Page 49 of Tattooed Vow

He lifts me up and slams me down onto his cock. I grit my teeth as my body spasms from the fullness. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pins me in place and fucks me hard, slamming his hips up so violently that the sound echoes in the cabin.

My eyes roll back inside my head from the pleasure, and I cry out, “Yes! Oh God…Dimitri…”

He fucks me even harder, wringing an orgasm from me so strong that my body goes limp on top of him. Rolling me over, he slides his cock between my breasts, squeezing them together as hefucks them rapidly. With a low grunt, he pumps his cock one last time before covering my breasts with ribbons of hot sticky cum.

After, we stay on the rug, limbs knotted, the fire crackling beside us. My head rests on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath he takes.

For a moment, I let myself believe this is enough, that this moment is safe, that we can stay like this forever.

But I know better.

Dimitri belongs to a world built on blood and secrets. His hands, which now trace lazy patterns on my bare back, have carried out orders that would haunt lesser men. His scars, the small one on his eyebrow, the long one running from his shoulder blade to his hip, and the one just below his jawline, tell stories he rarely shares.

And I feel things will only get worse before they get better.

Outside, the night has grown still. The storm has passed, leaving a pristine silence that feels almost fragile. Tomorrow will bring new dangers and new decisions. We'll have to face Morozov, deal with the potential mole within the Bratva, and figure out how to protect the people we love.

But for now, none of that exists.

Still, I don’t move.

Not yet.

Because right now, he’s mine.

And I’m not ready to let go.

19

DIMITRI

I wake to Sandy's gentle weight curled against mine, her breath warm against my chest. For a moment, I allow myself to simply exist in this peace. Her softness pressed to my hardness, her gentle curves fitting perfectly against my angles. The wooden walls of the cabin creak softly as the morning wind sweeps through the surrounding forest. I inhale deeply, drawing in the sweet scent of her hair.

My fingers trace lazy patterns on her bare shoulder while my mind wanders to dangerous places. Places where Sandy and I exist beyond this moment, beyond this hiding place. Where I can wake her every morning without the shadow of death hanging over us.

Sandy murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep and nestles closer. Even unconscious, she sought me out. The trust in that simple movement tightens something in my chest.

This was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to happen.

When I first met Sandy, she'd stumbled into my world under the worst of circumstances. I was assigned to protect her, keeping her out of the hands of the piece of shitpsikhopatthat killed my brother Mikhail. What had begun as a duty had evolved into something far more complicated. I hadn't expected her quick wit, fearless curiosity, or how her eyes seemed to see through the facade I'd spent a lifetime constructing.

I certainly hadn't anticipated that our paths would remain intertwined, especially after Talia and Aleksandr had fallen in love and married, binding our families together in ways I never imagined. And I definitely hadn't expected that I would be lying here now, her body entwined with mine, after a night where I lost myself in her so completely that, for hours, I forgot the danger hunting us.

The icy fingers of reality grip my shoulders. Morozov won’t stop. His pride won’t allow it, and in our world, wounded pride and revenge can only be healed with blood.

I carefully extract myself from Sandy's embrace, moving silently. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. Instead, she curls around the pillow I slide in my place. The sight of her face, peaceful in sleep, hair spread across the pillow like liquid fire, makes something primal in me want to crawl back into that bed and shield her from the world with my body.

I pull on jeans and a thermal shirt. The cabin's wooden floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I move to the small kitchen. Coffee will help clear my head and bring back the focus I need. The rational part of me, who has survived for thirty-five years, knows what needs to be done.

Sandy needs to disappear from my world completely. New identity, new continent. Somewhere Morozov's long reach can’t extend.

The coffee grounds hiss as hot water pours over them. The rich aroma fills the small cabin, momentarily masking the scent of woodsmoke and pine. I lean against the counter, hands wrapped around the mug and stare out the window at the forest surrounding our temporary sanctuary.

I drink black coffee, welcoming the bitter burn. It is still too early for the sun to breach the tall pines, but the deep gray of night is fading to the blue of dawn. It’s time for a perimeter check.

I strap on my shoulder holster and slide the gun into place. It is a harsh reminder of who I am. Not the man who'd spent the night losing himself in Sandy's body, but Dimitri Popov, the man who carved his place in the Avilov family with blood and loyalty. The man with enemies who won’t hesitate to kill her.

The crisp morning air stings my skin as I step outside, carrying the invigorating scent of pine and frost. My breath clouds as I move silently around the cabin, checking the security measures I've put in place—tripwires, carefully arranged branches that will snap underfoot and alert me to an intruder, and the nearly invisible fishing line strung between trees at ankle height. Everything is undisturbed.

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