Page 90 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

He grins, teeth flashing. “Call it an empire, and you’re the only one I want running it.”

I swat his chest lightly. “One baby at a time, please.”

“Fine, but I’m not done with you.”

“I figured that out weeks ago.”

He rolls onto his side, still half wrapped around me. His hand finds my stomach again, palm resting there like it belongs.

The heat lingers between us—unsatisfied, but not unwelcome. I don’t mind the ache anymore. It’s good to want him. It’s good to know he wants me too, and that he’d wait, even when he’s desperate. Even when I’m pulling at him with everything I’ve got.

Because that’s love, isn’t it?

The restraint. The reverence.

The way he touches me like I’m his, but protects me like I’m more than that.

I lay my head on his chest, his heartbeat thudding slow and steady beneath my palm. He slides his arm around me without needing to be asked, pulling me in like gravity.

“I’m not afraid,” I whisper.

His hand tightens just slightly at my back. “Of what?”

“Tomorrow. What comes next. I’m not afraid of it tonight.”

He doesn’t speak. He just keeps holding me.

Maybe that’s the answer, because for the first time, I’m not bracing for the fall. I’m not wondering how long this will last or what parts of me I’ll lose to survive it.

We stay curled around each other, the firelight flickering low across the sheets. The heat between us has faded into something quieter—something sweeter. A warmth that lingers in the way he kisses me, not like he’s claiming anything, but like he can’t quite stop.

Kion brushes his nose along my cheek, presses another kiss to the corner of my mouth, and then pulls back just enough to look down at me.

“I still want to kill half the city,” he murmurs.

I laugh, breathless. “But?”

“But right now,” he says, bending to kiss my jaw, “I just want to keep kissing you.”

I tip my head up. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He kisses me again—lazy now, like we have all the time in the world. Our laughter comes and goes between the soft touches, the murmured nothings, the way I pull him close and he lets me.

Eventually, he shifts onto his back, dragging me with him, and we settle like that—me half sprawled across his chest, his hand resting over my belly.

“She’s moving again,” I whisper, guiding his palm lower.

His fingers spread gently, his touch reverent. “Still kicking?”

“She’s relentless.”

“She’s getting stronger.”

I look up at him, raising a brow. “Still convinced it’s a girl?”

He nods, sure. “Don’t tell me for sure, I know she is. Stubborn. Doesn’t like to be ignored.” He cocks a brow, mouth curved. “If she’s half as stubborn as her mother, we’ll have to put warning signs on the front gate.”

I laugh. “Then we need a name.”