Page 223 of Mile High Ruin

I almost glare at him. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth curves faintly against my skin. “Demanding woman.”

“You like me demanding.”

Then his mouth closes over me again. This time he’s even gentler.

He sucks my nipple with slow, careful pressure, tongue circling the swollen peak until my toes curl under the blanket. His hand cups my other breast, thumb stroking, not rough, not hurried, just steady enough to make the ache between my legs turn unbearable. My breasts feel too full, too tender, and every pass of his tongue sends pleasure through me so intensely I have to press my lips together to keep quiet.

“Vadim,” I breathe.

He lifts his head at once. “Pain?”

“No.” My face burns. “More.”

His eyes hold mine for a beat, and then he bends again, giving me more without making it hard, without making me ask twice. His mouth moves from one breast to the other, sucking lightly, then deeper when my fingers tighten in his shirt. He listens to every breath I take. He learns the exact pressure that makes me shiver and the exact place that makes my hips rock helplessly toward him.

When his hand slides down my side, he pauses at my stomach, palm spreading there with a kind of reverence that makes something inside me go dangerously quiet.

“We’re in a hospital,” I remind him, though my fingers are tightening in his hair like I will physically prevent him from stopping.

His mouth leaves my nipple only long enough for him to murmur, “Then be quiet.”

I hate him a little for how much that helps.

He shifts closer, careful of my belly, one knee braced on the floor between my feet. His hand slides over my stomach again, warm through the fabric of my dress, and the baby moves beneath his palm as if she recognizes him. Vadim freezes.

The change in him is instant. His mouth lifts from me, his fingers splaying wide, his face going utterly still. “She kicked,” he says.

I look down at his hand on me, then at his face, and something in my chest softens so sharply it almost hurts. “She does that.”

His thumb moves once over the place where she shifted. “She should sleep.”

“She’s your daughter,” I say before I can stop myself. “She probably has opinions.”

His eyes lift to mine.

For a second, there’s no danger in him. No Pakhan. No man who keeps enemies in the ground and secrets in his blood. Just Vadim, looking at me from between my knees with his mouth still damp from my breast and his hand on our daughter.

Then his expression changes again.

Not colder. Hungrier.

“You are trying to distract me,” he says.

“I’m trying to remind you we’re not alone.”

“We are alone enough.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is right now,” he murmurs.

Before I can argue, he lowers his mouth to my other breast, and the words dissolve in my throat.

He pushes the top of my dress down with almost painful restraint, not tearing, not rushing, not treating my body like something he can simply take because I’ve already let him have it before. He watches my face as he exposes me, and the attention makes my skin flush hotter than his mouth did.

Then he licks me. A slow, wet stroke over the aching peak.