Page 172 of Bride By Coronation

What am I doing?

She wants kids. I'm not going to spoil her dream.

But I'd be their father.

"Yes! Yours! Only yours!" she cries out, keeping her gaze on mine in the mirror's reflection.

Why the fuck is she saying this?

She must be drunk.

She's not.

She wants my babies.

Jesus fucking Christ!

I slow down my thrusts, knowing I'm worked up to the point that if I don't, I'm going to come faster than a teenager who just discovered how to jack himself off.

"Oh God!" she breathes, her eyelids fluttering.

I massage my hand on the back of her neck, but there's no chance of me cutting her air supply off in this position. But I also don't want to. Sometimes, I prefer to watch her come when she's not blacking out, even though she seems to crave it.

"Yes," she calls out, then licks her lips.

I lean over her, kneading her neck, murmuring in Russian, "I hope our babies look like you."

She whimpers and turns her head.

"Fuck this. Your lips are mine, little bird," I declare, then spin her, pick her up, and pin her against the wall.

"Kirill," she mumbles against my mouth, sliding her hand through my hair and gripping her arms around my shoulders.

"Hmm," I reply, sliding my tongue deep against hers, falling into the warm haze that overpowers me every time she shows me any sign of affection.

"Don't fight me, just love me," she says.

"I do love you," I mumble, returning to kissing her, then freeze.

What did I just say?

She arches her brows, full of hope, breathing hard.

I don't move, still inside her, no longer sure who I am or what I'm saying. My heart pounds so hard, I think I might be having an attack.

Is it possible?

We've only been married a few weeks.

I must be losing it.

The longer I stay still, the more fear paralyzes me.

"I love you too," she softly claims.

More shock fills me, and I press closer to her, letting the wall take our weight. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

She slides her hand over my cheek, caressing my scar.

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