Instead, he buries his face in my hair. Inhales deeply. Long. Like he’s memorizing me.
“Anton—”
“Shh.” His nose traces from my hair down to my neck. Another inhale, this one rougher. Hungrier. “Fuck, you smell good.”
His voice is wrecked. Raw.
My entire body tingles. Every nerve ending sparking to life under his attention. It’s not his hands or his mouth—it’s just him. Breathing me in like I’m oxygen.
Like he needs this.
His lips brush my shoulder. Not a kiss. Just contact. His breath hot against my skin.
“Anton,” I whisper, arching back. “Please.”
Nothing.
He just holds me. Face buried in my neck. Breathing. Existing.
I wait. Five seconds. Ten.
He still doesn’t move.
I turn my head, trying to see him. “Are you seriously stopping now?”
His mouth curves against my skin. “Yes.”
“But—”
“Two more weeks,malyshka.Doctor’s orders.”
I twist in his arms—carefully—and look up at him. Give him my best pout. Lower lip out. Eyes wide.
“That’s not fair.”
His eyes darken. Jaw clenches. “That look isn’t going to work.”
I push the pout further. “Please?”
“No.”
“Anton—”
“Nothing about this is fair.” His hand moves higher, palm brushing the underside of my breast. “I’ve got the most beautiful woman in my bed, pregnant with my child, and I can’t touch her the way I want to.”
My breath catches. “You’re touching me now.”
“Not enough.”
His thumb brushes my nipple. Just once. Just enough to make me arch.
“Anton—”
“Two more weeks.” His voice is dark, rough. “Dr. Vera said two more weeks until you‘re cleared.”
“Urg… I know.”
“Then you’ll stop teasing me.”
