Page 148 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Kiryan didn't bristle. He just looked at me.

"Because she's Elena."

Yegor lifted his glass. "That's the right answer."

When the guests finally left, I hadn't touched alcohol and still felt buzzed. What had set me on fire was Kiryan's stare, the way it never drifted all night, like he couldn't afford to blink.

The car door shut. The world went quiet.

When we turned a corner, Kiryan steadied me, his palm pressing warm through my dress at my waist. Heat shot up my spine.

"The doctor told you to watch your shoulder."

"The doctor didn't ban me from using other parts."

My face went hot. The privacy partition rose without a sound.

"You planned that?"

"I planned everything," he murmured against my ear, voice rough. "The moment you walked into that room wearing white, I knew I wasn't letting anyone else look at you the way I do."

I turned my face toward him, breath catching. "Possessive tonight."

"Always." His mouth brushed the corner of mine. "You're mine. Pregnant or not. Especially pregnant."

The car slowed, tires crunching over gravel. Through the dark glass I saw the villa lights glowing soft against the trees. The door opened. Cool night air slid over my flushed skin. Before I could step out, Kiryan was already moving, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing.

"I can walk," I whispered, though I made no move to leave his arms.

"I know." He carried me up the stone steps, through the quiet house, up the wide staircase. My cheek rested against his chest; the steady thump of his heart matched the ache between my legs. "But I've been waiting all night to get you alone. I'm not wasting a second."

Our bedroom door closed behind us with a soft click. He set me down only long enough to lock it, then turned, eyes dark and hungry. The wedding dress suddenly felt too tight, too much fabric between us.

He stepped close, fingers finding the hidden zipper at my spine. "Tell me if anything hurts," he said, voice low.

"Nothing hurts except how slow you're going."

A quiet laugh. He drew the zipper down, inch by careful inch, cool air kissing my bare back. The silk slipped from my shoulders. He caught the bodice before it fell, peeling the dress away with deliberate patience, as if unwrapping something precious. The heavy fabric pooled at my feet. I stood in nothing but lace panties and the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Kiryan's gaze dropped. His breath left him in a rough exhale.

My belly had only just begun to round, a gentle curve that still surprised me when I looked in the mirror. His hands settled on my hips, thumbs stroking the lower edge of that small swell.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Look at you." He sank to one knee, pressing his mouth just above the lace. "Even carrying my child you look like sin. Soft here—" his lips brushed the curve "—and still so damn tempting I can barely think."

Heat flooded my face and lower. "Kiryan—"

"You're beautiful like this. Rounder. Fuller. Mine in every way that matters." He kissed the underside of my belly, slow and open-mouthed, then lower, following the line of my hip. "I want to taste every inch of you. Tell me you want that."

"I want it," I breathed. "Please."

He rose just enough to guide me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sank down onto the cool sheets. He followed, kneeling between my thighs, peeling the lace down my legs with the same careful reverence. When I was bare he simply looked for a long moment, eyes heavy-lidded.

"Spread for me," he said. "Let me see how wet you already are."

I did. The air felt cool against the slick heat of me. Kiryan made a low sound of approval and leaned in. The first stroke of his tongue was slow, deliberate, from the bottom of my entrance up to the sensitive peak. My hips jerked. His hands pinned them gently to the mattress.

"Easy," he murmured against me. "I've got you."