Mile High Daddy: EPILOGUE

I carefully lower my son into the crib next to his brother, my hands lingering on his tiny body for just a second longer. Their breaths are soft, their faces peaceful. Completely unaware of the world they’ve been born into.

My chest tightens. I won’t let that world touch them.

A warm hand brushes my hip, and then Mikhail is behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me back against him.

“They love sleeping next to each other,” I murmur, watching the way the twins instinctively turn toward one another.

Mikhail peers over their cribs, a man who’s spent a lifetime carving out an empire but now stands here, utterly conquered by two tiny souls. The soft glow of the nightlight catches in his silver-streaked hair, and for the first time, I see something new in him. Peace.

“They’ve never known anything else,” Mikhail says against my hair. “I’m glad they have each other. It’s not easy being alone in a world like this.”

I have a feeling he’s talking about himself.

I lean into him, closing my eyes for a second, letting his warmth sink into me.

We came back to New York a few weeks after the twins were born because it was the only way to keep me safe. But Mikhail moved us out of that house. Away from his mother. Away from everything that poisoned him.

We live here now. In a place that is ours.

I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and something flickers across his face—something warm and dangerously soft.

I swallow hard, because I still remember the last time we stood in his family home.

The air in the house was thick, suffocating.

Mikhail’s mother stood in the grand entryway, her gaze sweeping over me like I was something unworthy of her time.

“You brought her back,” she said, voice cool and even.

Mikhail’s grip on my back was steady, unshakable. “She’s my wife.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the warning beneath it. “And the mother of my children.”

His mother studied him, then me, like she was deciding whether to waste her energy on the conversation. Finally, she let out a small, clipped sigh. “She made a fool of you.”

Mikhail’s entire body went rigid.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already speaking.

“If anyone made a fool of me,” he said, his voice low, measured, dangerous, “it was you, Mother.”

The words landed between them like a knife.

For the first time, her carefully crafted expression slipped, just slightly. It wasn’t shock—Mikhail was still her son, after all—but it was the first time he had defied her outright.

She exhaled, tilting her head just slightly. “You really believe she deserves to stand at your side after what she did?”

Mikhail didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t care what you think she deserves,” he said, his tone like iron. “Because she’s mine. And no one—not you, not anyone—will come between us again.”

Something darkened in her expression. “You can’t keep me away from my grandbabies. I gave you everything you needed. You can’t keep me away from my heirs.”

“They’re our children first,” Mikhail says.

I caught the look on her face. She knew then.

She had lost.

A week later, we left that house for good.

Now I rest my head against Mikhail’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. The nursery is dim, the soft glow from the night-light casting golden shadows across the room. The twins are fast asleep, tiny fists curled close to their faces, completely unaware of the empire they were born into.

His mother’s words won’t leave me.

“You can’t keep me away from my heirs.”

I inhale slowly, pressing my fingers to Mikhail’s chest. “Do you think she’ll try to take them?”

Mikhail stills behind me. I feel the tension coil in his body, the way his fingers twitch where they rest on my waist.

Then, he exhales, his hold gentling, pulling me closer. “No one is taking them from you, Lila.”

I bite my lip. “She sees them as part of her legacy, Mikhail. She called them her heirs.”

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 I feel 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.

Mikhail lifts his head, trailing his mouth downward, leaving open-mouthed kisses on my stomach before pausing just above the juncture of my thighs. He glances up, catching my eye with a look so filled with possession and devotion that my pulse hammers even harder.

Slowly, he spreads my legs, the cool air hitting my skin for an instant before he leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. The anticipation coils tighter. My fingers clutch at the sheets, and I bite my lip when I feel his breath near my clit.

He touches me with the tip of his tongue—light, testing—sending a sharp pulse of pleasure that makes my toes curl. A soft cry escapes me as he grips my hips gently, holding me in place.

I can’t hold back the gasp that tears from my throat as he circles my clit, the sensation so overwhelming that my thighs tremble. He takes his time, lapping at me with deep, patient strokes, learning every response, drawing out each whimper and moan until I’m almost frantic.

My hands fly to his head, tangling in his hair, trying to ground myself against the onrush of pleasure. His growl of satisfaction vibrates against my skin, sending another wave of heat through me. He licks and suckles at my clit in a measured rhythm that makes my eyes roll back, and I feel the pressure building, building⁠—

“Mikhail,” I whisper, my voice ragged. I’m close to unraveling, each flick of his tongue winding me tighter.

He grips my hips, pressing me deeper into the mattress. My back arches, and I let out a broken moan as everything inside me tightens, then snaps. The orgasm hits me hard, pleasure coursing from my core to the tips of my fingers and toes. For a moment, I’m lost in sensation, my breath catching in my lungs. Mikhail eases me through it, his tongue continuing to lap at me.

I’m still riding the aftershocks as he slides back up, his cock nudging my thigh. I reach for him, pulling him closer, my body still pulsing, wanting more of him, always more.

He leans in, kissing me deeply, and I taste the faint salt of my own arousal on his lips. It’s dizzying, and all I can think is how right this feels.

With a low sound in his throat, Mikhail shifts his weight, sliding his hand down between our bodies. My pulse kicks as his palm grazes over my still-sensitive clit, and I let out a soft, helpless sound. I’m already over sensitized, and yet the hunger he’s stoked in me begs for more. My body arches up, seeking him.

Then he nudges my knees apart, and I feel the firm, demanding pressure of his cock against me. I drag in a shaky breath. My hands clutch at his shoulders as he sinks forward, inch by inch until he’s seated inside me. A low moan spills from my lips, and Mikhail’s eyes close briefly, like he’s savoring every second.

His pace starts slow, each thrust deliberate, as though he’s re-learning every contour of my body. Pleasure swirls through me, coiling tighter with each gentle push. My breasts press against his chest, still heavy and tender from nursing, and the sensation—his skin gliding over my oversensitive nipples—fuels the sweet, insistent ache building inside me.

“Mikhail…” I whisper, voice catching on another moan. I curl my legs around his hips, urging him deeper.

He responds with a groan of his own, picking up the pace just enough to make my head spin. The pressure at my core ramps up fast, toes curling against the sheets, my fingers digging into his back. His mouth finds mine again, and we share a desperate kiss as the sweet pressure inside me winds to a breaking point.

My mind fogs with that familiar, heady rush, and just when the pleasure becomes too bright to contain, I feel him thrust deeper, harder, pushing us both over the edge.

I cry out, a shudder ripping through me as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me. Mikhail follows, his thrusts growing more and more uneven until he comes with a shout, spilling himself inside me.

Slowly, he eases off, rolling to the side but keeping an arm around my waist, anchoring me to him. My pulse is still erratic, my lungs working to catch air, and I can’t help but smile against his shoulder.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, and I watch him roll onto his side, a hint of a tired grin teasing his mouth. Soft lamplight spills across his sharp features and the faintest shadow of stubble on his jaw. My heart squeezes at the sight—a feeling that’s become achingly familiar.

I reach out, letting my fingertips graze his cheek. He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. Gently, he pulls me closer, until I’m curled against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air feels warm with unspoken promises, and I can’t look away from the softness in his eyes. This man—who once terrified me, who stole me from everything I knew—has become the anchor I cling to. The force that calms my fears and holds my world together.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Mikhail’s gaze darkens with emotion. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love you, kiska. More than I ever thought I could love anything.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb. I remember the burning hatred I felt when I learned what he’d done—how he maneuvered my life, bound me to him. I remember the turmoil, the desperation to escape.

Yet here I am, tucked against him in a quiet room, content in the aftermath of a thousand storms. He’s my protector, my lover, my partner. The very thing I once despised has become my solace.

I rest my forehead against his. “You’re everything to me.”

His answering smile is all I need. And in the hush of the night, I finally believe that we have the promise of a tomorrow—together.

The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!