Page 133 of Secret Heir

“Too much?” he asks immediately, pulling back.

I shake my head, offering myself to him. “No. More. Please, more.”

He smiles at me before he lavishes attention on my breasts, his tongue and teeth and lips driving me crazy. One hand slides down my body, finding the heat between my legs, and when his fingers find me wet and ready, he groans against my skin.

“So ready for me,” he murmurs. “Always so ready.”

“Always,” I agree breathlessly. God, how could I ever have run from this man? How did we waste eight years being apart? “Always for you. Only you.”

He positions himself carefully and enters me slowly. The stretch and fullness make me moan, and he pauses immediately.

“Okay?”

I tilt my hips up, desperate for friction. “Yes. God, yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Maksim’s grin is positively wolfish before he sets a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust measured and deliberate. His eyes stay locked on mine, and I can see everything he’s feeling—love, possession, relief that we’re both alive, fear that we almost lost everything.

“I love you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you so fucking much, Aria. You and Daniel and this baby. You’re my entire world. Without you, I’m nothing.”

“I love you too.” Tears are streaming down my face now, but they’re not sad tears. They’re overwhelmed, emotional, alive tears. “I love you. I love our family. I love—holy shit⁠—”

He shifts the angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me, and suddenly I’m right on the edge.

“Come for me,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own need. “Let me feel you. Let me know you’re mine.”

I come apart with a cry, my body clenching around him, pleasure washing through me in waves that seem to go on forever. He follows moments later, spilling inside me with my name on his lips, his face pressed to my neck.

We lie tangled together afterward, both of us breathing hard, his hand resting on my stomach where our baby continues to move, reminding us that life goes on and hope still exists.

“I’m going to marry you properly,” he says suddenly and my heart flip flops. “Give our children my name. Daniel Sokolov. And this baby”—his hand moves in a gentle circle on my stomach—“will be a Sokolov from birth. We’re going to do this right.”

“I want that.” I turn my head to look at him and see the certainty in his eyes. “I want to be your wife and our children to have your name. I want a life together where we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“We will.” He peppers my face with kisses. “As soon as Alexander is dead and our family is safe, I’m going to marry you, Ariana Delano, and make you Ariana Sokolova. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“I love you,” I whisper, my hand finding his on my belly. “And I want Alexander dead.”

“He will be,” Maksim says, his voice full of promise. “I swear to you—Alexander Morozov will pay for every moment of pain he’s caused this family. And when he does, you’ll be there to watch. You’ll see justice served."

I believe him. And I can’t wait.

Because Alexander Morozov tried to kill my son.

For that, he’s going to die.

19

MAKSIM

Three weeks after the poisoning, we’ve dismantled half of Alexander’s network. It’s slow, methodical work. Each person we interrogate gives us pieces of the puzzle—names, locations, account numbers, and contacts. We follow every lead, squeeze every source, and trace every connection.

What we’re discovering is worse than we imagined.

“Fifteen years,” my brother growls. He stands at the head of the conference table in his secure operations room. It’s a windowless space in the compound’s basement with reinforced walls and signal jammers. The table is covered with files, photographs, and financial records. A map of the eastern seaboard is pinned to one wall, covered in red pins marking Alexander’s operations. “He’s been planning this coup for fifteen fucking years.” My brother’s face is so red I’m starting to wonder if he’ll have a stroke.

I study the map, my ribs aching with every breath, but the pain medication Dr. Petrov prescribed sits untouched in my pocket. I need to be sharp and see this clearly.

“The Corsican connection is extensive,” Dmitri reports. He’s been handling the financial investigation and tracing the money flows. “We’ve identified ties to at least five separate Corsican families. Union Corse, obviously, but also the Guerini clan, the Francisci network, and smaller operations in Marseille and Nice.”