Page 42 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)
ALARIC
Watching my pregnant wife negotiate with Russian criminals is doing dangerous things to my self-control.
The meeting with Boris ended an hour ago, but I can’t stop thinking about how Kasimira looked across that conference table. Poised, intelligent, absolutely fearless. Her pregnancy is starting to show more obviously now, the gentle curve of her belly visible even in professional clothes.
Every man in that room knew she was carrying my child. Every single one of them was looking at her and thinking about what we do together in private.
The thought makes me want to claim her all over again.
“You’re quiet,” she observes as we enter our Vegas suite.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how every Russian in that room was undressing you with their eyes.”
She pauses in removing her earrings, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Were they?”
“Boris couldn’t stop staring. His lieutenant kept finding excuses to look at your legs. Even the translator was sneaking glances at your chest.”
“Jealous?”
“Territorial.”
The distinction makes her smile. “What’s the difference?”
“Jealous men sulk. Territorial men take action.”
I approach from behind, my hands settling on her hips. The black dress she wore to the meeting hugs her curves perfectly, showing off the changes pregnancy has brought to her body.
“What kind of action?” she asks, her voice dropping to that husky tone that drives me wild.
“The kind that reminds you exactly who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Don’t you?”
My hands slide up her sides, fingers tracing the outline of her ribs, the swell of her breasts. Her breath catches as I cup them through the fabric, thumbs brushing over nipples that have become exquisitely sensitive.
“Tell me you don’t belong to me,” I challenge, mouth against her ear.
“I…”
“Tell me these aren’t mine.” I squeeze gently, making her gasp. “Tell me this isn’t mine.” One hand drops to span her growing belly.
“Alaric…”
“Say it.”
Instead of answering, she turns in my arms and crashes her mouth against mine. The kiss is desperate, hungry, tasting like the chocolate mousse we had after dinner something uniquely her.
“God, I wanted you the entire meeting,” she breathes against my lips. “Watching you negotiate, seeing you take control of that room. Do you know how attractive power is on you?”
“Show me.”
Her hands go to my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders with urgent movements. My shirt follows, buttons scattered across the marble floor in her haste to get me naked.
“The things I was thinking while Boris was talking,” she whispers, her mouth trailing down my neck. “The things I wanted to do to you under that conference table.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” Her hand slides down my chest, over my stomach, to palm me through my pants. I’m already hard, have been since the moment she started interrogating Russian criminals with that sharp intelligence that never fails to turn me on.
“You were thinking about sucking my cock while Boris lashed out?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
She unbuttons my pants, sliding the zipper down with maddening slowness. “I was thinking about how good you’d feel inside me. How deep you’d go. How you’d make me scream your name while a room full of criminals waited outside.”
The words make my blood burn. My pregnant, brilliant wife, who can translate Russian and negotiate with killers, fantasizing about fucking me during business meetings.
“You want them to hear you scream my name?”
“I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
I spin her around, pressing her back against the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Strip. Vegas glitters below us, millions of lights painting her skin in gold and neon.
“Anyone could see us up here,” I warn, my hands finding the zipper of her dress.
“Let them watch.”
The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in black lace that makes my mouth water. Pregnancy has made her breasts fuller, her hips more curved, her skin luminous with that glow every man notices but only I get to touch.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, hands skimming over silk and lace. “So fucking beautiful carrying my child.”
“The baby’s making everything more sensitive.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
I test this theory by sliding my hand between her legs, finding her already wet through the thin lace. Her reaction is immediate and intense, her back arching against the window as she gasps my name.
“More sensitive here too?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want to make you come so hard you forget every other man exists.”
“There are no other men. Only you.”
The admission breaks the last of my restraints. I lift her against the window, her legs wrapping around my waist as I position myself at her entrance.
“The whole city can see how much you want me,” I tell her, pressing just the tip inside.
“I don’t care. I need you.”
“Need me how?”
“Deep. Hard. Like you own me.”
“I do own you.”
“Prove it.”
I thrust into her fully, burying myself in her slick, tight heat, and the way she clenches around me nearly undoes me right there.
Kasi’s legs tighten around my waist, her back pressed against the Vegas suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows, the city’s neon glow painting her skin in shades of gold and fire.
Her moan, low and desperate, vibrates through me, and I grip her hips, holding her steady as I fight the urge to lose myself completely.
She’s radiant, pregnant with my child, her curves fuller, her body more responsive than ever, and knowing every man in that meeting was staring at her—my brilliant, fearless wife—makes me want to claim her until the whole damn world knows she’s mine.
“Fuck, Kasi,” I growl, my voice rough with need as I pull back, then thrust again, slow and deep, savoring every inch of her. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
Her head tips back against the glass, exposing the delicate line of her throat, and I lean in, kissing the pulse point where her heartbeat races, tasting the faint salt of her skin.
“Alaric,” she gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, nails biting through my open shirt.
The sting only fuels me, and I move faster, each thrust drawing a soft, needy sound from her that makes my blood burn hotter.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice breaking, and the way she says it—like I’m her only anchor—makes my chest tighten.
“Never,” I murmur in her ear. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Every inch of you.” I slide a hand between us, finding the lace of her panties—already soaked—and tug them aside, wanting nothing between us.
Kasi’s wetter than ever, her pregnancy amplifying every sensation, making her body so responsive that even the lightest touch pulls a moan from her lips. I pull out, ignoring her whimper of protest, and drop to my knees, my hands gripping her thighs to keep her steady against the window.
“What are you—” she starts, but her words dissolve into a sharp gasp as I press my mouth to her, my tongue flicking against her swollen clit with deliberate precision.
Her taste is sweet and heady. I groan against her, the vibration making her hips buck.
“Oh God, Alaric,” she moans, her hands flying to my hair, tugging hard enough to send a jolt straight to my cock.
I devour her, my tongue circling, teasing, then sucking gently, savoring every shudder, every sound.
Her thighs tremble against my shoulders, her moans growing louder, more desperate, filling the suite with a symphony that’s just for me.
“You taste so fucking good,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, my lips slick with her arousal.
“So sensitive. Is this all for me, baby?”
“Yes,” she pants, her voice raw, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Only for you.” Her eyes are dark, hazy with want, and the sight of her—flushed, pregnant, and completely mine—makes me want to worship her forever.
But then her gaze shifts, a spark of mischief flickering in those hazel eyes. “Alaric,” she breathes, her voice dropping to that husky tone that drives me wild. “I want more. I want you to…take control. Really take control.”
I pause, my lips hovering over her skin, my breath hot against her. “What are you asking for, Kasi?”
She bites her lip, a flush creeping up her neck, but there’s no hesitation in her voice. “Tie me up. Be rough. I want to feel you own me.”
The words hit me like a lightning bolt, my cock throbbing painfully against my open pants. My brilliant, fearless wife, pregnant with my child, wants me to dominate her, to push her limits. I stand, slow and deliberate, my eyes locked on hers. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”
Her chin lifts, that defiant spark I love flaring brighter. “I trust you. I want it. Please.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I step back, scanning the suite, my mind racing. The silk tie from my suit jacket, discarded on the floor, catches my eye. I grab it, the fabric smooth and cool against my fingers, and turn back to her. “Hands behind your back.”
She complies instantly, turning so her back is to me, her wrists crossing at the small of her back.
The sight of her—lace-clad, pregnant, submitting to me against the backdrop of Vegas’s glittering skyline—makes my blood burn hotter.
I loop the tie around her wrists, knotting it firmly but carefully, mindful of her comfort.
The silk bites just enough to hold her, and she tests the restraint, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
“Too tight?” I ask, my voice low, checking in.
She shakes her head, her breathing uneven. “Perfect.”
I spin her back around, pressing her against the window again, her bound hands trapped between her body and the glass. The city sprawls below us, millions of lights painting her skin in gold and neon, and the knowledge that anyone could look up and see her like this.