25. Chapter Twenty-five #2
Her gaze softens, the playful snark fading just a fraction. “Hey…are you sure you’re okay, Cami? You look...soft. Like you’re gonna cry or burst into a Broadway song or something equally traumatic.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, forcing a bright smile. “I’ll explain everything when you’re here.”
Her eyes narrow. “Ominous. Love that for us. Fine. But if Kane tries to murder me and make it look like an accident, I fully expect you to avenge me dramatically.”
“Deal,” I promise with a laugh.
She blows a kiss into the camera. “See you soon, princess. Prepare Miami…I’m coming to wreck the entire fucking city.”
The call ends, and I’m left smiling at my phone, heart racing.
Because Lena’s right, I do have news. Huge, terrifying, wonderful news.
And it’s time my best friend heard it first. But not through a screen.
***
Lena’s arrival is exactly as chaotic as I expect.
The jet lands at sunset, the sky a bruise of purple and orange over Miami’s glittering skyline.
Javi escorts her from the SUV to the front steps of the compound, a duffel slung over her shoulder, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face, black leather jacket falling artfully off one shoulder like armor.
She pauses dramatically at the bottom step, tipping her sunglasses down to peer at the mansion, lips parted in exaggerated awe.
“This is literally a drug lord’s Barbie Dreamhouse,” she declares. “I’m obsessed already.”
Javi’s expression never changes, stone-faced, tactical. But his eyes sharpen slightly, assessing Lena as a potential threat to his sanity rather than the compound’s security.
I hug her tightly as she barrels up the steps, laughing against her neck.
“Bitch, you smell expensive,” Lena says, inhaling dramatically. “Money and trauma. It suits you.”
“God, I missed you,” I whisper, holding on a beat too long.
She squeezes my hand gently, voice lowering for just me. “Yeah. Me too.”
Then she straightens, expression immediately shifting to wicked curiosity. “So, where’s your morally gray kingpin?”
I glance up, and Kane steps out from inside the front doors, posture relaxed, deceptively casual. Black shirt fitted over broad shoulders, tattoos peeking out from beneath rolled-up sleeves. Eyes sharp. Controlled. Dangerous.
Lena’s breath catches audibly. “Jesus Christ, he’s even hotter in daylight. Respect.”
“Behave,” I whisper under my breath, elbowing her gently.
She ignores me, lifting her chin boldly as Kane approaches. He stops directly in front of us, dark gaze landing first on me, lingering possessively, before sliding slowly to Lena.
She meets his stare without flinching.
“You’re Lena,” he says evenly, voice a low, dangerous rasp.
“And you’re Kane,” she counters, unblinking. “The man responsible for turning my best friend into a ghost and then resurrecting her with better skin and questionable taste in men.”
Kane’s expression doesn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly, amusement he won’t admit.
“I like your loyalty,” he says flatly. “Try not to get killed.”
“I’d prefer not to,” she says brightly. “But I guess that’s more up to you than me.”
He holds her gaze for another beat. It’s a test, one she passes effortlessly. Finally, he nods, slow, respectful.
“Welcome to Miami, Lena,” he says. “Enjoy your stay.”
As Kane walks away toward the compound, Lena leans in close, whispering loudly enough for him to hear:
“God, you weren’t kidding about the scary-hot vibe. I almost peed a little.”
I groan, covering my face, as Kane’s shoulders tighten slightly, a laugh he refuses to give her.
***
Lena sprawls across the guest bed, wineglass in one hand, curls everywhere, dark eyes sharp and watchful as I sit curled beside her. We’ve already laughed through two glasses, and I feel loose enough, safe enough, to let the words I’ve been holding onto finally slip free.
“I need to tell you something,” I murmur softly, fingers tracing circles on the soft duvet.
Her gaze snaps to mine, instantly alert. “Tell me.”
“I…” I swallow hard, heart racing suddenly. “I’m pregnant.”
The room goes perfectly silent.
She blinks. Once. Twice.
Then abruptly sits upright, wineglass dangerously close to tipping over.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Lena…”
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open dramatically. “Camille Elouise Sinclair. You let that man breed you?”
My face heats furiously. “Oh my god. Please don’t ever phrase it like that again.”
“You’re pregnant. With Kane Rivera’s cartel heir.” She pauses, then whispers dramatically, “I am both terrified and jealous.”
I laugh, relief flooding through me. “You’re okay with it?”
She looks at me fiercely, suddenly serious. “Babe, are you okay with it?”
I nod softly. “Yeah. I am.”
She sets the wineglass down carefully, grabs my hands, eyes searching mine. “Good. Because if you want this, I will throw you the most obnoxiously lavish baby shower Miami’s ever seen. Like, cartel-themed balloons, tiny designer guns made of cake…”
“Lena…”
“Also, I call godmother, because if you pick Clara’s vanilla ass over me, I will literally set something on fire.”
“I haven’t told Clara yet.”
“Good. Let me soak up the glory first.” Lena squeezes my fingers tighter, eyes warm, voice softening again. “Are you happy?”
I take a deep breath, finally saying out loud the truth I’ve carried inside me since I heard that heartbeat. “I’m terrified. But also, I think I might be the happiest I’ve ever been.”
She wraps her arms around me tightly, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Then I’m happy for you, Cami. You deserve this.”
I hold onto her a moment longer, breathing in her chaotic warmth. When we finally pull apart, she grins wickedly.
“You realize Rivera’s gonna have his work cut out for him, right? Because I’m not leaving until I see this baby arrive and probably a while after.”
I laugh, heart full, and shake my head. “I’m counting on it.”
***
The first thing I feel is his mouth.
Warm, soft kisses trailing slow, deliberate paths across my skin. I float somewhere between sleep and waking, suspended in the dreamy haze of dawn.
His lips brush my shoulder first, gentle, lingering. My breath stirs, pulse quickening softly beneath his touch.
“Kane?” I whisper, eyes still closed, voice barely audible.
“Shh,” he murmurs against my collarbone, pressing a kiss there so delicate it feels like reverence. “No hables, mi cielo. Solo siente.”
Don’t speak, my heaven. Just feel.
I exhale slowly as his mouth moves lower, tracing the curve of my breasts, slow and careful, pausing to lavish gentle attention on each nipple. He draws one between his lips, swirling his tongue until my body arches softly beneath him, fingers threading through his hair.
He hums softly against my skin, the sound low and pleased. Then he drags his mouth down, placing feather-light kisses along my ribs, my stomach, stopping to press his lips tenderly against my belly, lingering there as if in silent devotion.
Our baby.
My heart squeezes.
His hands follow his mouth, skimming slowly down my waist, my hips, his palms warm and possessive. My thighs tremble as he spreads them gently apart, his mouth tracing the soft skin there, lips brushing each inch with unbearable patience.
“Kane…” I gasp, my voice trembling.
“Tranquila, carino,” he whispers, breath warm against my inner thigh. “Déjame adorarte.”
Quiet, sweetheart. Let me worship you.
His tongue strokes tenderly, slowly, maddeningly between my thighs, coaxing me into wakefulness.
My breathing deepens, becomes ragged, pleasure unspooling inside me with every slow flick and gentle suckle of his mouth.
He murmurs sweet, filthy Spanish between kisses, words I barely understand, words that still sink deep into my bones:
Hermosa…tan dulce…tan perfecta…tan Mía.
Beautiful…so sweet…so perfect…so mine.
He rises slowly above me, his eyes dark and warm, still filled with sleep and something far deeper. He brushes his lips against mine, slow and reverent, tasting of me.
“I need you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“You have me,” he replies softly, brushing my hair from my face, eyes burning into mine. “Always.”
His hips press forward slowly, gently, sinking into me inch by aching inch. My breath shudders from my lips, body arching up to meet him, hips shifting instinctively to take him deeper.
He doesn’t rush. His movements are slow, deliberate, achingly tender. He makes love to me carefully, like I’m precious, fragile, sacred. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, he’ll shatter something delicate between us.
I cling to him, breathless, wrapping my legs tight around his waist, urging him deeper.
“Kane…” My voice cracks, breath trembling.
He lowers his forehead to mine, breath ragged, eyes locked with mine.
Then, in the quiet dark of our bedroom, tangled in sheets, skin damp, hearts racing in unison, he whispers words I never expected to hear from him.
“Marry me, Camille.”
My heart stops.
My breath catches.
“What?” I whisper.
“Marry me.” His voice is deeper, rasping. Vulnerable. “Be mine. Legally, permanently. Let me give you everything I am.”
He thrusts slowly, deeply, holding my gaze, eyes fierce, open, unbearably tender. My pulse thunders wildly in my ears.
“Kane…”
“Say yes,” he murmurs, rocking deeper into me, eyes darkening with intensity. “Di que sí, mi amor.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything,” he growls softly, pressing harder, filling me completely, until I gasp against his mouth. “You’re mine. You carry my child. You own my soul. I want you in every way possible. Forever.”
He kisses me again, deep, slow, a promise sealed between us, each thrust punctuating his words.
I shatter beneath him, pleasure and shock and pure, overwhelming love pulling me under. “Yes,” I whisper, crying softly into his mouth. “Yes, Kane. God, yes.”