The second wave came faster.
Kane’s strokes stayed deep, but the tempo increased by degrees, still controlled, still careful of the new stretch.
He reached between them and found her clit with his thumb, circling in time with the thrusts.
Misha’s second climax tore through her with a sharper cry, her pussy spasming around the heavy cock that never stopped moving.
The added pressure pushed Kane to the edge.
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural sound, the first thick pulse of release flooding her unused depths.
His cock jerked hard inside her, painting her walls in long, hot spurts while her body continued to flutter around him.
They stayed locked together while the aftershocks faded.
Kane’s breathing was rough against her ear. When he finally moved, it was only to shift his weight, keeping himself buried.
The throb of his cock had not fully eased. The pure tightness of her still gripped him, slick now with his release as well as hers.
He began again.
Slower this time, the strokes long and rolling.
The mixture of their earlier climaxes made every thrust smoother, wetter, the sound of it filthy and intimate in the quiet chamber.
Misha’s golden eyes stayed open, watching him as the third climb started.
Kane’s hand found her breast, thumb brushing the peak in time with the deep grind of his hips. Her moans returned—
"Nn... ah... Kane—"
—softer now, almost continuous.
He felt the fresh tightening of her walls and chased it, adjusting until every stroke dragged over the place that made her shake.
When she came the third time, it was quieter but longer, her body trembling beneath the bulk of his as the pleasure rolled through her in waves.
The clench of her around his still-hard cock dragged a second orgasm from him as well. He spilled again, deeper this time, the fresh heat of his release joining what was already inside her.
Kane didn’t pull out.
He stayed seated, the length of him still pulsing weakly, and lowered his mouth to her throat.
The next minutes were spent in small, rocking movements, neither fully thrusting nor still, just the slow grind of his cock inside the thoroughly claimed heat of her.
Misha’s hands stroked down his back, over the scars, into the red hair at his nape. Her breathing gradually matched his.
When he finally withdrew, it was with care, the thick shaft sliding free in a wet rush.
Seed followed, warm and abundant, marking her thighs.
Kane looked down at the evidence of what they had done, the swollen, well-fucked look of her, the tightness that had taken every inch and every drop, and felt something fierce and possessive settle in his chest.
He gathered her against him, the big body curling protectively around hers.
Misha trembled.
The fine shake ran through her as she lay against the furs, the evidence of what they had just shared still warm between her thighs.
Kane felt it under his hand where it rested on her side. He looked down at her, waiting.
Her golden eyes met his without flinching.
"You do what you have to."
The words were quiet, steady despite the tremor.
Kane’s gaze stayed locked on hers.
He didn’t speak yet. He watched the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the way the morning light caught the flush still high on her cheeks.
"My mother," Misha continued.
"You will need her help. If fucking her makes you strong and her loyalty, then do it."
Kane’s jaw tightened.
"I can find other ways."
"I know."
She reached up, fingers tracing the line of a scar along his collarbone.
"I was unhappy because you were never inside me. But now you were. And I know you won’t be as passionate about this with my mother. So plan properly. Take your time, and if she really pushes it, then do it. And come back to me. We’ve empires to unite."
The permission hung between them, clear and deliberate.
Not a command. Not a test.
A calculated gift from a wife who understood the game they were both now forced to play.
Kane felt the weight of it settle across his shoulders alongside the lingering heat of her body.
He leaned down and kissed her once, slow, tasting the truth of what she offered.
When he drew back, she was already shifting, gathering the discarded shirt and rising from the furs.
The marks of his mouth and hands still showed faintly on her skin.
She did not cover them.
"It won’t mean anything to me."
"I know."
"Misha."
"Mm?"
"You are my wife. Not of convenience. But because I took you as one."
She smiled.
"I’m going to bathe," she said.
"You should train. Clear your head."
Misha walked toward the side chamber where a copper tub waited, already filled by quiet servants who had come and gone while they slept.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Water began to pour.
Kane remained where he was for a long moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, the scent of her still thick on his skin and in the air.
Then he rose.
He dressed without hurry, trousers, boots, the leather vest that left his arms bare.
The axe leaned against the wall near the door, the same heavy, well-balanced weapon he had carried through the northern campaigns. He took it in one hand and left the chamber.
The training yard lay in a sunken courtyard of packed earth and stone, open to the morning sky.
Guards and retainers gave him space the moment they saw the red-haired barbarian with the axe. Kane found an empty stretch of ground, rolled his shoulders, and began.
The first swings were measured, the blade cutting clean arcs through the air.
He focused on the burn in his shoulders, the solid impact when the edge bit into the wooden post he had chosen as a target.
But the mind did not stay obedient for long.
Slovia’s body rose unbidden behind his eyes.
Dark hair threaded with silver at the temples.
The strong, upright posture that made every movement look deliberate. The breasts that had pressed against his chest in her study, soft and full beneath the red, the weight of them unmistakable even through layers of fabric.
He remembered the way her hand had settled over the front of his trousers, the calm certainty with which she had measured him.
The low voice asking if he had fucked her daughter with a weak heart.