Chapter Sixteen - Ruslan

Hitting the right turn out of the parking lot for the day, I sigh, stretching my hands around the wheel, thinking things through. I can't keep her holed up in that room forever. She's not budging under the weight.

Mulling over the wedding and how quickly I need to marry Fiona, I consider the stakes. To me, they're low. I could give a fuck about these women in Chicago. I've had and can have whoever I want. In fact, it's a lot more fun for me, given Fiona has a number of taboo entry points. Pressing the gas, I move forward past a slow-moving car, knowing I don't have all the details, but oddly, trusting her anyway.

There's been no DNA test to confirm if the child is mine, but given how tight she was when I entered her, I already know I was the first to pop her coveted cherry.

As I hit a smooth run back home, a call comes in via Bluetooth. "Mark," I say smoothly, happy for the interruption from my constant thoughts of Fiona.

"Boss. I've got news."

"What is it?"

"Jamie Bergin."

Both my eyebrows shoot up. "The last time I heard that name was when that car bombing took place downtown."

"Exactly. He's down, laying low apparently. I got a call this morning."

Sighing, my mouth forms into a tight line. "What did he have to say for himself?"

"What do you think?"

"The Omerta Files, huh?"

"Yep. He's gunning for them, and he wants to know if we have them so we can cut a deal with him if we do."

My eyes smart when I think about the double-crossing Irish mob boss. He's a fucking trickster, who stole valuable clients right from under our nose, costing us millions of dollars. Sure, it might have been over five years ago, but a Bratva boss never forgets those who've wronged him. "We're not cutting a deal with Bergin. You can't trust the bitch."

"I'm glad we're on the same page, but we need to get those Omerta Files. The news is spreading like wildfire, and he's not the only enemy after the files." Mark's normally level-headed, so to hear the slight panic in his voice is interesting.

Personally, I'm not worried. Fiona's linked to the files, and no matter what, I'm going to wear her down over time. She's going to give up the files in no time. It's just going to take a little more convincing for Mark.

Sliding off the freeway, I turn into the long strip of road, the sky a deep navy blue. It's after ten, and it's likely Fiona will be asleep, so when I see an amber light shining in the front part of the house. My antenna immediately rise, as I race to finish up the conversation with Mark. Of course, I knew others would be coming for the files. If I were them, I would too. It's the ticket to power, leverage, money, and the ultimate protection.

"Don't worry. I'm confident I can get the file information out of Fiona. She's going to buckle sooner rather than later."

Mark pauses for a beat, but my finger's already on the end call button as I park, frowning at the interior light. It can't be the housekeeping or kitchen staff because I've sent all of them home for the night. Unless there's a special event, they keep normal hours like everybody else.

"If you say so, but the pressure's on."

"What pressure? There is none as far as I'm concerned. Having Fiona is as good as having the Omerta files in our possession. Talk later."

"Alright, but you need to get her to spill, and quick." I hang up the call, annoyed by Mark's lack of faith, but curious as to who the house nightcrawler could be. Entering the house slowly, I don't immediately walk through to the kitchen, instead I head to my home office where I keep my CCTV to watch the perp.

When I find out who it is, I grin. It's Fiona, and the pretty dark-haired princess is out of her tower. Shaking my head, I watch as she floats down the corridor, her bare feet tiptoeing over the tiles, a sense of bewilderment on her face.

It does make sense because I couldn't keep the guards on duty outside her door for longer than two days. I required my Bratva soldiers for other purposes. Breaking hands, and collecting long overdue debts across the city, Bratva-style being one of them. Aroused by her presence on screen, I squint, leaning forward and enjoying the show, and not so mad about her being out.

Mystified, I watch as she moves forward, and it looks as if she's heading towards the kitchen. Past the kitchen is the front door. I shake my head at the screen because if she's trying to escape, she has very little chance. Even if she manages to get outside, where's she going to go? She has no car. There are guards near the entrance of the estate and cameras capturing everyone who enters and leaves the property. I would be tipped off immediately.

I stand up, my cock stiffening as I groan. She's wearing a cotton tank top with lace, but her nipples are showing through, the headlights proving to be a hindrance to my sanity.

God. I want her. And she looks good carrying my child. Her shorts clinging to her full ass aren't helping matters either. Who makes a woman with a body like that?

"Oh, Fiona. I'm never going to let you go," I murmur under my breath, my body burning up like hot coals from the inside out. "You're carrying my seed, and all I'm going to do is drag you back." I sneer at the screen, quickly opening the door and stalking in the direction of the kitchen. Once I reach it, I see she's turned on another light and is standing in the middle of the kitchen—her eyes wide and alert as if she's searching for something.

Looking for a weapon to get out? What? What could it be that she's looking for?

All I know is she's a temptress, and she's not going anywhere. Clenching my fists, I unbale them, swooping in to nuzzle in behind her, thrusting my hard cock into the small of her back as I scoop up a handful of her bountiful breasts. There's no resistant tension when I touch her. It's as if I'm her Achilles' heel, and she automatically crumbles under my touch.

As it should be. Fiona, you're mine. All fucking mine.

A light moan of pleasure escapes her mouth as I let my thumbs idly graze over her raised, tight buds. I dip my head into the crook of her neck, letting my beard rest on her shoulder, inhaling her feminine scent. God, I love the smell of her. It's rocking my world.

"Good evening, Red October." Splaying a hand over her stomach, I breathe softly on her neck. "Are you planning on going somewhere?"

She leaned her head to the side as I inhale, and I slide her hair back as I land a subtle kiss on her neck.

"No. I wasn't."

"You're out of your room," I point out, rubbing my erection in her back, turned on by her panting breaths.

"Yes," she stumbles breathily as I give her neglected breast the same treatment. "I had to get out of that room."

"Did I say you could leave out of it?"

"No, but—"

"Even if you try to escape, Fiona, you won't be able to get far. You know I'll hunt you down and find you, don't you?"

"Yes. I know that." I hear her swallow, the heat transfer between us turning up several notches. "I'm not dumb. I know I can't do that."

"Good." I shimmy a hand roughly through my hair as she slides her body free to turn and face me, her cheeks burning a fresh shade of rose. She folds her bottom lip inside her mouth as I wait for her answer.

"I uh—" She sweeps her hair back off her shoulder, sighing loudly.

"What, Fiona? If you're not trying to escape, what are doing here late at night?"

"I… I'm hungry, and I came looking around in the kitchen for something to eat. That's all." She shrugs, her big emerald eyes so innocent and pure, it's hard for me to take an authoritative stance with her.

"I see. You're after food. Not a getaway."

"No. Not a getaway," she admits as I study her full face, reminding myself not to be too trusting of the siren. She's duped me a couple of times already, and while it was impressive, I don't plan on ever letting it happen again.

She holds her stomach, and I notice her protruding belly, understanding it's important for her to eat. She's carrying my baby, and I want her to be healthy.

"Not a getaway. Only a craving." I smirk, growing fonder of her every day I spend with her.

"Yes," she explains in exasperation, her stomach growling as confirmation. "My appetite has skyrocketed over the past few days. I don't know what's happening, and I'm eating all the food you're bringing too."

I finger a tendril of her dark hair, then open the fridge, the light illuminating her Coke-bottle body and producing a stiffer hard-on for me. Fiona stares down at it, her pretty mouth parting as my eyes bore into hers.

Feed her first. Restraining myself, I smile at her. "My eyes are up here, Fiona."

Embarrassed, her face flashes redder than before as she coils her hair around her fingers in nervousness.

"Sorry, but it's right there," she mumbles, her eyes sinking into mine.

You're so innocent and honest. I've never met one like you. God.

"You're making it hard for me—literally. Especially when you come into the kitchen wearing that," I answer, a demure grin rising on her face. She had to know I would find her. What if it would have been one of the other guards that saw her body like this? Instantly, my protective mode switches on, and I want to flare up in anger, telling her never to come out of her room like this again, but in the same breath, I'm turned on enough to want to spread her out on the kitchen table, and eat her instead.

"Sorry. I didn't think anyone was in the house. I couldn't hear anybody. Did you get rid of the guards?"

I stare at her warily, not wanting to tell her too much for fear of her escape, but I can't walk on eggshells forever with her. We are too be married, and I can't keep her locked away like a prisoner for much longer. "No. They were needed elsewhere. Those men are part of my street soldiers."

"Oh." Her lengthy eyelashes flutter, curiosity dancing in her eyes, but I don't offer more. We aren't there yet. Instead, I redirect the conversation back to why we're here in the first place.

"What are you craving to eat?" I chuckle. " Besides me. "

Fiona laughs, and I relax. "Um, it might sound funny, but I'm craving salt. I want a salami sandwich with cheese, pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard. Oh, and a bowl of potato chips and orange juice on the side."

I draw back from the open refrigerator, unable to believe her request, a frown drifting over my face.

"That's really what you want to eat?"

Fiona nods her head slowly, a flash of worry on hers. "Yes. That's really what I want to eat." She rubs her belly, and I resist the temptation to lay a comforting hand on her stomach, grinning back at her.

"That's my favorite food," I tell her with a smug smile, pulling out the premium slices of salami and cheese. "You're about to have a Ruslan-style sandwich," I drawl, my eyes drinking her in.

"What—you eat this regularly? I had no idea; I was thinking it was weird how my tastebuds have been changing so quickly. I wouldn't eat any of this normally." Her face lights up as I grab the condiments, reasoning a DNA test won't be necessary. It's too uncanny for her to be craving my favorite snack.

"Yes. It's my go-to, including potato chips. When did you start having this craving?" I ask her, lining up the ingredients on the counter.

"I don't know. The baby seems to like it, and I've had this insane craving for the salami, and the pickles. It's hard to explain."

"Not really," I tell her, pulling a loaf of bread out of the bread box. "It's my favorite food, so the baby's letting you know, it's a Utkin for sure," I state with pride, slowly growing more and more excited about having a kid, even though it wasn't on my agenda. I suspect Fiona will be a good mother, despite the obstacles standing between us.

"Yes, it's your child. Did you ever think it wasn't, Ruslan?" Fiona probes, standing beside me, her long hair grazing my arm as I lay out four slices of bread.

I stop momentarily, running a hand down her arm, and she doesn't shy away from me.

"Red October, you tried to poison me. And you had me on a wild fucking goose chase across Chicago. But to be honest, I didn't know. Still don't— technically. "

Part of the chamber of my heart belonged to the Bratva, and I thought it had frozen over, but it hasn't. I'm alive, and with the birth of my baby, my heart might just be thawing out. Fiona makes me feel something, and I can't put my finger on what it is for the life of me, but I'm willing to find out.

"Yes. That's fair. You don't know, but I did tell you I was a virgin when we got together," she mentions in a low voice as I spread the mayo on the bread, the soft syllables of her voice unravelling me.

Gently, I place the knife on the counter, tuning into her, her green eyes seeking out my approval. "I believe you. I could feel you were a virgin, when I was inside you," I tell her, dipping to graze my mouth over hers. "But you're not one anymore, are you?" I tease, skimming my long finger along the edge of her near-perfect jawline.

Her eyes moisten as I play with the curls of her cascading locks, a heatwave of desire ramping up between us. "Mm. No, I'm not."

"Mm, is right." I chuckle. "We had a great night at the hotel, and our second night was even hotter until you decided to send me on a chase." I smirk, cupping the back of her neck, sinking my mouth into the pleasure cavern of hers, the promise of making her a late-night snack flying out the window.

Leaving her breathless, a smile tugs at her siren-like mouth. "I had to do something. I couldn't just let you off easy," she replies sassily with a wink.

She wants me. Like I want her. The realization eases something inside me I didn't want to admit. Even if the marriage is to be arranged, I didn't want Fiona to feel as if it were, but what I want I take, and would never admit to her out loud. But that's the problem with Fiona: she's making me do and feel things I never have. Red October has me in the danger zone.

I pour us both a glass of juice to drink, watching her full lips tackle the glass, my primal instincts driving me insane. I put my cup down and rein her in, pinning her body close to mine, tucking my hair behind my ear, and pressing my fleshy lips to hers.

"Hmm, this sandwich making isn't moving as quickly as you might have hoped, and I'm sorry," I tell her.

"That's okay. I'm enjoying the extra snack." Her quick wit only adds to her charm, making me want her more as I turn around to the bench, sucking on her top lip.

"Good," I command, sliding between her legs, the tightness in my jaw releasing, my lust evident. I can't help it. Crushing my insistent mouth down on hers for a sizzling kiss, there's a formidable heat igniting inside me that I can't and don't want to stop from blazing. "Mm, Fiona. You are a trouble worth knowing."

"If this is the preview to my sandwich, then I'm here for it, Ruslan," she says breathily as my hands tug her hair.

"I see why you're a Bratva boss." Her emerald eyes dive into mine, requiring more as my hands venture down past the curve of her growing belly, to her slick pussy. I drive my fingers inside, circling in and out. She yields under the pressure of my fingers, clinging on to my strained arm, splitting her legs open a little more, as I taste the length of her neck with my tongue.

"Working for you, Red October?" The rich baritone in my voice seems to only make her wetter as I collect a symphony of her moans.

"Yesssss…." She drops her head, giving in to my touch, as I pant, toying with making her come or making her wait. "Right there," she moans, her generous hips grinding around my hand.

"Want more?" I ask, more than happy to pleasure her.

"You better finish whatever you plan on doing, Ruslan, don't leave it. I will get you back later," she threatens, which elicits a smile from me. My dangerous fingers roll between her flowery folds, in and out, my jagged breaths heightening the flame in the kitchen.

"I won't. I want you to come. Then as a reward, you get to eat my favorite snack."

She breathes heavily as adrenaline floods through my veins. "How lucky am I?"

"Oh very, Red October. Very ." My hands move inside her body driving her insane, the pressure building under my fingers so quickly it surprises even me. Speeding up the pace, I jerk my hand in multiple directions, while my other hand reaches into her top, dropping her breast out. She watches, mind-boggled as I take precedence over her sexy body.

My teeth scrape over her erect nipple as I thrust my hand harder, gritting my teeth, wanting to come all over it. Her moans grow in sound as my fingers reach for her nub, her body responding with an internal explosion, my fingers covered in her musky sex. I can tell in her eyes she wants more, but I wink, kissing the side of her neck tenderly, and turning back to the business of preparing her sandwich.

"I think we should save something special for our wedding night, don't you think?" I tell her, licking her off my fingers. Her eyes grow wide and hungry, and now I know for sure our marriage is going to be a lot more fun than I thought it might….