Page 36 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

ALARIC

Her pregnancy changes everything about the way I see her.

Kasimira sits across from me at dinner, picking at her salmon while I watch her like she might disappear. Three days since Dr. Patterson confirmed what we already knew, and I still can’t process the reality. My child. Growing inside the woman I love.

“You’re staring again,” she says without looking up.

“Can’t help it.”

“It’s unnerving.”

“Get used to it.”

She finally meets my eyes, and I see the uncertainty she’s been trying to hide despite our conversation.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That we’re insane for bringing a baby into this life.”

“Probably.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m not in the business of reassurance. I’m in the business of results.” I set down my wine glass. “And the result will be that our child grows up safe, protected, and loved.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because failure isn’t an option.”

The simple statement seems to ease some of her tension. She knows me well enough by now to understand that when I make a promise, I keep it.

“Dr. Patterson wants to see me again next week,” she says. “For an ultrasound.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I’m coming with you.”

She nods, recognizing the tone that means the decision is final. “Okay.”

After dinner, we retreat to our bedroom. She’s been tired more easily lately, the pregnancy sapping energy she doesn’t have to spare. I watch her move around the room, noting the subtle changes I’m probably the only one close enough to see.

Her breasts are fuller, more sensitive. Her waist hasn’t changed yet, but there’s a softness to her face that wasn’t there a month ago. A glow that has nothing to do with expensive skincare and everything to do with the life growing inside her.

“What?” she asks, catching me staring again.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I don’t feel beautiful. I feel nauseous and tired and emotional.”

“You’re carrying my child. That makes you the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She approaches the bed where I’m sitting, stopping just within arm’s reach. “Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Moretti?”

“That’s my professional opinion as the man who put that baby there.”

The possessive edge in my voice makes her pupils dilate. Good. Pregnancy hormones haven’t killed her desire any more than they’ve killed mine.

“Come here,” I command softly.

She steps between my legs, and I rest my hands on her hips, thumbs brushing the skin just above her waistband. Soon, this body will change dramatically. Her belly will round with our child, her breasts will prepare for nursing, her entire being will transform to accommodate new life.

The thought makes me hard.

“Take off your dress.”

“Alaric—”

“Take it off. I want to see you.”

Her hands go to the zipper at her back, sliding it down slowly. The black fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lace underwear that makes my mouth water.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, hands spanning her waist. “So fucking beautiful.”

I pull her onto the bed, settling her across my lap so I can worship every inch of skin. My mouth finds her throat, her collarbone, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her gasp.

“The baby—” she starts.

“Won’t feel anything but how much I love you both.”

My hands roam her body with reverent touches, relearning curves that will soon change forever. When I cup her breasts, she arches into my palms with a soft moan.

“More sensitive?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently. Her reaction is immediate and intense, fingers tangling in my hair as she holds me closer.

“Oh God,” she breathes.

I lavish attention on both breasts, marveling at how responsive she’s become. Every touch draws sounds from her throat that make my blood burn hotter.

“Lie back,” I tell her.

She settles against the pillows, and I settle between her thighs, my hands stroking up her legs, parting them gently as I take in the sight of her—my wife, glowing with the life we created.

The black lace of her panties clings to her curves, and I can already see the dampness there, a sign of her desire that makes my mouth water and my cock throb against the confines of my pants.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and rough as I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs with deliberate care.

Her skin is warm, soft, and the faint scent of her arousal hits me like a drug, making my head spin.

I toss the lace aside, my hands returning to her thighs, spreading them wider as I lower myself, my lips brushing the sensitive skin just above her core. She shivers, a soft gasp escaping her, and I smile against her, loving how responsive she’s become.

“Alaric,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need, and the sound of my name on her lips—soft, pleading—makes my blood burn hotter.

I kiss her inner thigh, slow and reverent, my tongue tracing a lazy path that makes her squirm. “Please,” she adds, her hands fisting in the sheets, and I can feel her anticipation, her body already begging for me.

“Patience, sweetheart,” I say, my breath hot against her skin as I move closer. “I’m going to take my time with you. I want to taste every inch of you.”

Her moan is soft but desperate, and I can’t hold back any longer. I press my mouth to her, my tongue flicking against her clit, and the taste of her—sweet, heady, uniquely Kasi—floods my senses, pulling a low groan from my throat.

“Oh, God,” she gasps, her hips bucking slightly, and I grip her thighs, holding her steady as I lick her again, my tongue circling her clit with a precision that makes her tremble.

She’s so wet, so sensitive, and every touch draws a sound from her—soft moans, sharp gasps, little whimpers that make my cock ache. I suck gently, savoring the way her body responds, her thighs shaking against my shoulders, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just hard enough to sting.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her, my voice muffled but thick with want. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good this feels.”

I slide a finger inside her, slow and careful, feeling her clench around me, so tight and hot it’s almost enough to make me lose control.

I curl my finger, finding that spot that makes her cry out, her back arching off the bed, and I keep my tongue on her clit, alternating between soft licks and gentle suction, drawing out every shudder, every sound.

“Alaric,” she moans, her voice breaking.

I add a second finger, moving them in slow, deep strokes, matching the rhythm of my tongue, and her moans grow louder, more desperate, filling the room with a symphony that’s just for me.

“So good,” she pants, her hands tightening in my hair, pulling me closer. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” I growl, my lips kissing her clit as I speak, the vibration making her hips buck again. I feast on her, my tongue relentless, circling, teasing, sucking, until she’s trembling, her body tensing as she nears the edge.

Her taste, her sounds, the way she’s falling apart under my mouth—it’s intoxicating, and I could stay here forever, worshipping her like the goddess she is.

But I want more. I pull back just enough to kiss my way up her body, my lips lingering on the soft curve of her belly, where our child grows.

The thought of it—our baby, her carrying my legacy—makes my heart pound, my desire for her burning hotter.

I reach her breasts, so exquisitely sensitive that even the lightest touch makes her gasp.

I cup them in my palms, my thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Fuck, Kasi,” I murmur, my voice rough as I lower my head, taking one nipple into my mouth. I suck gently, my tongue swirling around the hardened peak, and her reaction is immediate. Her hands clutch my shoulders, her nails digging in as she cries out, her body trembling under me.

“So sensitive,” I say, moving to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, sucking, licking, teasing until she’s writhing, her moans a constant stream of sound that makes my blood roar.

“Alaric, please,” she begs, her voice raw, desperate. I love hearing her like this—needy, open, completely mine. I keep one hand on her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers, while my other hand slides back between her thighs, finding her clit again.

She’s still so wet, so ready, and when I rub slow circles, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her breast, she gasps, her hips bucking against my hand.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, my lips flicking her nipple as I speak, my eyes locked on hers. “Carrying my child, moaning for me like this. You have no idea what you do to me.”

I slide two fingers inside her again, curling them just right, and her moan turns into a cry, her body tensing as she gets closer.

I move back down, my mouth replacing my fingers, and I lick her clit with a slow, deliberate stroke, savoring the way she shakes, the way her hands clutch my hair, pulling me closer.

“Come for me, Kasi,” I growl, my tongue working her relentlessly, my fingers moving in deep, steady strokes. “Let me taste you when you fall apart.” Her moans grow louder, more frantic, and I can feel her body tightening, her thighs trembling against my shoulders.

I suck her clit gently, then harder, and she breaks, her orgasm hitting with a cry that echoes in the room, her body shuddering under my mouth as I draw out every wave, licking her through it until she’s gasping, oversensitive, her hands pushing weakly at my shoulders.

I pull back, kissing her inner thigh, her belly, her breasts again, slow and reverent, as I make my way back to her mouth. She kisses me, tasting herself on my lips, and the hunger in it makes my cock throb painfully.

I’m still dressed, my pants tight and uncomfortable, but I don’t care. This is about her, about showing her how much I love her, how much she means to me.