Page 152 of Mile High Daddy

His grip tightens. “They are not hers. They are ours.”

I close my eyes, trying to push away the unease curling in my stomach.

“She won’t stop,” I whisper. “She’ll find another way to?—”

Mikhail’s fingers slip beneath my chin, tilting my face up until I meet his gaze. His expression is softer now, but unyielding.

“She can try,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, slow, deliberate. “But you are mine, and they are ours. No one—not my mother, not anyone—will ever take you away from me again.”

The way he looks at me, the way he claims me with just a touch, a word.

My breath catches as he leans in, his lips hovering just over mine.

“I love you, Lila,” he murmurs. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in this life.”

I don’t get the chance to respond before his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss is deep, urgent, filled with everything we can’t put into words. Mikhail presses me back against the crib, his hands fisting in my hair, tilting my head to take more, to claim more.

I whimper against his lips, my fingers curling into his shirt, my body melting into his. His tongue slides against mine, slow and demanding, and I can feel the barely contained hunger in his touch. He groans into my mouth, pulling me closer, pressing me flush against him. Then he pulls back, long enough to push me out of the room.

We barely make it out of the nursery before his mouth finds mine again.

I gasp when Mikhail scoops me into his arms, carrying me the short distance to our bed. My heart pounds, and a faint laugh slips from my lips as he sets me down gently, his gaze never leaving my face.

He leans in, pressing a slow, heated kiss to my mouth before trailing his lips along my jaw, down my throat. His hands skim beneath my nightgown, tugging it up with single-minded purpose. The soft fabric slides over my skin, and I shiver as the cool air brushes my skin.

“Mikhail,” I whisper, my breath catching.

He peels the gown off, casting it aside. I’m exposed in the low lamplight, my body still carrying the softness of recent birth—and yet his eyes roam over me with something like reverence.

His mouth descends on my neck, peppering kisses that make my head tip back in surrender. Slowly, he moves downward, and Ifeel his hands at my waist, guiding me to lie back against the pillows.

He settles over me, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my collarbone, then lower, trailing a path across my chest. When he reaches my breasts, he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. There’s a question in his eyes, one I answer by threading my fingers through his hair, urging him closer.

He tilts his head, captures a nipple with his mouth, and a ripple of pleasure zips through me. I let out a soft cry, my toes curling against the sheets. A pulse of warmth spreads across my skin, and I realize—with a lurch of both surprise and arousal—that my body is producing milk.

A quiet moan slips from me, half-embarrassed, half-overcome. I start to pull away, but Mikhail’s arm snakes around my waist, holding me in place. His lips move gently, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he drinks.

My cheeks burn with mortification and something deeper, something that winds tight in my belly, but I can’t deny the rush of heat that overtakes me. Warmth pulls in my belly and my thighs spread apart, coaxing him in between. Fuck I need him.

“Mikhail,” I murmur again, my voice husky. My free hand clutches his shoulder, nails digging in lightly.

He makes a soft sound in response, slipping his mouth from one breast to the other. The sensation almost steals my breath, a heady mixture of warmth and a dizzying ache. I arch into him, tangling my fingers in his hair.

Eventually, he lifts his head, and I see the same fierce adoration in his eyes that I feel burning in my chest. His palm cradles my cheek, and I lean into it, heart pounding.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice rough with need.

My hand slides down his back, pulling him closer, silently begging for more.

He lowers himself over me, lips hovering above mine. “I love you,” he says.

My heart thunders in my chest as he settles more of his weight onto me, the heat of his body pressing me down into the mattress.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes darkened with desire. Without a word, he slips his hand beneath the sheets, gently tugging them away until we’re both fully exposed. I inhale sharply as his gaze travels over my body, lingering on my breasts—still swollen from nursing—and I feel a blush creeping across my cheeks again. I won’t get used to this feeling any time soon.

I slide my palms up the firm planes of his chest, my fingertips tracing the faint lines of old scars. My eyes flick down to his cock—hard and insistent against my thigh. He continues to knead my breasts, burying his face in the valley, licking and sucking around the areolas till he has cleaned me up.

I can’t stop squirming beneath him, the ache building between my legs—an insistent throbbing that demands attention. His cock grazes my hip, and the firm press of it sends sparks racing along my spine. I let out a soft whimper, shifting my hips, silently pleading for more.

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