“You’re mine,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Don’t ever forget that.”
I gasp as he shifts, hitting deeper. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together above my head.
“I can’t wait,” he breathes, “to hold them. To hold you holding them. To be the father of your children.”
My eyes blur with tears. “You already are,” I whisper.
He groans, like the words wreck him in the best way. He kisses me everywhere—my throat, my cheeks, my lips, again and again,like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he stops. “You’re everything to me,” he says, his voice raw. “Everything I never thought I deserved.”
We rise and fall together, breath mingling, sweat slicking our skin. His body presses into mine again and again, and all I can do is hold on. There’s no armor left, no space between us, just need, heat, and aching devotion.
I open my eyes and watch him slide into me, over and over. I move my hands over my breasts, sighing. He gazes down at me with those gorgeous eyes, like he doesn’t want to forget a moment.
The tension builds, coiling tighter with every thrust, every word, until I’m shaking.
“Yuri!”
He kisses the words from my mouth as I come apart, crying out his name as everything inside me shatters.
His own release soon follows, a groan spilling from his throat as his body surges against mine. I feel him pulsing inside. His arms lock around me as he trembles, as if he’s anchoring himself to me and never letting go.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move. Just keeps me close, our hearts thundering in unison.
He stays inside me for a moment, his body heavy but welcome, his breath slowing against my neck. I feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of everything he poured into me—body, soul, promise.
Gently, he pulls back, only to settle beside me, gathering me against him with an almost primal protectiveness. His chest isslick with sweat, rising and falling beneath my cheek. One arm is tight around my back, the other draped over my belly.
His hand stills there.
Neither of us speaks at first, we just listen to the patter of rain against the window, the faint hum of the city below, the quiet aftershock of pleasure.
“They’ll know how loved they are. From the very beginning.”
My throat catches. He doesn’t need to say anything more, but he does.
“I’ll read them stories,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hair. “Hold them when they cry. Teach them and protect them from everything—especially people like me.”
I tilt my face up, meeting his eyes. “You’re not like them.”
“I was,” he says. “But I’ll be better. For them. For you.”
CHAPTER 27
YURI
Rain cuts across the windshield in waves, the wipers barely keeping up.
Alexei’s driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh like he’s not about to walk into cartel territory. We haven’t spoken much. Don’t need to. The silence between us has always been utilitarian. Efficient.
But tonight, it hums.
“How’s she settling in?” he finally asks.
I keep my eyes forward. “She’s safe. That’s what matters.”
He nods. Doesn’t press. He knows better.
We drive under the cracked bones of an old overpass, heading deeper into South Lawndale. Little Village. Once De la Rosa’s backyard. Now it's in the grip of one of those new-school Colombian upstarts—younger, louder, with no respect for boundaries.
