Page 59 of Ruthless Silence
I take my hands from her hips for a moment to sign, "It made us who we are." I thrust deeper, swallowing her gasp with my mouth.
Her tears come then, happy ones that splash against my shoulder as she rocks in my lap. "I love you," she signs against my heart, right over the worst scar. "Loved you before I knew I could."
"Loved you at first strike," I admit, the truth finally free.
She pulls back, shocked. "When?"
I remove my hands from her perfect spine and bring them around where she can see. "Our wedding. When you tried to kill me. You fought so hard. So beautiful."
She laughs through her tears, the sound more beautiful than any music. "You knew I'd fail."
"I waited. Wanted you willing, not defeated."
"Was it worth it?" she asks, then clenches around my cock, making us both gasp. "The wait?"
I thrust deeper, harder, showing her with my body what signs can't fully express. "Worth everything. Worth my voice. Worth the scars. Worth the years of emptiness before you."
She's close now, I feel it in how her pussy grips me, how her breathing changes. But there's more to say, more truth to share while we're joined like this.
"No more secrets," she gasps.
I nod and make that promise with my eyes, while I sign against her spine, "No more lies."
"No more sleeping apart."
The growl doesn't make it out of my throat, but I hold her tighter at the prospect of ever sleeping in a different bed from her again. I need her near. Need her always.
"I want your babies," she says suddenly, and I freeze mid-thrust.
She said it aloud, not signed. The words hang between us, enormous and perfect and terrifying.
"Your children," she continues, moving against me when I stay frozen. "Our family. Warriors with gentle hearts."
I nearly come from the words alone. The image of Ana swollen with my child, of little ones with her green eyes and my dark intensity. My thrusts become desperate, driven by this new hunger she's awakened.
"Perfect like us," she says, then cries out as I hit particularly deep. "God, Dante, please!"
We're both close now, bodies moving in perfect synchronization, signing desperately between kisses and gasps.
"Mine," we both claim simultaneously, her aloud, me with my hands, signing frantically against her hips where she can't even see them, but she knows I said it.
"Yours," we both surrender.
The orgasm builds from the base of my spine, through every scar she's kissed, every wound she's healed with her touch.When it crashes over me, I sign her name against her throat, her heart, every inch of skin I can reach. She comes with me, pussy clenching around my cock in waves that seem endless, her voice breaking on my name.
After, we stay joined, neither willing to separate. She cries quietly against my shoulder, overwhelmed, I understand. This was different from every other time. The desk was hunger. The wall was desperation. This was something else entirely.
"That was different," she whispers, voicing my thoughts.
"That was love," I sign, then lay a gentle kiss against her heart.
"We made love." Wonder fills her voice.
I'm still hard inside her, not ready to leave the heaven of her body. This is how we should always be: connected, joined, complete. Tomorrow brings dangers. Detroit hasn't forgotten. The Russians still circle. The evidence showed Russian connections, those Cyrillic tattoos on the attackers, but we still don't know which faction or why they targeted both our families that night.
But right now, in our bed with afternoon light painting us gold, we're perfect. We're whole.
She kisses my scarred throat, and I feel her smile against the ruined tissue. "My silent devil."
