Page 97 of Bought to Bear Bratva Heir

My body clamped around him, a scream tearing its way out of my throat as I toppled over the edge and into paradise.

Ilya fell with me, groaning my name into the crook of my neck as he throbbed and spilled his seed inside of me.

Panting, he fell on top of me, his hands brushing back the hair from my sweaty face.

"I want this every day for the rest of our lives," he whispered, finally slipping from me and shifting us out of the wet patch I was lying in. "I want you this wet every single minute. I love you, Daisy Popovitch."

Grumbling, I came awake, shifting away from the puddle of wet sheets under my ass. Had I fallen asleep and rolled back into it? Or was—

The pain was red hot, a sharp but at the same time dull agony that ripped me away from my dreams of our wedding day and night and back into reality.

This wasn’t our wedding night. We were in our penthouse, in the bed we had shared every night since we had gotten married, and—

The wave of pain came again. Screwing up my face, I clutched at my stomach.

And I was in labor.

That’s why the sheets were wet; my waters had broken. The pains I was feeling were contractions.

I waited until the pain had passed before I reached for Ilya, sliding my fingers across the naked muscles of his shoulders.

He jolted awake in a second. Eyes wide and alert.

"What?" He searched my face, taking in my pained expression. "What’s wrong? Daisy, what’s wrong?" Heaving himself up onto his elbow, he reached for me. "Tell me what’s wrong."

Panic made his voice frantic.

"It’s time," I whispered.

"Time?" For a second, he looked confused.

"Yes, Ilya. Our baby is coming."

Epilogue 2

Ilya

I hated this. I hated this with every fiber of my being because I hated seeing her in so much pain. Her face was red and sweaty, her hair matted around her.

And the noises she made, like the pain was ripping her apart, were enough to send bile up my throat.

It looked and sounded like this was killing her, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help her. There wasn’t even time for drugs that would have dulled the pain. Her labor was progressing much too quickly.

"Ilya," she panted, her sweat-slick hand gripped tightly around mine. "Ilya, I’m scared."

I was as well. In fact, I was terrified. All I kept thinking about was what happened last time—how they had wheeled her away from me, and I hadn’t seen her again in six years.

She’d come back from the dead once before; if they tore her away from me again, I knew it would be for good.

Swallowing down the nausea, I smoothed my hand across her sweaty forehead.

"It’s okay, baby," I murmured to her.

"I can’t do this." Wildly, her eyes swung everywhere, and I wasn’t even sure she was seeing or hearing me anymore. She was too deep into the pain.

My hand tightened around hers. "Yes, you can."

From the foot of the bed, the midwife straightened. "It’s time. This baby wants out to meet their mom and papa."