Page 103 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
He groans my name, curses low and filthy—and then he’s gone too, his hips jerking as he spills inside me, still thrusting through it, chasing every last pulse of release until we’re both wrecked.
He collapses onto his elbows above me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us gasping, trembling, ruined.
And yet somehow... more whole than we’ve ever been.
We stay like that, connected, breathing hard, for what feels like forever. His weight is a comfort, grounding me as I float in the aftermath of pleasure. When he finally rolls to the side, he takes me with him, tucking me against his good shoulder.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs into my hair, echoing words he’s said before but with new meaning now. “I love you.”
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Always,” I promise. “This is where I belong. With you.”
Epilogue - Trifon
I’ve planned executions with a steadier hand than I’m holding right now.
“Breathe through it,” the nurse coaches, her voice calm and practiced. “That’s it, good job.”
Yulia’s knuckles turn white as she bears down. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, and Christ, I’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
“I’m here,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. The words feel pathetically inadequate. I would take this pain for her in a heartbeat if I could.
She turns to me, green eyes blazing with agony. “Don’t you dare look scared, Trifon Yuri,” she hisses between clenched teeth. “If I can do this, you can watch without looking like you’re about to pass out.”
I can’t help but smile. Even now, in the middle of bringing our child into the world, she’s bossing me around. My fierce, incredible wife.
“I’m not scared,” I lie. “I’m in awe of you.”
Yulia’s fingers are crushing mine—delicate surgeon’s fingers turned into a vice grip. Her nails bite into my skin with every contraction, and I welcome the pain. It anchors me. Distracts me from the rising terror clawing up my throat.
She’s sweating, her hair sticking to her temples, her teeth gritted as another wave hits. “Breathe,” the doctor says calmly.
She’s breathing. I’m not.
“Shouldn’t she have pushed her out by now?” I demand, voice tight. “It’s been thirty-seven minutes—”
The doctor cuts me a look over his mask. “You planning to catch the baby yourself, Mr. Yuri?”
Yulia lets out a strangled laugh and then winces. “Trifon, shut up and let me push.”
Right. Right.
“You’re doing amazing,lyubimaya,” I whisper, brushing sweat from her brow. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She turns her face toward me, eyes blazing with a kind of focused fury I’ve only ever seen when she’s yelling at her brothers or making me beg. “If you ever put me through this again, I’m breaking both your legs.”
God, I love her.
“You’re doing amazing,” I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. “Not much longer now.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “Don’t leave, okay?”
As if I could. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
The next contraction hits, and she bears down with a cry that rips through me more than any bullet ever could. Her grip tightens—my fingers are numb—but I don’t let go. I press my forehead to hers, breathing with her, grounding us both.
“You’ve got her,” I murmur. “Come on, Yulia. Bring her home.”
And then—suddenly, finally—there’s a wet, wriggling cry that silences everything else.
