Page 52 of Triplet Babies
The combination of his touch, his words, and the perfect angle has me falling apart around him. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cries as the orgasm crashes over me, my inner walls clenching around his cock in a rhythmic fashion.
He follows immediately, my name falling from his lips like a prayer as he pulses inside me. We collapse together, hearts pounding, and skin slick with sweat.
We stay like that for long minutes, wrapped around each other, breathing slowly returning to normal. When I finally lift myhead to look at him, his eyes are soft with satisfaction and something that looks like wonder.
He kisses me sweetly, and I let myself imagine telling him the truth about the baby growing inside me. Maybe soon. Maybe tonight was the beginning of something real enough to handle that truth. For now, I just want to stay here in his arms, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist, and avoiding any talk of the future. Part of me assumes tonight is all I’ll have. We’ll revert to how it was tomorrow, with him engaged and me distant, so I want to savor this moment.
16
Yarik
Two days have passed since Sarah spent the night in my bed, and we haven’t had a chance to speak privately. The estate has been busy with contractors repairing damage from a water leak in the east wing, and Mrs. Nykova has kept Sarah occupied with coordinating the work schedules and vendor payments.
I’ve watched her from a distance, noting the careful way she moves around the workers, always keeping her distance and positioning herself near exits. She’s been more cautious since our conversation about her ex and more aware of her surroundings, as though speaking about it stirred up old fears and instincts again. Part of me wants to assign security to shadow her, but she’d notice, and the questions about why I’m doing that aren’t ones I’m ready to answer.
Not yet.
This afternoon, while she’s focused on reviewing invoices at her desk, I prop a note and a wrapped box against her desk. Shedoesn’t notice until I’m already gone, but I watch from the hallway as she opens the note first, knowing what it says since I wrote it on heavy card stock with my silver fountain pen.
Dinner tonight. Private dining room. 8 p.m. —Y
She looks up and searches for me, but I’ve already retreated to my office. Ten minutes later, she appears in my doorway with the box under her arm. “You don’t have to keep buying me things.”
I glance up from the contracts I’m reviewing. “Open the box.”
She hesitates but unwraps the tissue paper to reveal a dress in deep sapphire silk. The color will complement her eyes perfectly, though I don’t tell her that.
She holds up the dress and frowns. “Yarik...”
I return my attention to the paperwork. “Humor me. Eight o’clock.”
She stands there for another moment, studying my expression. Finally, she nods and disappears back to her office.
The rest of the day drags. I have calls with our shipping contacts in Montreal, a tense conversation with Valentin about increased Nikitin surveillance around our warehouse properties, and a stack of reports about shell company activity that makes my jaw clench with frustration.
Someone is still probing our defenses and testing for weaknesses. The pattern is too sophisticated to be random and too precise to be anything other than a coordinated effort. Every instinct tells me the Nikitins are behind it, but we need proof before we can act.
At seven-thirty,I dismiss the staff and make my way to the private dining room on the second floor. It’s smaller than the main formal dining area, with windows overlooking the gardens and a fireplace that I light while waiting for Sarah to arrive.
She appears exactly at eight, wearing the sapphire dress that fits her perfectly. The silk drapes elegantly over her curves, and she’s left her hair down in soft waves around her shoulders. She looks beautiful, though there’s still wariness in her eyes.
I pour wine into two glasses and note how she accepts hers but doesn’t immediately drink. “You clean up well.”
She smooths the silk fabric and glances around the intimate room. “This feels like a date.”
I quirk a brow, mildly amused at the way her statement sounds like an accusation. “Does that bother you?”
She considers the question seriously. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly defined what we’re doing here.”
I gesture to the chair across from me. “Let’s talk about it over dinner.”
The meal of roasted chicken, fresh vegetables from the estate’s garden, and bread that’s still warm from the oven is simple but excellently prepared. I wanted comfort food, not the elaborate presentations the formal kitchen usually provides. I need something that feels like home.
We eat in comfortable silence at first, and I study her in the candlelight. She seems more relaxed than she has in days,with some of the tension leaving her shoulders as the meal progresses. She hasn’t touched her wine, and I suspect she wants to keep a clear head around me. I can’t blame her but hate that she’s in a position to feel wary of my intentions.
At the midpoint of our dinner, she sets down her fork and looks at me curiously. “Tell me about your parents. I know how they died but nothing about how they lived.”
The request catches me unprepared. Most people avoid asking about my family, understanding instinctively it’s dangerous territory. Sarah just watches me with patient curiosity and waits to see if I’ll answer.
