EPILOGUE
Three weeks later, the Ivanov estate feels less like a fortress and more like home.
I lean against the kitchen island, watching Sofia attempt to explain modern art theory to Erik while he cleans his Glock. Katarina sits beside him, translating Sofia’s academic enthusiasm into something resembling coherent sentences.
“I’m saying Rothko’s color fields create emotional resonance through chromatic relationships—”
“He painted rectangles.” Erik doesn’t look up from his weapon. “Large rectangles.”
“Large meaningful rectangles.” Sofia’s exasperation carries genuine affection.
Across the room, Dmitri pours wine while Tash perches on the counter beside him, swinging her legs like a child. She’s been trying to convince him that his suit collection needs “diversification” beyond shades of blue.
“Navy is not a statement, Dmitri. It’s a surrender.”
“Navy is classic.” He hands her a glass, fingers lingering against hers. “Unlike that disaster you wore to the Vanderbilt charity auction.”
“That ‘disaster’ was vintage Dior, you philistine.”
“It was vintage something.”
Tash throws a piece of bread at his head. He catches it without looking.
Nikolai sits at the head of the massive dining table, reviewing something on his tablet with the intensity he exudes. Sofia abandoned her art theory lecture to perch on his lap.
“Are you working during family dinner?”
“I’m ensuring we still have assets to finance family dinner.” But he sets the tablet aside, arm sliding around her waist.
Alexi emerges from the wine cellar carrying a bottle I know costs more than my first car. He’s been down there for fifteen minutes, which means he was actually checking the security feeds and running diagnostic sweeps on the estate’s network.
Old habits die hard.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I accept the wine glass he offers.
“Always.” His smile carries meanings only I understand.
Dmitri clears his throat. “So when do we tell them?”
Tash shoves him in the ribs. “You said you’d decide.”
Dmitri shrugs. “I think it’s time.”
“We’re pregnant,” Tash blurts out, then winces. “I mean, I’m pregnant. Dmitri just provided genetic material.”
The room erupts.
Sofia launches herself from Nikolai’s lap, nearly knocking over his wine. Katarina gasps, hands flying to her mouth. Erik sets down his Glock.
“How far along?” Sofia’s already hugging Tash, who looks simultaneously thrilled and terrified.
“Ten weeks.” Dmitri’s composure cracks just enough to show genuine emotion underneath. “We found out three days ago.”
Nikolai stands, moving around the table with that predatory grace. “Congratulations, brother.” He clasps Dmitri’s shoulder, then pulls him into a rare embrace.
Erik follows, his version of affection more reserved but no less sincere. “You’ll be a good father.”
“Better than ours,” Dmitri mutters.
“Low bar,” Erik agrees.
Alexi crosses the kitchen, pulling Tash into a hug that lifts her off her feet. “You’re going to be the most terrifying mother in Boston.”
“Damn right I am.” She’s laughing when he sets her down. “This kid is getting self-defense lessons in utero.”
“I’ll handle the training,” Erik offers.
“Absolutely not.” Dmitri’s back to his usual control. “My child will not be learning combat maneuvers before learning to walk.”
“Your child will be an Ivanov,” Nikolai points out. “Combat maneuvers come standard.”
Sofia returns with sparkling cider, pressing it into Tash’s hands. “This is why you’ve been avoiding the wine tonight.”
“I’ve been avoiding everything.” Tash grimaces. “Morning sickness is a cruel joke. It’s all-day sickness.”
I watch the exchange, warmth spreading through my chest. The wine glass, now sitting untouched beside Tash’s plate, makes perfect sense. She usually matches Dmitri glass for glass, her tolerance legendary among their social circle.
“We’re telling the family first,” Dmitri explains, his hand finding the small of Tash’s back. “The formal announcement comes later, after the first trimester.”
“Obviously.” Katarina’s already glowing with excitement. “But we can start planning now, right? Nursery designs, color schemes—”
“No.” Dmitri’s voice carries absolute authority. “We’re not discussing color schemes for at least six months.”
Alexi returns to my side, sliding his fingers through mine and squeezing gently. The simple contact sends electricity up my arm. His lips brush my ear as he leans in, his breath warm against my skin.
“We need to get back to trying for a baby too, detka,” he whispers. “I need you pregnant.”
My breath catches. The possessiveness in his voice makes heat bloom low in my belly.
Three weeks ago, his desire to breed me had been a fantasy that both terrified and thrilled me.
Now, watching the glow on Tash’s face despite her complaints, I find myself wondering what it would be like—carrying Alexi’s child, a mingling of our DNA, creating something neither of us could hack or control.
“Is my biological clock ticking suddenly?” I murmur, but my body betrays me. My pulse quickens under his touch as his thumb traces circles on my wrist.
“Everything is ticking.” His eyes darken as they hold mine. “I need to see you round with my child.”
Alexi turns to the group, raising his voice. “We should get champagne from the cellar. Celebrate properly.”
Tash grimaces at her sparkling cider. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Don’t worry,” Alexi says with an exaggerated pitying smile. “With Dmitri’s genes, your kid probably won’t come out with two heads. One and a half at most.”
Dmitri’s expression could freeze hellfire. “Amusing, little brother.”
“Come on,” Alexi tugs my hand, leading me toward the cellar stairs. “Let’s find something appropriately expensive to waste on this occasion.”
I follow him down the narrow staircase, his fingers still laced with mine. The temperature drops as we descend, but all I feel is heat spreading through my body at the thought of being alone with him, surrounded by bottles and darkness.
The wine cellar door clicks shut behind us, cutting off the chatter from upstairs. Alexi’s fingers tighten around mine as he leads me deeper into the rows of bottles, temperature dropping with each step.
“You know we didn’t come down here for champagne,” I say, watching his movements in the dim lighting.
Alexi turns to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow from the cellar lights. “No, we didn’t.” His hand slides to my waist, pulling me against him. “Seeing Dmitri’s face... knowing Tash is carrying his child...”
His palm moves to my stomach, splaying possessively across my abdomen. “I want everyone to know you’re mine the same way.”
My breath catches. “We’re supposed to be celebrating their news.”
“We are.” His lips brush against my ear. “By making our own.”
Before I can respond, he turns me around and bends me over a wooden tasting table at the center of the cellar. My palms flatten against the polished surface as he lifts my skirt, exposing my underwear.
“Someone could come down—”
“Let them.” His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp crack that echoes through the cellar. I gasp, the sting spreading delicious heat across my skin.
“They should know what I’m doing to you.” Another slap lands, harder this time. “Making sure my baby takes root inside you.”
He delivers three more spanks in quick succession, each one harder than the last, until I’m gripping the edge of the table, whimpering.
Alexi drops to his knees behind me, pulling my underwear down to my ankles. The cool air hits my heated skin just before his mouth does. His tongue slides between my folds, making me cry out. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as he devours me with hungry precision.
“God—Alexi—” I push back against his face, shameless in my need.
His tongue circles my clit before dipping inside me, the wet sounds of his mouth obscene in the quiet cellar.
His tongue is relentless between my legs, lapping and sucking. I grip the edge of the wooden table, knuckles white, legs trembling as pleasure builds with each stroke.
“Fuck, yes—right there—” My words dissolve into desperate moans as Alexi slides two fingers inside me, curling them forward while his tongue flicks rapidly across my clit.
The dual sensation is overwhelming. My back arches as tension coils tighter with each thrust of his fingers, each circle of his tongue.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he growls against me, his breath hot on my sensitive flesh. “I’m going to make you come so hard, and then I’m going to fill this pretty cunt with my seed.”
The filthy promise pushes me closer to the edge. My thighs begin to shake, inner walls clenching around his fingers.
“That’s it, detka. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
The orgasm crashes through me without warning, tearing a scream from my throat that echoes through the cellar. My body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure radiating outward.
Before the first wave even crests, Alexi’s behind me, yanking my hips back. He drives into me with one brutal thrust, stealing my breath.
“Fuck!” I cry out, still coming around him as he stretches me open.
“You feel that?” He slams into me again, his grip bruising on my hips. “This pussy belongs to me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”
Each word punctuated with a savage thrust that makes the table creak beneath us.
“Say it,” he demands, one hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back. “Tell me whose cunt this is.”
“Yours!” I gasp as he pounds into me mercilessly, the wet sounds of our bodies colliding obscenely loud. “It’s yours, Alexi!”
“And what am I going to do to it?”
“Fill me—oh god—fill me with your cum,” I moan, meeting his thrusts with equal desperation.
“I’m going to breed this perfect fucking pussy,” he pants, hips snapping against my ass. “Put my baby deep inside you and watch you grow round with it.”
His fingers grip my hair tighter, yanking my head back at an angle that forces my spine to arch. The position exposes my throat and pushes my ass higher against him.