Page 37 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

But she’s not done. Her hands reach for my belt, fumbling with the buckle, and I groan as her fingers brush against me, the contact sending a jolt through my body. “Kasi,” I say, my voice rough, “you don’t have to?—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, her eyes dark with want as she unbuttons my pants, sliding them down just enough to free me.

Her hand wraps around my length, stroking slowly, and I hiss, my head tipping back at the feel of her.

“I want you,” she murmurs, her voice soft but certain, and the way she looks at me—like I’m her everything—undoes me.

I guide her hand away, not wanting to finish like this, and position myself between her thighs again. “I need to be inside you,” I say, my voice raw as I press against her entrance, still slick and ready from my mouth.

I push in slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, but all I see is desire, her lips parting in a soft moan as I fill her. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” I groan, pausing to let her adjust, my hands gripping her hips gently.

“Move,” she whispers, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me closer, and I obey, setting a slow, deep rhythm that makes us both shudder.

Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, but the way she clenches around me, the way her moans fill the air, drives me closer to the edge. I lean down, kissing her neck, her jaw, her lips, swallowing her sounds as I move faster, deeper, chasing that connection we both crave.

“Mine,” I growl against her mouth, my hand sliding to her breast, teasing her nipple until she gasps. “You’re mine, Kasi. You and our baby.”

“Yours,” she moans, her nails digging into my back through my shirt, and the sting pushes me closer. “Always yours.” Her words, the way her body responds, the way she looks at me—it’s everything.

I feel her tighten again, another orgasm building, and when she comes, her cry is soft but intense; it’s enough to pull me over with her. My release hits hard, a white-hot rush that leaves me trembling.

We stay like that, tangled together, her heartbeat pounding against my chest.

Then I pull out, careful not to jar her, and grab a warm cloth from the bathroom.

I clean her up gently, my hands steady despite the way my heart’s still racing, and she watches me, her eyes soft, vulnerable, but with that spark of strength I love.

I adjust her blankets, tucking them around her, and slide into bed beside her.

“You okay?” I murmur, kissing her temple, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.

She laughs, soft and sated, her voice pure Kasi. “Okay? You just rewrote the definition of perfection, Moretti. I’m giving you a whole galaxy of stars.”

I chuckle, holding her closer, careful of her changing body. “Sleep, sweetheart. You’ve earned it.”

She snuggles into me, her breathing slowing, and whispers, “Only if you stay.”

“Of course,” I say, and as I hold her, the weight of her in my arms feels like the only thing that matters in this dangerous, messy world. “I could spend hours just touching you.”

“Please don’t. I might die from overstimulation.”

I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest. “What a way to go.”

She tilts her head up to look at me, and I see something vulnerable in her expression. “Are you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Being a father again.”

The question cuts deeper than she probably intended. My failures with my son haunt every quiet moment, every decision about the future.

“Terrified,” I admit.

“Why?”

“Because I failed him completely. I raised a monster who hurt you and countless other women. What if I make the same mistakes again?”

“You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re different now. Because you recognize your mistakes instead of ignoring them.”

She shifts to face me fully, her hand resting on my chest. “And because this time, you won’t be raising a child alone.”

The simple statement breaks something open in my chest. She’s right. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. Our child will grow up with two parents who love each other, not a bitter father and an absent mother.

“I want to be different,” I tell her. “Better.”

“You already are.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the man who raised Dante never would have worried about making mistakes. He would have assumed he was right about everything.” Her thumb traces circles on my skin. “The fact that you’re scared proves you’ve learned.”

I capture her hand and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “What kind of parent do you want to be?”

“Honest. Present. I want our child to know they’re loved unconditionally, not just when they meet expectations.”

“And if we have a son?”

“We teach him to respect women.”

“And if we have a daughter?”

“We teach her to be strong. To never let anyone control or diminish her.”

The future we’re planning sounds impossible given our world, but I find myself believing in it anyway. Maybe love really can overcome blood and violence. Maybe redemption is possible for monsters who choose to change.

“I love you,” I tell her, the words easier every time I say them.

“I love you too.”

“And I already love our baby.”

“Even though we don’t know anything about them yet?”

“I know everything I need to know. They’re half you, which means they’re already perfect.”

She smiles, the expression radiant in the moonlight streaming through our windows. “You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

“We’re going to be wonderful parents.”

I pull her closer, marveling at the fact that in less than eight months, there will be three of us in this bed.

Our child will grow up safe, protected, and cherished. I’ll make sure of it.

Even if it costs me everything else.