Page 47 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"So responsive." He trails kisses down to the swell of my belly. "So perfect."

He worships my body with meticulous attention, his mouth and hands learning every new curve and sensitivity. When he spreads my thighs and settles between them, his intentions unmistakable, I tremble with anticipation. The first stroke of his tongue against my clit draws a startled moan from deep in my throat. I'm already embarrassingly wet, pregnancy hormones heightening every sensation.

He groans against me, the vibration adding another layer of pleasure. "You taste even sweeter than I remembered."

His tongue explores with precise skill, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention to my clit. When he slides one finger inside me, then two, I clutch at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Mak, please." I’m gasping as my hips rising instinctively to meet his mouth.

He continues his sweet torture, bringing me to the edge repeatedly before backing away, building pleasure in incrementally higher waves. When he finally allows me to come, it crashes over me with stunning intensity. I cry out his name as my inner walls pulse around his fingers, my body wracked with spasms that seem endless.

Before I've fully recovered, he moves up my body, positioning himself above me with careful attention. His cock presses against my entrance, hot and insistent but still restrained. My juices are still on his chin.

"Tell me if anything isn't comfortable," he says, his forearms braced on either side of my head. His control is evident in the tension of every muscle.

"I'm pregnant, not fragile." I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his hips, impatient for the connection I've denied myself for too long. "I need your cock inside me."

When he enters me, the feeling of fullness is both familiar and entirely new. My body remembers his cock, yet everything feels more intense with my senses heightened by pregnancy hormones and emotional vulnerability. He pushes forward with deliberate slowness, giving me time to adjust to his considerable size, while watching my face for any sign of discomfort.

"You feel incredible." He groans once his cock is fully seated within me, his control visibly tenuous. "So tight. So wet for me."

I arch against him, drawing him deeper while digging my fingernails into the muscles of his back. "Move, Mak. Please."

He begins to thrust with slow strokes, establishing a rhythm that starts with aching slowness. Each movement pushes me deeper into the mattress, and the weight of him above me is both arousing and comforting. The careful space he maintains between our bodies to protect my belly only heightens my awareness of the lives growing there, the physical manifestation of our connection.

His control frays visibly as our pace increases, desperation replacing careful restraint. I wrap my legs tighter around him, changing the angle to take him deeper. He moves his hand between us, finding my clit with unerring precision, to circle in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation quickly rebuilds the pressure low in my belly, coiling tighter with each stroke.

His whispers in my ear alternate between English and Russian, endearments and promises I can't fully understand but feel resonating through my body.

"Ya nikogda ne otpushchu tebya," he murmurs against my neck, the unfamiliar words carrying unmistakable emotion. I don’t know what they mean, but they feel like a promise.

"Ty moya," he continues, his rhythm faltering as his own pleasure builds. “You are mine.”

Normally such possessive words would raise my defenses, but in this moment, they feel like recognition of an inescapable truth. We belong to each other now, bound by the lives we've created and the unexpected connection neither of us sought.

This time, our encounter is not about either of us escaping our lives but about acknowledging the real connection between us, even if we have no idea what will come next. Pleasure builds between us with startling intensity, my body responding to his with an urgency I've never experienced before.

"Come for me again," he urges, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Let me feel you."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless pressure inside triggers another climax that surges through me with shocking power. I clench around him, inner walls pulsing as pleasure radiates outward in waves that leave me gasping his real name, not the fiction he presented months ago. "Makari," I cry out, the syllables of his full name a surrender and claim simultaneously.

The sound of his name on my lips seems to shatter his remaining control. Mak follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he drives deeply one final time. His powerful body tenses above me as he comes inside me, a guttural groan torn from his throat when he buries his face against my neck. It's a rare moment of complete surrender for a man who lives in constant control.

He collapses carefully beside me, mindful of my belly even in the aftermath of passion. He wraps his arm possessively around me, drawing me against his side, where our sweat-slicked skin cools in the night air. His heartbeat gradually slows beneath my palm in a steady rhythm.

We lie in satiated silence, the enormity of what just transpired hanging between us. What was supposed to be a momentary escape that night at Eclipse has evolved into something neither of us anticipated nor prepared for, something with consequences far beyond the babies now growing inside me.

We remain tangled in his sheets, my head on his chest, and his hand protectively covering my belly. Our breathing gradually synchronizes in the quiet aftermath, neither of us willing to break the peaceful silence with words that might complicate this fragile new understanding.

"I never expected you," he finally whispers, the simple confession revealing more than any grand declaration could.

In response, I lace my fingers through his. I want him to know that no matter what happens, something important has changed between us. The boundaries I've maintained since arriving at the estate have crumbled, leaving us in uncharted territory. "What happens now?" I finally ask.

"Whatever you want." His thumb makes gentle circles against my hip. "I won't pressure you."

The statement surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. For all his controlling tendencies in business, Mak has been careful to give me space and autonomy since bringing me to the estate. Even tonight, he waited for me to make the first move, ensuring my comfort at every step.

"I don't know what I want," I admit. "This situation is still impossible in so many ways."

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