planning the menu?"

He smirks, his fingers trailing lazily down my arm. "What can I say? Gotta keep you well-fed if I want you to keep up, krasotka. "

I give a dramatic eye roll with a smile tugging at my lips.

"Fine, chef. Surprise me. Just don't expect me to help—you know my cooking skills are limited to toast and boiling water."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against me. "Wouldn't dream of it. I got it covered."

We go quiet for a moment, his arms wrapped around me, and I close my eyes, feeling the steady thud of his heart under my cheek.

Fuck. I love this.

The warmth of him, the solidness—it's enough to make the chaos of everything else fade into the background. His fingers trace lines down my back, and I match my breathing to his like we're the only two people in the world right now. Just us, nothing else.

CREAK.

The old pipes creak in the wall, snapping me out of it, reminding me we're still here in this house with its half-broken parts. I let out a small sigh, lifting my head just a little, my fingers tapping a rhythm on his chest.

"Hey, speaking of fixing stuff," I murmur, my eyes narrowing as I glance toward the window. "That damn fence out back. You think we should patch it up, or do we need a guy for that?"

His fingers halt, his body going rigid for a second. It's subtle, but I feel it immediately, that shift from relaxed to something else. He shifts under me, his gaze drifting away, no longer focused.

"Yeah, we'll get to that… soon ," he starts, his voice a bit too careful, too distant.

My frown deepens, and I push myself up a bit more, enough to see his face fully. His eyes won't meet mine, and that sends a weird twist into my gut.

"Fuck, D, what's wrong?" My voice comes out sharper, demanding an answer. "D, spit it out."

He turns his head toward me, eyes locking onto mine, and there's something in them—a seriousness that wasn't there before. His jaw clenches, and he takes a slow breath, like he's trying to find the right words.

"We need to pack," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

I blink, my brows pulling together.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Pack? For what?"

I feel my stomach twist painfully. I swear to God, if we're on the run again, I'll lose it. I thought we were finally out of that nightmare, that we could just breathe for a damn second without looking over our shoulders.

I search his face, my pulse already speeding up, and my mouth goes dry. "Are we in trouble?"

He hesitates, and I see it—the way he searches my eyes, the vulnerability that slips through, just for a second. Then he gives me a small, almost sheepish smile.

"We're leaving in three days," he says, his grin widening just a little.

"Leaving to go where?" I'm almost shouting.

"How do you feel about Hawaii?"