Page 226 of Filthy Promises

“If I add any more pillows to this bed, there won’t be room for you.”

“I’d sleep on the floor if it meant you got proper rest.”

“Vincent Akopov, sleeping on the floor? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” I laugh, and if it’s got a slightly hysterical edge to it, well, sue me.

He crosses to the bed and perches on the edge, careful not to disturb my elaborate pillow fortress. His hand finds my belly. We breathe in sync for a few quiet moments. I let my eyes close and my world coalesce into the weight of his palm on my skin.

These interactions, these tiny little blips of peace stolen from the world, have become precious to me. Life outside these walls remains chaotic—Bratva politics, legitimization plans, the constant vigilance required to protect what we’ve built—but here, in our bedroom, there’s just us.

Just Vince and me and the tiny person we’ve created together.

Eventually, I sigh and squint up at him. “How was the meeting with the shipping consortium?”

“Productive.” He draws lazy circles on my stomach with a fingertip. “The Costa Rica development is ahead of schedule. Peterson is actually proving quite competent.”

I snort. “Who knew that all Kevin needed was the threat of murder to unlock his full potential?”

Vince’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sometimes, people rise to meet expectations when properly motivated.”

“Think I could ‘properly motivate’ you into giving me a foot massage?”

With a laugh, he slides down to lean against the bedpost. He scoops both of my feet into his lap and starts to rub.

The moan that escapes me when his thumbs dig into my arches is salacious and unstoppable. “Oh—Oh.Good God, that’s better than sex.”

He stops and scowls at me. “What did you just say?”

I roll my eyes at Vince’s scandalized expression. “You heard me correctly, sir. At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, getting a foot massage is basically better than an orgasm.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or challenged.”

“Be busy with my feet,” I suggest with a saucy wink.

His scowl remains firmly in place. “You’re lucky you have the ultimate trump card right now. Otherwise, I’d be forced into action.”

“Yes, yes. Less talking, more massaging.”

I giggle as I sink back into the pillows and let myself enjoy the sensation of his strong fingers working magic on my aching feet.

“What are you thinking about?” Vince asks as he does a rotate-and-squeeze thing that makes me want to purr.

“Well, now that we brought it up, I’m thinking about sex.”

He shakes his head. “Depraved girl. What have I turned you into?”

“A monster,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow. My voice gets husky as I reach up to tug on his sleeve. “Come here.”

Vince raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the foot massage being better than sex?”

“I think we should test that theory.” I extend my hand to him. “For science.”

He hesitates, eyes dropping to my enormous belly. “Rowan…”

“Vincent Akopov, are you turning me down?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I sit up straighter, reaching for him. “Dr. Levine cleared me at my last appointment. She said it’s perfectly safe.”

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