Page 48 of Inked in Devotion

Lucy didn’t back down. I guessed Kirill didn’t keep secrets from his wife anymore and shared my unfortunate interrogation failures. Fucking pussy-whipped.

She raised a brow and smirked. Lucy was getting way too cocky. “Chloe fell asleep on the counter. She needs a bed.”

I’d been waiting for her to crash. “I got her.” When I reached the kitchen, I wasn’t expecting to be nailed in the chest with the utterly vulnerable image of an exhausted Chloe finally giving in to what her body needed.

I approached stealthily, not wanting to wake her. A pang knotted uncomfortably in my chest, and I had to massage it away with the knuckle of one hand. It was as if there was air constricted inside my lungs and I couldn’t exhale fully. I carefully slipped my arms under her legs and back.

She mumbled, “I’m awake.”

“No, you’re not, princess.” A part of me wanted to surrender to this moment, where the bratva didn’t matter and the whole of my existence was devoted to mother and child. “I got you.”

Maybe it was intrinsic protectiveness embedded in my genes, but I was keeping another instinct at bay. One I didn’t want to analyze.

Chloe surrendered and burrowed into my chest as I crossed the short distance to her room. I adjusted slightly to twist the doorknob and enter the room with her.

I settled her on the bed.

Now I had a dilemma. Should I undress her?

I’d seen her naked. I’d kissed every naked inch of her. I’d been inside her. I’d buried my mouth between her legs.

This wasn’t the first time I’d undressed her, anyway.

I wanted to feel her skin to skin. If the heat between us was fire, it would have incinerated every thread of fabric between us.

Chloe reached down to lift her dress off. I stopped her. I pushed her against the wall and dropped to my knees.

Her fingers dug into my hair. “Nic…”

“I can smell you, princess.” I reached under her skirt and rubbed a knuckle against her damp center. “I’m going to claim every inch of you, but first…”

I dipped my head under her skirt and went straight for her cunt. I pushed her underwear aside and inserted a finger. Her molten inner muscles gripped me. I stroked in and out before my tongue swiped her swollen clit. She cried out. I inhaled her and devoured every last drop of her arousal.

I slipped her underwear down her fabulous and sexy legs, fighting the urge to rip it. Then I fucked her against the wall.

The first of many that weekend. I could see how I’d gotten her pregnant. I was so obsessed with the feeling of her body against mine, my cock buried inside her, I’d been reckless with the condom.

So Chloe getting pregnant? All on me.

She was an enchantress. I was mesmerized by the way her eyes captured mine and I got lost in her brown irises.

I couldn’t reconcile that memory with the scared mother last night. How much of her was in that fearless woman I’d met a year ago. She told me it was her birthday, and she was celebrating a new chapter in her life. She confessed it was her mother’s disappearance that haunted her, but she realized she shouldn’t be living in the past.

I should have felt guilty then because I was a part of that past. But what did I do? I fucked her. Not once, not twice. For an entire weekend.

If I hadn’t been imprisoned, would we be together? I knew exactly where she was. There were days when I took off and watched her.

Until I got arrested and made the headlines.

She hadn’t unpacked, but I had an idea. I went to my room and grabbed one of my tees.

When I returned, I tugged her sweatpants over her hips, making it as clinical as possible before I swung into pervert territory. Since when was I this chivalrous, anyway? I let myself admire her gorgeous thighs. Her stomach was softer. I ached to trace her belly where she’d carried my son. Then I shook my head when I felt a twinge of loss. I missed the stages of her pregnancy. I would like to believe that I would have enjoyed them. A brief image of Chloe sitting on a rocking chair with her belly swollen with my baby flashed through my mind. The birth. Bringing Sebastian home for the first time.

I removed Chloe’s shirt, unhooked her bra. The strap snagged on the ruby ring she wore on the middle finger of her left hand. She had told me the story of that ring. It was the last gift from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. I noticed Chloe would worry the ring when she was nervous.

I slipped my tee over her head.

She moaned softly when I shifted her under the blankets. And before I gave in to the urge to get into bed beside her, I left the room.