I slide my hand into his, fingers threading like roots tangled in earth, and guide his palm to rest low over my abdomen. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough that he will.
He frowns at first, puzzled.
Then realization detonates.
His hand press-fits more firmly. His chest rises as he inhales sharply, eyes snapping to mine, stormy and wide and bright with something fierce.
“?? ??????????” You’re pregnant?
My heart kicks wildly. “??.” Yes.
The word hangs between us like a lit match.
His jaw clenches. His throat works around a sound that might be prayer or curse or both. His thumb strokes the spot beneath his hand, reverent, possessive, disbelieving.
“We did it,” I whisper. “Again.”
“No,” he breathes, voice breaking into wonder and need. “You did. You’re giving me another heir. Another child. Our child.”
His other hand comes up to cradle my face and he kisses me, soft at first, like he’s tasting the miracle, then deeper, hungry, desperate, relieved. Lottie babbles happily, kicking her carrot-covered feet like she approves of this news.
He pulls back only enough to rest his forehead against mine. His voice is a vow:
“??????… ?? ????????? ????????.” So… you’re staying forever.
My throat tightens. “??????.” Forever.
He kisses me again, longer, deeper, and Lottie squeals like she can already sense another sibling on the way, like she knows she’ll never be alone.
Then Vitali’s voice drops to dark silk, and wicked promises and he moves close enough that his breath brushes my lips:
“It’s nap time.”
He plucks Lottie from the highchair, wiping carrot from her with smooth strokes of a cloth he grabs on the way.
I follow him up the stairs, watching him talk and coo to our baby in Russian, my heart kicking up a notch when I think about what he is about to do to me. How he is going to make me feel.
The anticipation alone is enough to heat my blood.
I go through to our bathroom and strip off my vegetable stained T-shirt and leggings. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My body is different now, but I feel amazing. I feel strong and sexy, knowing my body grew our perfect child, is growing another.
And Vitali is still as insatiable for me as he ever was.
We enter the bedroom at the same time, me from the bathroom and him from the nursery. The moment his eyes land on me they turn dark with needy desire.
He groans as he presses against the length already tenting his trousers.
I watch him from across the room, my pulse already a wild drumbeat in my veins. Vitali's eyes rake over me like fire, dark and devouring, his hand still absently pressing against the thick bulge straining his pants. Lottie's down for her nap, bless her quick-to-sleep little soul, and now it's just us. Him. Me. This electric hunger that seems to be a permanent hum between us.
God, I feel powerful. The way he looks at me like I'm a goddess he wants to worship and wreck in equal measure. It makes me bold. Feral.
I cross the room slowly letting my hips sway just enough to tease. His breath hitches, chest rising faster, but he doesn't move. Not yet. He's waiting, those storm-gray eyes locked on mine, daring me to take what I want.
And oh, I want.
When I reach him, I don't hesitate. My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his shirt. I yank, hard, and buttons pop like gunfire, scattering across the floor. He growls low in his throat, a primal sound that vibrates straight to my core, but I don't stop. I shove the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the hard planes of his chest, the intricate tattoos that tell stories of violence and survival. My fingers trail over his abs, and he hisses, his cock twitching visibly through his pants.
"Charlotte," he rasps, voice rough like gravel. "Fuck, what are you—"
