Page 39 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

ALARIC

“We’ll handle this tomorrow,” I tell her, my hands settling on her shoulders as she gathers the forged documents. “Set the trap, catch whoever’s responsible.”

“But we need to?—”

“Tomorrow, Kasimira. You’ve done enough detective work for one night.”

She’s still wearing the black dress from the family meeting, the fabric wrinkled now from hours of hunching over paperwork. The diamonds around her neck catch the lamplight, reminding me of the performance she put on earlier for fifteen dangerous men.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admits. “Someone’s been stealing my identity for years, and we just let them sit at our dinner table.”

“Which is why we’re going to catch them. But not tonight.”

I turn her chair around so she’s facing me, and she must see something in my eyes that has nothing to do with forged signatures or family betrayals.

“What?” she asks.

“Watching you command that room full of killers and criminals tonight was the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

The shift in conversation catches her off guard. “We just discovered we have a traitor in the family.”

“And you handled fifteen skeptical crime bosses like you were born to it. Made them respect you, listen to you, value your opinion.” I frame her face with my hands. “Do you have any idea how magnificent you were tonight?”

“I was competent. There’s a difference.”

“You were magnificent. Every man in that room walked in thinking you were a pretty accessory, and you made them see you as an equal.”

My hands slide down her arms, and I feel her shiver under my touch. The pregnancy has made her skin more sensitive, more responsive to every caress.

“Alaric…”

“What?”

“We really need to fix the issue of the forged documents.”

“Later. Right now, I need to show you how much today meant to me.”

I pull her to her feet. The dress has a zipper at the back, and I slide it down slowly, watching her reflection in the mirror as more skin is revealed.

“The way you handled Tony’s questions about money laundering,” I say, pressing kisses along her neck. “The way you made Lorenzo laugh with that story about German precision.”

“They were testing me.”

“And you passed. Spectacularly.”

The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in black lace that makes my mouth water. Pregnancy has made her breasts fuller, her curves more pronounced. She’s never been more beautiful.

“I was terrified the whole time,” she admits.

“You didn’t show it.”

“Good acting.”

“Good instincts,” I insist. “You knew exactly what they needed to hear, exactly how to present yourself. That’s not acting, that’s natural talent.”

I lift her onto the vanity, positioning myself between her thighs. The mirror behind her reflects our bodies pressed together, and I can see the want in her eyes.

“You know what I was thinking during your presentation?” I ask, hands spanning her waist.

“What?”

“That every man in that room was looking at you and thinking, Alaric Moretti’s a lucky bastard. ”

“And?”

“And they were right. But not for the reasons they think.”

I claim her mouth in a kiss that’s possessive and proud and desperate all at once. She responds immediately, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers against my lips.

“Not yet. I want to worship you right here, where you made yourself beautiful for them.”

“I made myself beautiful for you .”

“I know. That makes it even better.”

My hands find the clasp of her bra, and I remove it slowly. The pregnancy has made her breasts exquisitely sensitive, and when I cup them in my palms, she arches into my touch with a soft moan.

“God, you’re perfect,” I breathe.

“The baby’s making me bigger everywhere.”

“The baby’s making you more beautiful everywhere.”

I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently. Her reaction is immediate and intense, her back arching as her hands grip my shoulders.

“Too much?” I ask.

“More. Please.”

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.

“Stand up,” I command softly.

She slides off the vanity, and I kneel before her, my hands stroking up her thighs. The lace panties she’s wearing are already damp, and I can smell her arousal.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, hooking my fingers in the waistband and sliding the fabric down her legs. “So beautiful when you’re pregnant with my child.”

I rise from my knees, my hands still on her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin under my palms.

The sight of her—naked, her body glowing in the soft light of our bedroom, curves fuller from the pregnancy—makes my mouth dry and my blood burn.

She’s a vision, my fierce, brilliant wife, pregnant with my child. And the way she stood up to those bastards today, turning their skepticism into awe, has me so wound up I can barely think straight.

“Fuck, Kasi,” I growl, my voice rough as I step closer, caging her against the vanity.

Her eyes meet mine, dark and molten, and I see my own hunger reflected there.

“You have no idea what you did to me today. Commanding that room, making those men eat out of your hand.” I slide my hands up her hips, over the gentle swell of her belly, and cup her face, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “I’ve never been prouder. Or harder.”

Her lips curve into a wicked little smile, and she arches a brow, all confidence and tease. “Oh, I can feel that ,” she murmurs, shifting her hips just enough to press against me, the friction through my pants making me hiss. “What are you gonna do about it, Moretti?”

I chuckle, low and dark. “I’m gonna worship you, sweetheart.

Right here. Until you’re screaming my name.

” Her shiver is my reward, and I kiss her, hard and deep, claiming her mouth with a possessiveness that’s as much about love as it is about lust. She moans into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just hard enough to send a jolt straight to my cock.

I pull back, my hands sliding to her waist as I lift her back onto the vanity, careful of her pregnancy, but firm enough to remind her who’s in charge.

“Stay still,” I order, my voice a low rumble, and her eyes flash with that defiant spark I love.

I spread her thighs, settling between them, and the sight of her—glistening, ready, her scent filling my senses—makes my mouth water.

“Look at you,” I murmur, my fingers tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing but not touching where she wants me most. “So fucking perfect. All mine.”

“Alaric,” she whines, her hips shifting, chasing my touch, and the sound of her need makes my pulse pound.

“Patience,” I say, but my own control is hanging by a thread. I lean in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just above her core, feeling her tremble. “You were so strong today, so brilliant. Let me show you how much that meant to me.”

I part her with my fingers, gentle but deliberate, and when my tongue flicks against her clit, she gasps, her hands flying to my hair.

“Oh God,” she moans, her voice breaking as I lick her again, slow and thorough, savoring her taste—sweet, heady, like nothing else in the world. I groan against her, the vibration making her hips buck, and I grip her thighs, holding her steady as I devour her.

My tongue circles her clit, teasing, then sucking gently, and her moans turn into soft, desperate cries that echo in the quiet room. “Alaric, please?—”

“Please what?” I murmur against her, my breath hot on her skin as I slide a finger inside her, curling it just right. She’s so wet, so tight, and the way she clenches around me makes my cock ache. “Tell me what you need, baby. Let me hear it.”

“You,” she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. “Your mouth, your tongue—don’t stop.” Her voice is raw, pleading, and it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

I don’t stop. I feast on her, my tongue working her clit with relentless precision, my finger moving in slow, deep strokes that make her tremble.

Her thighs shake against my shoulders, her moans growing louder, more desperate, and I can feel her getting close, her body tensing under my touch. “That’s it,” I growl, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, my lips slick with her. “Come for me, Kasi. Let me taste you when you fall apart.”

She does, her cry sharp and unrestrained as her orgasm hits, her body shuddering, her hands clutching my hair like a lifeline.

I keep going, drawing out every wave, licking her through it until she’s gasping, oversensitive, her thighs trembling against me. Only then do I pull back, kissing her inner thigh, her hip, the soft curve of her belly where our child grows.

Her taste lingers on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as I rise from between her thighs. Kasi’s still trembling, her body flushed and glowing in the soft moonlight from the windows. I’m hard as steel, my cock straining painfully, but I want to savor her.

“On your knees,” I growl, my voice rough with need.

She hesitates, eyes flashing with that defiant spark, but then she complies, turning to kneel on the plush rug, her hands braced against the window.

The sight of her ass up, pregnant belly gently curved, moonlight painting her skin, makes my blood roar.

I step behind her, hands gripping her hips, my fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. “You want this?” I ask, pressing my cock against her entrance, still slick and ready from my mouth. Her moan is answer enough, but I want words.

“Yes,” she breathes, pushing back against me, teasing. “Fuck me, Alaric. Now.”

I don’t make her wait. I thrust into her, hard and deep, filling her completely, and her cry echoes off the glass. She’s so tight, so wet, it’s almost too much, but I keep my rhythm slow, deliberate, making her feel every inch.

“Harder,” she demands, her voice raw, desperate. Her hand reaches back, grabbing mine, guiding it to her throat. My pulse spikes, but I’m careful, my fingers wrapping lightly around her neck, just enough pressure to make her moan louder.

“Like this?” I growl, tightening my grip slightly, my other hand on her hip as I thrust harder, faster, the slap of our bodies loud in the quiet suite.

Her moans turn into sharp, needy cries, each one driving me closer to the edge.

She’s meeting every thrust, her body begging for more, and I give it to her, relentless but controlled.

“Fuck, Kasi,” I rasp, my thumb brushing the pulse point under her jaw, feeling her heartbeat race. “You’re mine. Every fucking inch of you.” Her answering moan, broken and desperate, makes my cock throb inside her.

She pushes back harder, her nails digging into the window frame. “More,” she pleads, her voice a mix of command and surrender. “Alaric, please—harder.” I oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes her cry out, her body trembling under my hand.

My fingers tighten just a fraction on her throat, enough to make her gasp, her eyes fluttering shut in the reflection. I lean forward. “You love this, don’t you? Being mine like this.”

“Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking as she clenches around me, so tight it’s almost painful. I angle my hips, hitting that spot that makes her scream, her body shaking with every thrust.

Her breaths come faster, ragged, and I feel her tightening, another orgasm building. “Come for me,” I growl, my hand sliding from her throat to her clit, rubbing tight circles. She shatters, her cry sharp and raw, her body convulsing around me, pulling me deeper.

I’m not far behind. Her climax drags me over the edge, my release hitting like a freight train, white-hot and overwhelming. I groan her name, my hands gripping her hips as I spill into her, my vision blurring with the intensity.

We stay there, panting, her body still pressed against the window, mine draped over hers. I ease out slowly, careful not to hurt her, my hands gentle now, soothing. She’s trembling, but her eyes in the reflection are bright, sated, with that fierce spark I love.

I help her stand, guiding her to the bed, my hands steady despite my racing heart.

I grab a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleaning her up with slow, deliberate care, my fingers lingering on her skin.

She watches me, a soft smile playing on her lips, and I can’t resist kissing her—soft, slow, full of everything I can’t say.

We settle on the bed, her head resting on my chest. “So,” she says, her voice light but curious, “what do you think about baby names?” Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, and I feel my heart stutter.

I tilt her chin up, meeting her eyes. “Something strong,” I say, my voice low but warm. “Like you. Maybe Luca for a boy. Or Elena for a girl.”

She laughs, soft and bright, shaking her head. “Those are both too predictable for a Moretti. What about Matteo? Or for a girl, Isabella—she’d be a firecracker like her mom.”

I smirk, pulling her closer, my hand resting on her belly. “Matteo’s not bad. Isabella’s better. But we’ve got time to argue about it.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, we’ll argue, alright. But I’m winning this one, Moretti.”

I chuckle, kissing her forehead, the weight of her in my arms grounding me. “We’ll see, trouble. We’ll see.”