Filthy Promises: Chapter 65

I am a whale. I am a penguin. I am a wobbling, teetering, waddling pear with the bladder of a nervous chihuahua.

Because of all the aforementioned things, my entire purpose in life has boiled down to one thing and one thing: getting comfortable.

Seems easy? Ha! Joke’s on you. Actually, it’s on me. Try getting comfortable when you weigh three trillion pounds and you’re bearing a fetus that has a bright future in drumming and karate.

“Do you need more pillows?” Vince asks from the doorway, watching me with that trademark mix of concern and amusement that’s become his default expression in the final weeks of my pregnancy.

“If I add any more pillows to this bed, there won’t be room for you.”

“I’d sleep on the floor if it meant you got proper rest.”

“Vincent Akopov, sleeping on the floor? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” I laugh, and if it’s got a slightly hysterical edge to it, well, sue me.

He crosses to the bed and perches on the edge, careful not to disturb my elaborate pillow fortress. His hand finds my belly. We breathe in sync for a few quiet moments. I let my eyes close and my world coalesce into the weight of his palm on my skin.

These interactions, these tiny little blips of peace stolen from the world, have become precious to me. Life outside these walls remains chaotic—Bratva politics, legitimization plans, the constant vigilance required to protect what we’ve built—but here, in our bedroom, there’s just us.

Just Vince and me and the tiny person we’ve created together.

Eventually, I sigh and squint up at him. “How was the meeting with the shipping consortium?”

“Productive.” He draws lazy circles on my stomach with a fingertip. “The Costa Rica development is ahead of schedule. Peterson is actually proving quite competent.”

I snort. “Who knew that all Kevin needed was the threat of murder to unlock his full potential?”

Vince’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sometimes, people rise to meet expectations when properly motivated.”

“Think I could ‘properly motivate’ you into giving me a foot massage?”

With a laugh, he slides down to lean against the bedpost. He scoops both of my feet into his lap and starts to rub.

The moan that escapes me when his thumbs dig into my arches is salacious and unstoppable. “Oh— Oh. Good God, that’s better than sex.”

He stops and scowls at me. “What did you just say?”

I roll my eyes at Vince’s scandalized expression. “You heard me correctly, sir. At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, getting a foot massage is basically better than an orgasm.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or challenged.”

“Be busy with my feet,” I suggest with a saucy wink.

His scowl remains firmly in place. “You’re lucky you have the ultimate trump card right now. Otherwise, I’d be forced into action.”

“Yes, yes. Less talking, more massaging.”

I giggle as I sink back into the pillows and let myself enjoy the sensation of his strong fingers working magic on my aching feet.

“What are you thinking about?” Vince asks as he does a rotate-and-squeeze thing that makes me want to purr.

“Well, now that we brought it up, I’m thinking about sex.”

He shakes his head. “Depraved girl. What have I turned you into?”

“A monster,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow. My voice gets husky as I reach up to tug on his sleeve. “Come here.”

Vince raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the foot massage being better than sex?”

“I think we should test that theory.” I extend my hand to him. “For science.”

He hesitates, eyes dropping to my enormous belly. “Rowan…”

“Vincent Akopov, are you turning me down?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I sit up straighter, reaching for him. “Dr. Levine cleared me at my last appointment. She said it’s perfectly safe.”

Still, he doesn’t move. “The baby⁠—”

“—will be fine.” I take his hand and guide it to my face. “I want this, Vince. I want you.”

His expression softens. “I want you, too. Always. But⁠—”

“Nuh-uh. No buts.” I press a kiss to his palm. “I’m initiating this. Me. Your very pregnant wife who is tired of being treated like she might break if you so much as look at me the wrong way.”

His breath quickens, but still, he holds back. “Tell me what you need.”

What I need is simple. But I’m feeling devious, and when I glance to the bedside table, I see something that sparks inspiration.

In our relationship, Vince has always taken the lead in the bedroom. I’ve got a new idea.

“I want to blindfold you,” I whisper.

His eyes widen. “Blindfold me?”

“Yes.” I trail my fingers up his arm. “I want you to surrender control to me. You don’t have to,” I add quickly when he doesn’t respond. “It was just an idea.”

His eyes search mine for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I repeat. I’m kinda stunned that he agreed so readily.

“I trust you.” Three simple words that mean everything coming from him.

My heart swells as I reach for the silk scarf draped over my bedside lamp—a decorative accessory that’s about to serve a very different purpose.

“Lie back,” I instruct, and he complies, stretching out beside me on the bed.

I wiggle around awkwardly, being the blimp that I am, until I’m positioned above him. “Close your eyes,” I murmur.

He does, and I gently wrap the scarf around his head, covering his eyes completely. I secure it with a loose knot, then pause to admire my work.

Vincent Akopov—feared businessman, Bratva heir, my husband—lying vulnerable beneath me. The sight is addictive.

“Can you see anything?” I ask.

“No.”

“Good.” I lean down to brush my lips against his. “Remember, you can tell me to stop anytime.”

“I think that’s usually my line.”

“Not tonight.” I kiss him again, deeper this time. “Tonight, I’m in charge.”

I take my time undressing him, savoring each newly revealed inch of skin. His breathing grows ragged as I run my hands over his chest, his arms, the taut muscles of his abdomen.

When I reach for his belt, his hips lift in silent encouragement. I smile, though he can’t see it.

“Patience,” I tease, deliberately slowing my movements.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Rowan…”

“Yes?” I ask innocently, fingers hovering just above the bulge straining against his pants.

“You’re fucking torturing me.”

“That’s the idea.” I finally unbuckle his belt and ease down his zipper. “Trust the process.”

He laughs, but the sound transforms into a hiss when I wrap my hand around him. “God⁠—”

“Nope. Just me,” I correct. I start to stroke him slowly. “Though I appreciate the promotion.”

His hands fist in the sheets when I switch to using two hands on him. It’s absolutely drool-inducing to watch him like this—every reaction pure and unfiltered without the ability to see what’s coming next.

I lean down to take him in my mouth, and his whole body jerks in surprise at the first brush of my lips.

“Fuck!” One of his huge hands knots in my hair. “Rowan⁠—”

I hum around him and giggle when his hips buck. I could do this forever. Watching this invisible titan fall to pieces, utterly at my mercy, knowing that only I get this… that’s the purest drug there is.

But as much as I love teasing him, my own need is growing impossible to ignore.

“I need you inside me,” I whisper, shifting to straddle him.

His hands find my hips. “Are you sure⁠—”

“I’m very fucking sure.” I guide him between my legs and pause for one inhale to brace myself. Then I sink down slowly, one tantalizing inch at a time, until he fills me completely. “Oh, God⁠—”

The sensation is overwhelming. I pause, adjusting to the fullness, watching Vince’s face contort with pleasure and restraint.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs. “So tight, so wet…”

I begin to move. Hands planted on his chest, nails digging into his skin. He smells like man, musky and clean, and the rasp of his body hair underneath my fingertips is turning me feral.

“I wish you could see yourself,” I tell him, rolling my hips. “You’re beautiful like this.”

“Tell me. Tell me what you see.”

“I see a man who’s given me everything,” I say, my voice breaking with emotion. “A man who’s changed his whole world for me. A man I love more than I ever thought possible.”

“Fuck, Rowan…”

“I love you, Vincent Akopov.” The words flow freely now as threads of pleasure start to wind together deep inside of me. “I love every part of you—the darkness and the light. The man you were and the man you’re becoming.”

He reaches up and tugs at the blindfold until it falls away. His eyes, when they meet mine, are blazing with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Fuck that blindfold. I need to see you,” he declares hoarsely. “Need to watch you come apart for me.”

His hand slides between us and finds the spot where I need him most. I cry out.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let go, Rowan. Let me see you.”

I call his name as I climax hard enough to see stars.

Before I can recover, Vince sits up, wrapping his arms around me and changing the angle of our connection. He captures my mouth in a desperate kiss as he thrusts up into me.

“I love you,” he gasps against my lips. “More than anything. More than life.”

His movements grow erratic, and I know he’s close. I tighten around him deliberately, wanting to feel him lose control.

“Your turn. Come for me,” I whisper. “Let me feel you fill me.”

With a strangled groan, he presses his face to my chest as he comes. We cling to each other, trembling and breathless, as the aftershocks wash through us.

When we finally separate, he helps me lie back against the pillows, then stretches out languidly beside me. His hand finds my belly, where our child has miraculously slept through the entire encounter.

“That was…” he starts, then looks up at me and grins. “… better than a foot massage.”

I pretend to frown. “Hm. It was definitely close. Let’s do them both again and see for sure.”

He drags me down to the mattress with a laugh. We don’t come up again for hours.