Chapter 15: Afanasy

With a gentle push, the door opened, and I stepped inside, my head throbbing from the day's work. This ache had plagued me for the past two hours, and while at work, I’d only had one thing on my mind: that my wife would help ease this stress.

Digging my fingers into my temple in a massaging motion, I strolled into the living room. As I advanced forward, I was enveloped by the soft glow of the chandelier and the sweet aroma of Olga's cooking that wafted through the air.

The tantalizing scent of beef stroganoff and fresh vegetables teased my taste buds, causing my mouth to water. I heard my stomach growl in anticipation, pangs of hunger gnawing at my intestines.

“Welcome back, sir.” Martha's voice caught my attention.

I raised my head in her direction as she stood poised by the enormous screen, a cutting-edge smart TV with crisp images and a slim design.

My response was a gentle nod, fingers rubbing my eyes as I went up the stairs, my weariness slowly dissipating at the thought of my wife's touch. She'd been running through my mind all day, clouding my ability to think—stealing my focus.

She'd somehow managed to arrest my heart; now, I couldn't think of anyone else but her. The notion was as intriguing as it was terrifying. It was as though I was shedding the skin of my former self.

I couldn't understand what hold she had over me, nor did I seem to have an idea how to break it—which, ironically, wouldn't even if I could.

It had been barely over two weeks since we tied the knot and started having sex. But I'd be lying if I said these weren't the best days of my life. Wren was simply different from the other girls I'd been with—I'd known this from the onset; however, I didn't think that she'd bring me so much peace in such a short time.

I'd always prized my freedom, my independence. Yet, here I was, willingly ensnarled, brought to heel by a pair of expressive brown eyes and a charming smile.

The irony wasn’t lost on me, and with good reason, because lately, I wasn't the infamous Afanasy Tarasov anymore. I wasn't the man who once relished freedom and variety. No.

I was morphing into someone I barely recognized, someone who had eyes for only one woman. Was I transforming into a faithful man?

Did she cast some kind of spell on me, or was her pussy enchanted?

I couldn't fathom why I was so drawn to her like a moth to a flame, why she was always in my head, dominating my thoughts. Even now, her smile flashed in my mind, her laugh echoing in my head.

The door opened, and I walked into our bedroom, fingers snagging onto my tie. I shed my coat, flinging it onto the bed, its weight barely registering.

Sinking into the nearest couch, it scrunched underneath my weight as I leaned against the backseat, a smile playing on my lips. I could hear her moans echoing in my head, her sexy facial expressions flashing in my mind.

It was almost like I could smell the scent of her arousal, like the taste of her juice still lingered on my tongue. My cock was already swelling in my pants as I let the memories of our times together come flooding back inside.

I was enthralled by her, maybe even smitten. And though the question of whether I was losing myself or finding a new facet remained elusive, one thing was certain: She had unlocked something in me I didn't know existed.

It dawned on me that she was supposed to be home but wasn't, and as I jerked upright, eyes darting across the room, I remembered she had an appointment with the doctor.

She'd been complaining about having a relentless migraine of late, and even though she'd taken a couple of painkillers, they just weren't working.

Dr. Lee was one of the finest doctors in the city, and if anyone was going to find out what was wrong with her, it would be him. I'd have taken her to the hospital myself, but I had a really important meeting today with some high-profile clients.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost 4:00 P.M.; she should have been back by now. A soft groan escaped my lips as I shifted, adjusting my weight for easy access to the pocket of my pants. I dug my hand in and withdrew my phone. Just as I was about to text her, the door opened, and she walked in, filling the room with her perfume.

There she was, standing elegantly on a pair of heels by the entrance, her porcelain skin simmering under the lights, her dark, wavy hair cascading down her shoulders.

She was dressed in a simple yet stunning pair of fitted jeans that accentuated her alluring legs and curves. Her crisp white top, a delicate silk blouse with a V-shaped slit that flashed a glimpse of her cleavage, clung to her torso like a second skin.

My gaze lingered on her petite frame, eyes crinkling at the corners as I took a moment to savor her beauty. She looked so breathtaking, and personally, I loved the way the fabric of her top draped over her skin, highlighting the gentle swell of her breasts.

She was radiating with elegance. Incredible.

I smiled at her, but hers faltered, hesitant to take flight. A faint crease furrowed her brow. Her shoulders tensed, her weight discreetly shifting from one foot to the other.

My eyes narrowed, and I rose to my feet, knowing something was off. As I drew closer, her gaze dropped to the floor. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, mirroring the worry etched on her face.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked, my voice soft and tender as I halted in front of her, my hand delicately raising her chin.

She jerked her head and looked right into my eyes, her throat wobbling as she swallowed.

“What is it? What's going on?” My tone was laced with concern, my eyes searching hers for answers. “Did anything happen? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I examined her body, scrutinizing every inch with a serious gaze.

My mind was swirling with different scenarios of what might have happened, but I couldn't seem to settle on any. “Talk to me, Wren.”

She stared at me, fingers drumming a staccato on her thigh, lips twitching ever so slightly. Her silence had me riled up, thinking the worst things until I heard her speak.

“I'm pregnant,” she murmured, her voice a soft, hesitant confession. Her gaze never left my face.

Her hands trembled, fingers intertwining in a nervous knot as she blinked rapidly, her eyes boring into mine as if searching for an emotion.

My brows arched at this news, my expression softening as my eyes narrowed, focusing intently on hers. In my chest, my heart leaped for joy, my lips curling into a warm smile.

“You're pregnant?” I swiped a palm over my mouth before reaching to cradle her hands. “I'm gonna be a father?” A soft chuckle escaped my lips.

A subtle grin, almost undetectable, appeared on her face, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks as we locked eyes.

I'd always wanted to be a dad—to have kids running around the house every now and then—but I just never thought it'd come to pass this soon. Regardless, though, this was good news; however, my wife didn't seem thrilled by it.

My hand drifted to her stomach, fingers delicately caressing her abdomen as I muttered in Russian, “ Moy malen'kiy miracle .”

She squinted, her eyes questioning me, curious about the quiet, melodic words I'd uttered.

My smile broadened. “It means my little miracle ,” I interpreted, my voice filled with emotion. “This is wonderful news, Wren, and I'm happy, but why aren't you?” I cocked my head to the side, curiosity in my gaze. “Do you not want this?”

“No, I do. It's just….” Her voice trailed off, replaced by a soft sigh. “I've never thought about being a mom before.” She swallowed, her eyes dropping. “Much less this soon. I'm just a little shaken up by it….”

I reclaimed her hands, casting an understanding look at her.

“If I'm being honest,” she continued, her lip quivering subtly, “I'm afraid. I'm terrified of failing as a parent.” Wren shrugged her shoulders, eyes misting.

“Why?” I questioned, feeling the creases on my forehead.

“Because….” She paused, her shoulders slumping. “Because I was robbed of my parents’ affection as a kid.” She shook her head, her chest heaving slowly and her breathing jagged. “Now, I fear that I might make a terrible mother. What if I turn out to be like my father…?”

“Shh.” I placed my index over her lips, my free hand pulling her to myself. “You are nothing like that man,” I reassured, my voice calm and firm. “You're compassionate, kind, loving, and sweet—I can't think of better qualities of a good mother than these.”

Her facial muscles relaxed, as did her tense shoulders, her eyes shining with mirth.

I leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on her soft lips. “Don't worry about it. We'll figure it out together.”

A warm smile spread across her face as my fingers went into her hair, her body melting at my touch. I edged closer, my lips hovering barely inches from hers, her breath brushing against my face.

The air was charged with sexual tension, our anxiety building with each passing second. Her chest was rising and falling as she stared deeply into my eyes, desire flickering in their depths.

Gently, I brushed my erection against her before reclaiming her lips.