Page 137 of Velvet Chains
I lean across the counter, close enough to feel her breath on my face. “I can think of something else you might like in your mouth,” I murmur, thrilling at her small gasp.
She chuckles, swatting my hand away playfully. “Victor, I’m eating.”
A sneaky grin crosses my face.
Ignoring me, she takes another bite, savoring the flavors. But as she swallows, a small cough escapes her, a fleck of cheese clinging to her lower lip.
I reach out, my thumb gently swiping the morsel from her soft skin. Her lashes flutter at the contact, her lips parting on a breathy sigh.
Unable to resist, I angle in, my tongue darting out to lick the spot my thumb just touched. She tastes like cheese and herbs and something uniquely Laura.
It’s intoxicating.
“Mm,” I murmur, nuzzling my nose against hers. “Delicious.”
She laughs softly, her breath mingling with mine. “The frittata or me?”
“Both,” I answer honestly. “But you’re sweeter.”
She hums, tilting her head to brush her lips teasingly against mine. “Flatterer.”
I grin, nipping playfully at her bottom lip. “Just stating facts, lyubov moya.”
I kiss her then, slow and deep, pouring all my love, all my devotion into the press of my mouth on hers. She sighs into the kiss, her fingers sliding into my hair, anchoring me to her.
In this moment, in the warm sunlight of our kitchen, the scent of herbs and coffee in the air, the faint strains of a balalaika drifting from somewhere in the house, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. A rightness, bone-deep, and soul-settling.
This. This is what I’ve been fighting for, bleeding for all these years.
This woman, this child, this love.
My family. My home.
My everything.
Epilogue
Laura
Three years later
“SER! OVER here!” I wave eagerly as a sleek black limo pulls up to the curb.
The door swings open, and out pops my best friend, resplendent in a flowing emerald gown that hugs her pregnant curves. She’s positively radiant, her face split in a wide grin.
“Lu Lu!” she squeals, tottering toward me on sky-high heels, one hand braced on her lower back. “I made it!”
I dash forward, catching her in a careful hug, mindful of her rounded belly. “Of course you did,” I laugh. “Since when does NYT’s bestselling author Seraphina Fox miss a party?”
She pulls back, winking. “Especially when it’s in honor of my favorite person and her incredible new bookstore!”
A tiny tuxedo-clad figure emerges from the limo, one chubby hand clasped in James’. Little Lucas peers up at me shyly, his cherubic face a perfect blend of Ser and James.
“Well, hello there, handsome,” I coo, crouching down to his level. “Don’t you look dashing!”
Lucas grins, puffing out his small chest. “I dressed myself,” he announces proudly. “Like Daddy!”
James chuckles, ruffling his son’s hair affectionately. “Chip off the old block, this one.”
