Page 73 of Tattooed Heart

“You're going to make me too comfortable here,” she says, taking a bite. “I'll never want to leave.”

“That's the idea,” I mumble.

She looks up at me, her expression shifting as if she can sense the importance of this moment.

“What's this?” she asks, uncovering the napkin entirely.

Her hand freezes. The velvet box sits in the middle of the tray, small and unassuming but radiating with intent.

She looks at me, eyes wide, lips parted. “Dimitri...”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I take the box from the tray. This is it. The moment that will change everything or break me completely. I drop to one knee beside the bed, the air catching in my throat.

“I know this life isn't what you imagined,” I begin, my voice thick. “I know I come with shadows and scars, and a past soaked in blood. But you're the first one that made me think about the future. Not just survival. Not just vengeance. A real future. With you. With our child.”

I open the box, revealing the solitaire diamond ring set in a platinum band. The jeweler was right about this one. It wasn't the biggest stone in the store, but it was perfect. Clear and brilliant, it was cut to reflect the light from every angle. Nothing extravagant, but elegant. Beautiful, like her.

“Sandy Davis,” I breathe, “will you marry me?”

Tears well in her eyes, her hand trembling as it covers her mouth. For a moment, I see the little girl who survived foster homes and heartbreak and taught herself never to hope too loudly. The one who'd learned early that good things didn't last, that love was conditional, and that she had to earn every scrap of affection she received.

But hope blooms in her face like a sunrise.

“Yes,” she whispers. Then louder, “Yes, Dimitri. Yes.”

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave. I slip the ring onto her finger, marveling at how perfectly it fits and how right it looks there. Sandy launches forward, tray be damned, wrapping her arms around my neck. I catch her, hold her, and feel her press against me right where she belongs.

Coffee soaks into the bedsheets. Fruit scatters across the floor. Neither of us cares.

We stay tangled like that for a long time, her breath warm against my neck, her hand resting over mine where it cradles her belly. I feel our child move beneath my palm, a gentle flutter that makes my chest tight with emotion.

“I love you,” she whispers against my skin. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”

“You scare me, too,” I admit. “You scare me in the best possible way. You make me want to be better than I am.”

She pulls back to look at me, her eyes bright with tears and joy. “You're already everything I need you to be.”

I kiss her soft and slow, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of raspberry jam. She melts into me, her hands tangling in my hair, her body soft and warm and mine.

“Mrs. Popov,” I murmur against her lips, testing the words.

She shivers. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good. Because I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret saying yes.”

“Impossible,” she insists, her fingers tracing my jaw. “I could never regret you, Dimitri. Never.”

I stand, clear the scattered breakfast items from the bed, and then return to her side. She is watching me with desire and tenderness. The kind of look that makes me forget about everything except her.

“Come here,” she says, reaching for me.

I settle beside her on the bed, pulling her against my chest. She fits perfectly in my arms as if she were made for this spot. Tilting her head back, I kiss her sweet lips and suck on her sinful tongue. She clings to me as I grip the edge of her T-shirt and peel it off. She slides onto her side, and her shorts and panties come off next.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, I bury my face between her breasts. I roll my tongue over her nipples, and she rocks her hips grinding her pussy against my hard cock. She’s wet, hot, and ready before I even take off my clothes. I’m aching for her, my cock threatening to punch through my shorts.

Sandy reaches between her legs, gripping my cock through the cotton fabric. “Off, now,” she demands.

My lips twitch as I pull off my boxers and cup her pussy. She grinds her slick pussy against my hand, begging me to press firmer.

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