Page 13

SIERRA

It’s too quiet.

Which is suspicious, considering my little sister has the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and my brother never shuts up unless he’s asleep or plotting something.

I peek down the hall, then pad toward the playroom.

And when I push open the door?

I stop cold.

Aleksander Maksimov—Bratva enforcer, empire builder, six-foot-something slab of intimidation—is seated at a plastic pink tea table, shoulders hunched, knees nearly to his chest.

With bright purple nail polish on three fingers.

“Hold still,” Nia scolds, tongue poking out as she carefully paints his pinky. “You smudged the last one.”

Aleks’s mouth twitches. “You didn’t let me finish my tea.”

“It’s invisible, Aleks,” she says seriously. “You don’t have to drink it for real.”

From the corner, Jamal sighs so hard it sounds painful. “This is embarrassing.”

Aleks doesn’t even blink. “You jealous you didn’t get an invite?”

Jamal scowls. “I’m not drinking invisible tea at a Barbie table.”

Nia rolls her eyes. “You can be the dragon. Sit under the table and growl.”

Aleks lifts one brow. “You heard the boss.”

Jamal slumps down under the table with a dramatic groan. “This never happened.”

I step into the room, grinning so hard it hurts.

“I leave you alone for twenty minutes and you let them drag you into a tea party?”

Aleks turns slightly, careful not to move his wet nails. “They said there’d be snacks.”

“Daddy said sugar’s bad for your blood,” Nia chimes in.

Aleks lifts his teacup with perfect form. “Then I’ll pretend to enjoy this… chamomile air.”

Twenty minutes later, the kids are happily distracted with a cartoon, and I finally get Aleks alone in the hallway.

He stretches his arms, back cracking, and shakes out his legs. “Those chairs are a goddamn hazard.”

“You looked good, though. Very…” I smile. “Compact.”

“Don’t push it.”

He’s still got one nail painted purple. I think he left it on purpose.

And God, watching him with them?

It melted something in me.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing bad. I just— I’ve been trying to find the right time.”

He steps closer. “You’re scaring me. Just say it.”

I hesitate.

Then blow out a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

He freezes.

Like every molecule in his body just shut down.

And then, slowly, his eyes darken.

“You’re serious.”

I nod. “I took three tests. I wasn’t sure when to tell you—everything’s been a little wild. I didn’t want to make it a whole thing —”

He lifts me off the ground without a word.

Throws me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Aleks!”

“We’re going to the bedroom.”

“You’re not even going to—?!”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that baby knows who its father is.”

I let out a breathless, half-laugh, half-gasp as he carries me down the hall, one massive hand holding my thigh, the other resting possessively on the curve of my ass.

He kicks the door shut behind us.

Locks it.

And then?

He ruins me.

Again.

He drops me onto the bed like I weigh nothing.

Then stands over me, breathing hard, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I just said that—”

“You’re carrying my child,” he growls, low and rough like gravel. “Inside you. Right now.”

His voice goes soft, reverent. “Fuck.”

He strips in three seconds flat—shirt, belt, pants—all gone. His body is big and brutal and tense with something wild.

I sit up slowly, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, heart pounding.

“Aleks, I—”

He’s on his knees in front of me before I can finish.

His hands slide under my shirt. “Take it off.”

I lift it. He does the rest.

He kisses my belly. Then again. And again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, rough fingers gliding up my thighs. “Already glowing. This body was made to carry me. Made to keep me.”

His tongue finds the seam of my underwear and I cry out as he licks me through the fabric—slow, firm, claiming.

Then he pulls my panties down, eyes never leaving mine, and spreads me open like I’m a gift he’s unwrapping for the second time.

“I’m gonna eat you ‘til you scream,” he mutters.

And he does.

Long, filthy licks. Tongue deep and greedy. He groans against me, licking like he’s starving, hands gripping my thighs to hold me still as I writhe and sob and come hard with a helpless cry.

“Fuck—Aleks—”

“Not done,” he growls.

He turns me over, pulls my hips back until I’m on my knees, and climbs up behind me.

“You got my baby inside you,” he says low against my ear. “So now I get to fuck you whenever I want.”

I arch back. “Do it. Please.”

He pushes into me in one long, brutal stroke.

I gasp. Moan.

He’s deep. So deep I see stars.

“This pussy belongs to me,” he growls, fucking me slow and hard, hand gripping my waist. “You understand?”

“Yes. Aleks, yes—”

“Say it.”

“It’s yours. All yours. Only yours.”

He grabs my hair, pulls me up against his chest, one hand sliding around to my belly, palm spread wide.

“You’re mine,” he says again. “Mine. This baby is mine. This body—this little heart that keeps doubting me—all fucking mine.”

He thrusts harder, faster. I’m falling apart, clinging to his arm, sobbing his name as my orgasm hits me like a freight train.

I come with a scream, and he follows—growling, pulsing deep inside me, filling me with heat and filth and a possessive sound that makes my entire body shudder.

—-

Later, when we collapse onto the bed, tangled and breathless, he drags me into his chest and presses his mouth to my temple.

“I’m gonna take care of you. Of our child. Of your siblings. All of it. You hear me?”

I nod.

“I’m gonna marry you, Sierra. Not because I have to. Not because you’re pregnant.”

He lifts my hand, kisses each knuckle.

“But because you’re mine. And you always will be.”