Page 83 of The Mafia's Septuplets
He strips away his remaining clothes, revealing the warrior’s body beneath expensive suits and civilized manners. Scars from years of fighting map his torso, and his tattoos seem darker against his skin, though that’s surely a trick of the light or my imagination. They represent survival rather than destruction.
“Jesus, I want to touch you everywhere.” My admission emerges with breathless honesty. “I want to memorize every detail so I never forget how lucky we are to have this.”
He positions himself beside me with careful attention to my comfort and surrenders control as I explore his body with hands and lips that seek to convey gratitude alongside desire. His response is immediate and intense, proving violence and trauma haven’t dulled his capacity for pleasure.
I take my time exploring the contours of his chest and shoulders, pressing kisses to scars or tattoos while working my hands lower to stroke and tease his cock until his breathing becomes ragged with need. I let my mouth follow the trail of my hands, licking down his abs to his shaft. He hisses between his teeth when I take the head between my lips.
“You’re going to kill me.” His voice is rough, and he’s clutching the covers.
I smile around his cock, unwilling to release my prize to verbally respond. The taste of his skin, the sound of his quiet groans, and the way his muscles tense under my touch combines into sensory overload that makes me dizzy with want. I hollow my cheeks and suck harder while taking him in deeper, until his cock rests at the back of my throat.
“Willa…”
My name emerges as a plea when I swallow before sucking again, then stroking my tongue up and down. I swirl the tip around the head of his erection, focusing on the nerves on the underside with deliberate slowness that makes him arch against my touch.
He gently tugs my hair. “Stop before I come in your mouth. I need you.”
“Then take me.” I sit up again and move to lie down beside him before turning onto my back. I guide him over me with movements made awkward by pregnancy but no less urgent for the obstacles. “Take me and make us both forget everything except this.”
Iskander grips his cock at the base and finds my dripping entrance. He teases me a bit by easing in and withdrawing. When I whimper in protest, he finally enters me with exquisite care, filling me completely while carefully settling his weight over my body like a protective shield. The sensation of being joined and emotionally connected after coming so close to losing each other forever brings tears to my eyes and desperation to my movements.
We move together with rhythm born of familiarity and deepened by recent trauma, with each thrust and caress that creates more than just physical pleasure. This isn’t just sex but an affirmation of life, love, and the choices that bind us together despite every force trying to tear us apart.
“I love you.” The words spill from my lips with each breath, movement, and moment of friction that builds the tension toward an inevitable release. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“Don’t be scared.” He captures my mouth in deep kisses interspersed with words. “Never. Be. Scared. Of. This. Never be scared ofus.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, anchoring myself to this moment and this man along with this choice to build something beautiful from the ordeal. Each sensation builds upon the lastuntil I’m trembling on the edge of climax that promises to shatter every remaining wall between us.
“Come with me.” His voice carries command and plea as his movements become more urgent, desperate, and focused on the pinnacle we’re climbing together. “At the same time.”
The orgasm crashes over me with intensity that makes the room disappear, leaving only sensation, emotion, and the overwhelming reality of being completely, utterly claimed by the man I love. My pussy convulses around his cock while he follows me over the edge, and his release fills me a second later.
We collapse together afterward, breathing hard while endorphins flood my system with contentment that rivals any medical intervention. Everything else fades into background noise compared to the warmth of his body against mine. “That was worth every risk we took to get here.” I trace lazy patterns across his chest while my pulse gradually returns to normal. “Worth every moment of fear and uncertainty.”
“The beginning of forever.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head while tightening his arms around me protectively. “There are no more enemies or threats. From here, it’s just us building the life we want for our children.”
We talk softly about the future as exhaustion gradually overtakes adrenaline and trauma. Baby names flow between us with laughter and gentle debate as we discuss traditional choices mixing with family honors and completely invented possibilities that make us both smile.
“Henrietta for one of the girls,” I suggest while drawing invisible designs across his skin. “After Henri, who was actually kind to me. We can call her Henny or Etta.”
“I like that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Alexei for one of the boys.” His suggestion, delivered in a serious tone, makes me look up in surprise. “Not to honor Mikhail’s brother, but to take back the name from the pain it’s caused. I want to turn it into something beautiful instead of something that destroys.”
The gesture speaks to forgiveness and transformation that goes beyond simple revenge. When he chooses that name for our son, he’s refusing to let Mikhail’s grief poison our future or define our family’s legacy.
“I like that.” I kiss his chest over his heart. “Redemption instead of retribution.”
Sleep claims us gradually, wrapped in each other’s arms.
I wakebefore dawn with early pregnancy restlessness that’s become routine over the past few weeks. The IV has finished dripping, and my head feels clearer than it has since the kidnapping began. Iskander sleeps beside me with one arm thrown protectively across my waist, and his face appears peaceful in a way I rarely see during waking hours.
My phone sits on the nightstand, rescued from Mikhail’s lair by one of Iskander’s men and placed there while I was getting medical treatment. I didn’t notice it until now and reach for it. I have voicemails and suddenly remember refusing his call while driving toward Dr. Layton’s office, too angry with him to speak rationally then. Though only yesterday, that feels like a lifetime ago now.
I slip from bed carefully to avoid waking him and move to the window seat, where I can listen to messages without disturbing his rest. Most are routine, with a few from Eve, one calling about an order I placed online for baby things being ready to pick up, but then I hear Iskander’s voice, hollow and raw with emotion I’ve never heard before, and freeze.
“It’s me. I’m sorry about this morning. I’m sorry about all of it. I love you more than I know how to show you, and I’m about to prove it in the worst possible way.”
The message ends abruptly, leaving me staring at the phone while my stomach drops with sudden understanding. He left this voicemail before coming to rescue me, which means he was planning something he knew I’d hate. Something that would prove his love in the worst way.