Chapter 29
CINDY
The drive back to the compound passes in tense silence. My mind keeps replaying the broken look in Charles's eyes. I almost feel sorry for him. He has to carry around the weight of choices that can never be undone. But when I glance at Luka's profile, I feel something else entirely.
He protected me. Again. He's willing to kill for me, die for me, and burn down the world to keep me safe. The primal part of my brain that's been awakened by months of living in his dangerous world responds to that protection with a hunger that catches me off guard.
I read about the second trimester. The surge of hormones. And I felt every last bit of it. I wanted him. Needed him.
The drive back is torture. Every gear shift makes Luka's forearm flex, the tendons standing out under his skin. He's rolled his sleeves up—when did he do that?—and I can't stop staring at his hands. The same hands that just signed Charles's life, or death, warrant.
I shift in my seat and catch him glancing over. Just a quick look, but his pupils are dilated. He knows. He always knows.
"You okay?" His voice is deeper than usual.
"Fine." The word comes out breathy. I press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache that's been building since I watched him spare Charles. The mercy in his power. The choice to give life instead of take it.
God, what is wrong with me? The pregnancy hormones are turning me into someone I don't recognize. Someone who gets turned on by moral complexity and dangerous men showing restraint.
Another mile. Leo's already asleep—I can hear Grigori on the radio confirming it. The house will be quiet. We could go straight to our room. We could—
"Stop that," Luka murmurs.
"Stop what?"
"Whatever you're thinking that's making you smell like that."
I flush hot. "I don't smell like anything."
His knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "You smell like mine."
"Cindy," Luka starts as we enter our bedroom, but I silence him by pressing my mouth to his.
The kiss tastes of danger and possession. I taste the violence that always lurks just beneath his civilized surface. I need that violence right now. Need to feel claimed. Owned and protected by the only man who's ever made me feel truly safe.
"I need you," I whisper against his lips, my fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. "Right now."
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as he studies my expression in the moonlight streaming through our windows. "Are you sure? After everything tonight—"
"Especially after tonight." I pull his shirt free, my palms flattening against the warm muscle of his chest. "I need to feel alive. I need to feel you."
Something dark and hungry flares in his eyes. His control snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Suddenly, his mouth is on mine with bruising intensity. This isn't gentle or tender—this is possession, pure and simple.
It’s what I crave from him. I don’t want easy.
His hands slide down to grip my thighs, lifting me easily until my legs wrap around his waist. I can feel how much he wants me, the hard length of him pressing against the juncture of my thighs through our clothes. The sensation makes me gasp into his mouth.
"Mine," he growls against my throat, his teeth scraping over my pulse point. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."
"Yours," I agree breathlessly. "Always yours."
He carries me to the bed, setting me down more carefully than usual. Even consumed by desire, he's mindful of the life I carry.
"The baby," I whisper as he reaches for my clothes. "Is this safe? Can we—"
"I asked the doctor," he admits, color touching his cheekbones. "When you were getting dressed. Just... to be sure."
The image of terrifying Luka Markovic asking an obstetrician about pregnancy sex makes me bite back a laugh. "And?"
"She said it's fine. Healthy, even. As long as we're..." He pauses, searching for words. "Mindful."
His hands are gentler as he undresses me, reverent over the swell of my belly that's more pronounced when I'm lying down. Four months along, and my body is changing daily—breasts fuller and more sensitive, hips widening, that telltale roundness that means our daughter is growing.
"Still beautiful," he murmurs, tracing the faint line that's beginning to darken down my abdomen.
"I'm getting huge."
"You're perfect." He positions pillows behind me, elevating my hips. "Tell me if anything's uncomfortable."
Even desperate with want, he's thinking of the baby. Of me. This dangerous man, treating my changing body like something precious.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, his hand spanning my stomach with reverent touches. "Carrying my baby. My perfect woman."
The possessiveness in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. I reach for his belt, desperate to feel skin against skin, but he catches my wrists.
"Let me," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "Let me take care of you."
I nod, surrendering control as he finishes undressing. When he comes back to me, all powerful muscle and dangerous grace, I forget how to breathe. He's magnificent—scarred and deadly and absolutely mine.
His mouth finds my collarbone first, pressing hot kisses along the delicate bone before moving lower. When his lips close around my nipple, I arch off the bed with a cry that I have to muffle against my own hand.
"Don't hide from me," he commands, pulling my hand away from my mouth. "I want to hear every sound you make."
His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, making my back bow as pleasure shoots straight to my core. Everything feels more intense now—whether it's the pregnancy hormones or just the emotional weight of the evening, I don't know. But every touch sets me on fire.
He lavishes attention on my breasts until I'm writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in his dark hair. Only then does he begin his slow descent, pressing kisses to my ribs, my stomach, and the sensitive skin of my hip bones.
"Luka, please," I gasp when he settles between my thighs, his breath warm against my most sensitive places.
"Please, what?" His voice is pure sin, dark and teasing. "Tell me what you want, dikaya."
"You. I want you. I want your mouth on me."
He gives me exactly what I'm begging for, his tongue sliding through my folds with devastating precision. I cry out, my hips lifting off the bed as he finds the bundle of nerves that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
He takes his time, alternating between gentle licks and focused attention that has me trembling on the edge of release. Just when I think I can't take any more, he slides two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that makes me see heaven.
"Come for me," he orders against my sensitive flesh. "Let me feel you fall apart."
The combination of his mouth and fingers pushes me over the edge. I shatter with his name on my lips, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. He doesn't stop, drawing out my orgasm until I'm boneless and gasping.
When he finally moves up my body, I can taste myself on his lips as he kisses me deeply. The intimacy of it makes something flutter in my chest—not just desire but love so fierce it takes my breath away.
"I love you," I whisper against his mouth. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
"Good," he murmurs, positioning himself at my entrance. "You should be scared. What we have—it's everything. It's worth killing for."
He slides into me slowly, letting me feel every inch as he fills me. The stretch is perfect, familiar yet somehow new every time. When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still, just breathing in the sensation of being joined so completely.
"Move," I beg, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Luka. I need—"
"I know what you need." His hips pull back before surging forward, setting a rhythm that's both tender and possessive. "I'll always give you what you need."
The angle is perfect, hitting spots inside me that make my vision blur with each thrust. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing to feel all of him.
"You're everything," he pants against my ear, his accent thicker with arousal. "My woman. My family. Mine."
The word sends heat spiraling through me. Yes, I'm his. Completely, utterly his. And he's mine in return—this dangerous, complicated man who would burn the world for me.
The tension builds again, coiling tight in my belly as he drives into me with increasing urgency.
"Come with me," he demands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Now, dikaya. Come now."
The command in his voice is my undoing. I fly apart with a cry that he swallows with his mouth, my inner walls clamping down around him. He follows me over the edge with a groan that rumbles through his chest, spilling himself deep inside me as his body goes rigid with release.
We collapse together in a tangle of sweaty limbs, both breathing hard. His hand immediately goes to my stomach, fingers splaying protectively over our child.
"Are you okay?" he asks, concern replacing the hunger in his voice. "Did I hurt you?"
"I'm perfect," I assure him, turning in his arms so I can see his face. "We're perfect."
He presses a kiss to my temple, his arms tightening around me possessively. "Sleep now. Tomorrow we finish this with Kozlov."
I want to ask what that means, what he's planning. But exhaustion is pulling me under. He'll keep us safe. He'll end the threat that's been hanging over our heads.
And then maybe, finally, we can start planning our future instead of just surviving our present.
As I drift off to sleep in his arms, I allow myself to imagine it—a world where our biggest worry is whether the baby will have his eyes or mine. Where Leo can play outside without armed guards.
It's a beautiful dream. And thanks to the man holding me, it might even come true.