56. Natalia

56

NATALIA

It was clear from the moment Andrey burst into the pool house and declared that we were all going out to dinner that he was happy about something. I can only imagine that his meeting went well.

Not that we've been alone long enough to talk about it. Since the moment we sat down to eat, he has been carrying the conversation, laughing the loudest, talking the most, making sure everyone is involved.

Still, his hand finds mine under the table. He drapes an arm over the back of my chair. When the drinks come out, he checks to make sure mine is virgin before he hands it back to me with a wink.

I've never seen him like this before—with me or anyone else.

Andrey speaks of the Bratva as a family, but I always assumed it was in the corporate sense. We're a big family here. We have a unique culture. We care about your wellbeing—unless it affects our bottom line.

But Andrey is friends with the men in his employ.

He makes his way around the room, laughing, joking, and swapping stories. He spends a full ten minutes ragging on Anatoly for the silk floral shirt he's wearing. When Leonty jumps on board, Anatoly threatens to strangle him with his own napkin, and the three men dissolve into laughter.

"Yelena, the dumplings are for you," Andrey announces, waving the plate under her nose. "I know you love them."

"I can't have another," the old woman groans. "I have to watch my weight."

"Watch it another night. It isn't going anywhere." Andrey grins wickedly.

"Andrey!" I gasp, smacking him on the elbow with the back of my hand.

"Cheeky little bastard," Yelena hisses before grabbing the dumplings he's offering her.

Even Misha seems to be in high spirits. He's sitting on my right, one hand protectively cupped over Remi's head as the poor dog whines every so often. He's not a fan of all the noise, but perched between Misha's legs, he's tolerating it pretty well.

The only one who seems to be having less fun than Remi is Shura. But I'm assuming that has less to do with the noise and more with the fact that Katya isn't here. She sent me a text earlier saying she wouldn't be able to make it.

When the men burst into laughter again, Misha flinches. His face is as taut and anxious as ever, but that is his default position. The kid's been conditioned to be wary for too long for that to go away overnight.

I nudge Misha gently. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you eat enough?"

His smile breaks through for a moment. "I've never eaten so much in my entire life. Remi loved it, too."

Misha and I have been passing Remi little tidbits under the table throughout the dinner. It's probably the only reason Remi endured all this noise.

"How are your lessons going?"

"Okay, I guess."

The slump of his shoulders says otherwise.

"Is Mr. Akayev not treating you right?" I've met his personal tutor a few times now, a taciturn Russian in his late sixties. I wish Andrey would've chosen someone softer, warmer, but I can't deny that the man knows his stuff.

Misha looks alarmed that I would even suggest such a thing. "He's fine. Maybe a little impatient, but he's okay. It's the work."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "How about you come over to the pool house tomorrow and we recap what you've learned so far? Maybe I can help."

"Yeah?"

"I always learned best when I liked my teachers. And my two favorite teachers in the whole world were my mom and dad."

Misha frowns, and I immediately regret bringing it up.

Why did I go and mention my wonderful parents to a boy who's never had any inkling of what it's like to have even one functional parent, let alone two? It's like wagging a juicy steak in front of a starving man. Look what you can never have. I feel like a bitch.

I pat him on the arm as Remi whines for attention. Misha dips his head down to let Remi nuzzle his face, and I turn to Andrey, whose eyes are finally fixed on me.

His hand slides up my thigh under the table. He doesn't seem to mind that we're surrounded by people—and when his hand is warm against my skin, I don't mind, either.

"You already have a full-time job, lastochka ," he points out softly. "Why take on the role of teacher, too?"

"Because he needs me."

Andrey doesn't say anything, but he steals glances at me for the remainder of the night.

When we get back to the manor and Remi ambles off to bed with Misha, Andrey takes my hand. Going to the pool house has become something of a routine for us now. But tonight feels different.

My heart is fluttering in my chest as we step through the door. Wordlessly, we move to the bedroom, walking into something that feels as inevitable as breathing.

Andrey only lets go of me to undress, his eyes still tracing over me like he's making sure I don't disappear.

But there's no chance of that.

His tie puddles on the armchair, followed by his suit jacket. Cufflinks, his watch, his shirt—he places each item carefully in the chair, and I watch as moonlight ripples down the broad expanse of his back, a familiar tingle low in my belly.

It isn't until he's standing in his black boxer briefs that he turns and looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong, little bird?"

What's wrong is that Mila and Katya were right: I've been in denial. I thought I could have Andrey without needing him. I thought I could be close to him without it changing me.

But I'm more tangled up in the father of my baby than I might ever be able to undo.

For tonight at least, I want him to feel the same way.

"Do you trust me?" The words barrel out of my mouth before I can second-guess them.

"Yes," he answers.

"Then lie down."

I'm stiff with nerves as I move to my closet and pull out two Hermes scarves that he gifted me. They felt too luxurious to wear, but I've found the perfect use for them now.

Andrey is watching me with a singular focus from the bed. When I climb over him and press one of his wrists to the bedpost, he doesn't fight. Not as I wrap the scarf around his hand. Not even as I pull the knot tight.

When I move to the other side, he offers me his hand willingly.

Once he's bound to the headboard, I shimmy his boxers off and have all the proof I need that he's interested. He springs free, hard and ready, and I have to resist the urge to taste him.

I have other plans tonight.

I move to the end of the bed and slip out of my clothes, hoping that my courage doesn't fail me halfway through. Once I'm naked, I straddle him, running my hands up and down his sculpted chest. It feels nice to have time to enjoy him—no rush.

"You have never looked as beautiful as you do right now." His voice is a rasp, but his words are soft and sincere.

"You really think so?" I ask, sliding my hands over my stomach. "Even with the bump?"

"Especially with the bump." He exhales slowly. "I want to be the one touching you like that. Do you know how fucking sexy you look with my baby in your belly? If I'd known what we were starting in that elevator… If I'd—" He swallows as his cock twitches. "I wouldn't have waited for all the stuff that had to happen in between. I would've gotten you pregnant then and there."

"That's how you feel now, but then?" I wrinkle my nose. "We were strangers. You wouldn't have wanted it."

The dark expanse of his eyes tells me how much he wants it now. "Maybe if you'd asked nicely."

A naughty little lightbulb pings on over my head. Do I dare?

I decide that I do.

"Pretend that I don't then."

"Pretend what?"

"Pretend I'm not pregnant. Pretend you don't know me. Pretend… just for tonight… that this is the beginning of our story."

"Natalia, I?—"

"Hush." I press a finger over his lips and then drop my voice into a sultry purr as I grind down his body. "Andrey, I want a baby. I want you to give me one."

His forehead creases with confusion as his eyes drop to my belly. I continue to grind myself against his erection, chasing the delightful pressure that's building between my legs.

"Please," I croon, working him against my entrance. "I want you to fuck a baby into me."

Understanding flickers across his face, and he growls with want even as he shakes his head. "No. No, it's not the right time."

I pout, working the length of him between my legs, back and forth, again and again.

His cock is twitching, impatient to get this show on the road. As for me, I'm savoring this feeling: the heady mix of power combined with desire.

"I'll give you a baby one day," he continues without taking his eyes from my face. "But not now. Not yet."

"Well then." I slap my palms against his chest. "If you won't give me what I want, I'll just have to take it."

" Lastochka …" he growls.

I lift my hips higher and align his cock with my slit. I'm so wet that his cock slips inside me with zero pressure.

"I didn't want to have to do it this way," I trill in fake apology. "But you're leaving me no choice."

With that, I sit down on his cock.

"Fuck," I moan as he disappears into me. I'm already so close to coming and we've barely even begun.

He looks like he's not far from the edge himself. His hazy, desire-dappled eyes are focused on me. His hands strain against the scarves, but I did a good job with the knots. He's gonna have a hard time freeing himself without my help.

"You're not getting away that easily," I grit out, riding my hips back and forth. "I'm not stopping until you give me a baby. You're gonna stay right here, tied up and at my mercy, until you've got a baby in me."

"You really want my baby in you?" His jaw is clenched, his hands balling into fists as I steal my pleasure from him.

I arch my back as the intensity builds. "More than anything. I want you to fill me up. I want to be yours—inside and out."

Broken curses spill from his lips. "I want to touch you."

Every time he strains against the ties, I buck my hips harder, I bounce faster. I'm not capable of forming words anymore. I'm not capable of doing anything other than riding him, taking us both to the conclusion we need.

"Oh, God," I whimper. "I'm so close, Andrey. I want you to finish inside of me. Fill me up. Please ."

With a roar, he comes deep inside of me, taking me over the edge with him.

Ripples of heat and pleasure ravage my body until I can't sit up. I fall against his chest, his thundering heartbeat in my ear.

"Jesus Christ, woman," Andrey says breathlessly after long, silent minutes have passed. "Where the hell have you been all my life?"