“What?” I frown immediately, watching him. “What’s funny?”
His gaze stays on mine, that faint amusement still there.
“You,” he says simply.
My brows knit. “Me?”
He leans back slightly in his chair, studying me in a way that feels far less tactical now and far more personal.
“You get like this,” he continues, voice lower, almost teasing. “Every time you’re talking about strategy. Like you’re ready to go to war with your bare hands if I don’t move fast enough.”
I stare at him. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he cuts in gently. “It very much is.”
A beat.
Then I let out a short laugh despite myself. “Shut up.”
His smile deepens slightly at that.
“Come here,” he says.
That tone changes something in the air immediately. Softer, but still commanding in a way I can’t ignore.
I raise a brow but stand anyway, walking around the desk toward him.
“Bossy,” I mutter under my breath.
“I prefer decisive,” he replies.
I stop in front of him.
Before I can say anything else, he reaches forward and gently presses a kiss to my stomach. I’m only a few weeks pregnant, and my bump isn’t noticeable yet, but he likes to kiss and press his ear against it.
It catches me off guard every time.
Less because of the gesture. More because of what it means.
When he looks up again, he doesn’t move away. He just pulls me closer with an easy, familiar motion, guiding me down onto his lap like it’s instinct now rather than intention.
I let him.
My hands settle lightly against his shoulders as I adjust. His arms come around me immediately, steadying me without hesitation. In this moment, everything else fades away.
His fingers sink into my hair, tilting my head down toward him. He meets me halfway, lips fitting over mine in a slow, unhurried kiss—nothing rushed, nothing forceful. Just steady, controlled warmth that pulls the breath clean out of my lungs.
I feel myself relax into him despite everything. The maps. The war. Anton. All of it dissolves into something smaller, quieter, until the sharp click of the office door breaks the silence.
Footsteps follow.
I instinctively start to pull back, my heart kicking up, but he doesn’t let me. Not immediately. His grip tightens slightly atmy waist, anchoring me in place as he lingers for a second longer over my lips, as if daring the world to intrude.
Only then does he release me. Slowly.
Heat rushes to my face as I adjust, my lips slightly swollen, my breath uneven as I meet his gaze. He’s still looking at me like nothing in the world has the right to interrupt what just happened.
And he still hasn’t let me move off his lap.
