Page 72 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I lean back in my chair, my gaze never leaving hers. “How are you feeling?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

“Tired,” she admits, her hand brushing over her stomach. “Okay. The meds are helping, I think.”

“Good,” I say, my tone firm but not harsh. “If you need anything, tell me. I’ll make sure you have it.”

She tilts her head, studying me with an expression I can’t quite place. “You’re different lately,” she says softly.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Her lips curve into a faint smile, and she rests her hand over her belly again. “I think I like it.”

Her words—simple and soft—strike me harder than I expect. I’m not a man used to compliments, let alone one given so freely, with no expectation attached.

“You think you like it,” I repeat, my voice low, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“I do,” she says, tilting her head slightly as her gaze locks on mine. “Don’t ruin it by being smug.”

The teasing lilt in her voice draws me in, as does the faint blush creeping across her cheeks. My smirk fades into something softer, and before I can second-guess myself, I lean forward, my hand brushing against hers where it rests on the couch.

Her breath hitches, and she looks at me with those wide, dark eyes, a mix of curiosity and something deeper swirling in their depths.

“Hannah,” I murmur, my voice rough as I reach out, cupping her face in my hand. My thumb grazes her cheek, and the softness of her skin makes my chest tighten.

She doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before meeting mine again.

When I kiss her, it’s slow, unhurried. A soft press of lips that’s more tender than demanding, as though I’m trying to convey everything I can’t say out loud. Her lips part slightly, and I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to the back of her neck to hold her closer.

She responds with the same gentleness, her fingers brushing against my chest before curling into the fabric of my shirt. The sweet, tentative nature of the kiss stirs something raw and primal inside me, but I force myself to keep my movements controlled.

My free hand moves to her waist, resting lightly against her side. The curve of her body beneath my touch is intoxicating, and I can feel the faint swell of her belly pressing against me.

Desire flares hot and insistent, but I rein it in, pulling back slightly to rest my forehead against hers.

Her lips are kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed, and the way she looks at me—soft and open—nearly undoes me.

“You’re going to make this difficult,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.

Her lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe that’s the point,” she whispers.

I chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pulling back entirely. “You’re tired,” I say, my tone gentle but firm. “Fragile.”

“I’m fine,” she protests, but her words lack conviction.

“You will be,” I say, brushing my thumb over her knuckles as I take her hand. “Not tonight.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound between us. I glance ather occasionally, watching the way her fingers idly trace over her belly, her gaze distant as if she’s lost in thought.

“What about names?” I ask suddenly, breaking the quiet.

She blinks, turning to look at me. “Names?”

“For the baby,” I clarify, shifting slightly to face her. “Have you thought about it?”

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not yet. There’s been so much else going on, I haven’t had the chance.”

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl,” I say, my tone casual. “Do you want to find out?”

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