Page 90 of Mile High Daddy

I should fight him. I should scream, claw at him, do something?—

But I don’t. I kiss him back.

Hard. Desperate. Like I need this as much as he does.

I can feel the heat of his body, the tension, the barely contained fury simmering beneath his skin. I moan into his mouth and he growls, deep and primal, like I’ve just given him permission to take whatever he wants.

“Say it,” he murmurs against my lips.

My head is spinning. “Say what?”

His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back as his lips graze my throat. “Say you belong to me.”

My entire body shudders.His hands are steady, and sure—like a man who’s spent a lifetime learning exactly how to touch a woman. There’s no fumbling, no hesitation.Just a slow, deliberate unraveling, like he’s stripping me down layer by layer, claiming every inch.

I should say no.

I should lie.

But I can’t.

He bites down lightly on my throat, enough to make me shudder.

“Here you are,” he mutters, voice rough. “Coming apart for me.”

My nails dig into his shoulders, my body aching for more.

This is a mistake.

A dangerous, irreversible mistake.

But God help me?—

I don’t want him to stop.

His mouth moves over mine, deep and consuming, pulling me under like a riptide. I moan into his mouth, and he answers with a low growl, the sound vibrating through me, making my knees weak. His hands slide beneath my sweater, his palms rough and warm as they skim my waist, tracing the curves of my body with deliberate slowness.

Then he stills.

His fingers press lightly just below my ribs, then slide lower.

I barely register what’s happening before he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his hands frozen against my stomach. His brows draw together, confusion flickering across his face.

His eyes lift to mine, dark and unreadable.

“Lila,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost…disbelieving.

I swallow hard, my entire body locking up.

Mikhail’s gaze drops again, his hand spreading over the swell of my stomach. He presses his palm there, as if needing confirmation that what he’s feeling is real.

A long, heavy silence stretches between us.

Then he exhales, slow and controlled. “You’re pregnant.”

It’s not a question.

Mikhail lifts his gaze back to mine, and I brace myself for anger, for accusations, for anything?—

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