18. Aria #4
Maksim stands, lifting me in his arms despite his still-healing ribs. I hear his sharp intake of breath, and he bites back a groan of pain.
My heart skips a beat. “Your ribs,” I point out, but he bats a hand in irritation.
“Don’t care.” He’s already carrying me toward the bedroom. “Need you. Need this.”
I wrap my legs around his waist as much as my growing belly allows, and he carries me to the bed. He sets me down gently, like I’m made of glass. His hands are already working at the buttons of my dress, but they’re shaking slightly.
“I’m scared I’ll hurt you,” he admits, his voice rough. “Your body’s been through so much stress.”
“You won’t hurt me.” I help him with the buttons then pull the dress over my head.
He strips off his own clothes, moving carefully because of his ribs, and I see the full extent of his injuries. The bruising has faded but is still visible, sickly yellow-green across his entire left side. There are still bandages on some of the deeper cuts from the shrapnel.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. Every scar, every bruise, every mark of pain is proof that he survived.
He snorts. “That’s my line to you.” But he’s crawling over me on the bed now, his body covering mine but careful not to press down on my stomach. I kiss his jaw.
“You’re alive. You’re here,” I tell him, carding my fingers through his hair. “That makes you beautiful to me.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. His hands are gentle as they trace the curve of my belly.
“You’re so beautiful like this.” His hands are reverent on my skin. “Even more beautiful pregnant and carrying our child. Giving me another baby to love.”
“Still don’t want to know about the baby’s gender?” I ask him, threading my fingers through his hair.
“I don’t care.” He kisses my stomach. “Boy or girl, they’re ours. I will love them no matter who or what they are.”
His mouth trails up from my stomach to my breasts. When his lips close around one nipple, I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
“Too much?” he asks immediately, pulling back.
I shake my head, offering myself to him. “No. More. Please, more.”
He smiles at me before he lavishes attention on my breasts, his tongue and teeth and lips driving me crazy. One hand slides down my body, finding the heat between my legs, and when his fingers find me wet and ready, he groans against my skin.
“So ready for me,” he murmurs. “Always so ready.”
“Always,” I agree breathlessly. God, how could I ever have run from this man? How did we waste eight years being apart? “Always for you. Only you.”
He positions himself carefully and enters me slowly. The stretch and fullness make me moan, and he pauses immediately.
“Okay?”
I tilt my hips up, desperate for friction. “Yes. God, yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Maksim’s grin is positively wolfish before he sets a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust measured and deliberate. His eyes stay locked on mine, and I can see everything he’s feeling—love, possession, relief that we’re both alive, fear that we almost lost everything.
“I love you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you so fucking much, Aria. You and Daniel and this baby. You’re my entire world. Without you, I’m nothing.”
“I love you too.” Tears are streaming down my face now, but they’re not sad tears. They’re overwhelmed, emotional, alive tears. “I love you. I love our family. I love—holy shit—”
He shifts the angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me, and suddenly I’m right on the edge.
“Come for me,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own need. “Let me feel you. Let me know you’re mine.”
I come apart with a cry, my body clenching around him, pleasure washing through me in waves that seem to go on forever. He follows moments later, spilling inside me with my name on his lips, his face pressed to my neck.
We lie tangled together afterward, both of us breathing hard, his hand resting on my stomach where our baby continues to move, reminding us that life goes on and hope still exists.
“I’m going to marry you properly,” he says suddenly and my heart flip flops. “Give our children my name. Daniel Sokolov. And this baby”—his hand moves in a gentle circle on my stomach—“will be a Sokolov from birth. We’re going to do this right.”
“I want that.” I turn my head to look at him and see the certainty in his eyes. “I want to be your wife and our children to have your name. I want a life together where we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
“We will.” He peppers my face with kisses. “As soon as Alexander is dead and our family is safe, I’m going to marry you, Ariana Delano, and make you Ariana Sokolova. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”
“I love you,” I whisper, my hand finding his on my belly. “And I want Alexander dead.”
“He will be,” Maksim says, his voice full of promise. “I swear to you—Alexander Morozov will pay for every moment of pain he’s caused this family. And when he does, you’ll be there to watch. You’ll see justice served."
I believe him. And I can’t wait.
Because Alexander Morozov tried to kill my son.
For that, he’s going to die.