14. Valentina

Chapter 14

Valentina

As a clatter from outside of our bedroom stirs me from slumber, Ezra bands his arm tighter around my waist and buries me beneath his naked chest, burrowing us both deeper into the blankets like he's a bear preparing for winter slumber. My heart melts as he snuggles close, but the rest of me literally melts. Turns out that Ezra is merely masquerading as human; he's really a furnace made of scorching hot muscles and testosterone, and I'm dying. I wriggle around until I find a blessed opening in the covers and snag a brisk lungful of cool air. "Ezra," I wheeze, struggling to detach myself from the bear. "Too hot. Melting. Dying. "

He loosens his grip so I can scoot a few inches away, but right as I'm about to escape, he latches onto my hips and pulls me back. "Sleep," he mumbles, voice rasping with fatigue. " Shhh. " With a grunt, he wedges my thigh between his and holds me in place. " Lisichka. Mmm. You are warm." Slowly, he drags his stiff cock against my naked thigh, burning a brand into my skin.

I gasp for air as an inferno courses through my veins. My pussy throbs, despite the punishment she endured last night, and a whine catches in my throat. "I can't, Ezra, please. I'm dying. It's too hot. I will die if you so much as think about putting that thing inside me. Stop it."

He grunts as I detangle my arms from the sheets and finally get a glorious burst of cool air against my flushed skin. Last night, the house was ice cold, but now that four bodies and a warm fire have invaded the premises and burrowed in for God knows how long, the temp has improved from frigid tundra to chilled mountain morning. Bright sunlight streams through the gossamer curtains. Is it morning? Afternoon? When exactly did we fall asleep last night?

The blankets shift beside me as Ezra reveals his face to the sunlight. "If they know you are awake, they will steal you away." He slowly pries his eyes open, maintaining a stony expression despite the tousled hair and lingering imprint of the pillowcase on his cheek. His hands wander up and down my thigh as he holds it in place against his length. "I am not ready to give you back."

A rush of heat as he continues the slow grind into my thigh makes my body flush hotter. I can still feel both Ezra's and Mikhail's cum inside me, slicking my thighs every time I dare move them. I never had a chance to clean up before falling asleep last night. Surely Ezra won't want to go for another round when I'm already so . . . full . Besides, we're all forgetting the most important fact in the face of our horny: Ezra's injured. "You need to rest." As I attempt to slip from his grasp, he grumbles dissent and drags me back until my ass is firmly planted over his raging boner.

Jesus, that thing's a fucking weapon ready to pop off the first chance it gets.

" Ezra. Seriously. You need to rest. "

He presses tender kisses to my shoulder blades, continuing his sleepy mumble. "I will rest better beside you. Do not leave." One of his palms dips between my thighs, and in a matter of moments, he's spreading me open and teasing my entrance with one of his thick fingers. He grunts appreciatively as I push back against him, slotting two knuckles inside me.

I bite my hand as he curls, slowly edging my pleasure higher. I hadn't planned for more sex so early in the morning, but now that we're here, I can't complain. My body temp rises and I'm grateful when Ezra drags the blankets off of me, leaving my body exposed to his intense gaze.

"Beautiful," he breathes, shifting suddenly so that he's sitting up on his knees. Grabbing my thigh, he holds it up at a ninety-degree angle against his torso. When the thick velvet length of his cock drags against my core, I moan at the blessed heat and the slick, wet sound as he glides easily by. He groans and repeats the motion torturously, brushing my clit in the slowest rhythm imaginable.

I've never been pulled open at such an intense angle, lying on my side as a man sinks deep with a simple thrust of his hips. He clasps his hands around my thigh to hold me in place. I reach for Ezra and touch the only part of him I can reach—his thigh—and feel the muscle contract as he moves.

I want to remind him that he's injured. That he shouldn't exert himself so much. That this isn't actually resting , and that it's not solving my overheating problem.

But all that comes out of my mouth is a series of stutters and broken words punctuated by deep moans as he touches the deepest parts of me and snares my pleasure within his own. He keeps the pace slow, and minutes pass in a beautiful crescendo of desire. I come before he does, clenching tightly around him and forgetting to breathe.

He chases his release with short, hard thrusts that fill the air with the slap of skin on skin and the liquid rush of desire dripping down our bodies. When he comes, I feel each burst as his cock twitches, an impossible warmth spilling inside me and leaking out onto the sheets. I'm too full of cum for it to be contained, although Ezra tries. He grinds his cock deep, getting as much of his seed as deep as he can.

As Ezra pulls out and even more cum follows his retreat, a shiver rolls down my spine. Where there should be post-coital bliss, instead, a flare of panic flickers in the back of my mind. Clarity hits a moment later, knocking the wind out of me.

I'm an idiot. What was it that Liam said,a week ago? That he wanted to be the one to knock me up before my men got the chance?

Icy dread wraps around the base of my spine, locking my body into place. I'm not on protection. Liam may no longer be a threat, thank god, but that doesn't mean we can afford to be reckless and keep having unprotected sex without thinking about the potential consequences. Very permanent, life-altering consequences. The kind that takes nine months to bake and a million hours to finally pop out of the oven once the timer goes off.

I told Andrei that I wasn't on birth control when we first had sex, but I never mentioned it to the others. Do they want me to get pregnant, or are we all fucking with reckless abandon because we can't control our impulses? Do we crave each other so much that we conveniently forget that actions like these have consequences?

I take shallow breaths as my panic increases. I could be pregnant right now. It's unlikely because I haven't ovulated yet, but you never know. Stranger things have happened, right? Didn't someone get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat once? It doesn't take much to fertilize an egg, and I've had three men inside me within the past twenty-four hours. Their sperm must be fighting each other for the first shot at my next egg.

It's only a matter of time before it happens if we keep going like this.

Ezra notices the shift in my demeanor immediately, carefully lying back down beside me and lacing our fingers together. He brushes my knuckles with gentle sweeps of his thumb, flicking his eyes to mine. "What is on mind, Valentina?"

How do I tell the man who just came so deep inside me that I don't want kids?

I swallow thickly and sit up. Ezra's release follows gravity and seeps out onto the sheets. Normally, that would be hot as fuck. But while on the verge of a very untimely panic attack, it sucks. "I've gotta pee." I slip out of the bed and rush for the bathroom.

Before I make it halfway across the room, the bedroom door swings wide open and Mikhail bursts into the room with a plate of fried eggs. "Breakfast for the lazy couple—" He sees me first, his amber eyes sparkling above his signature Monrovia smile, until he senses that although I'm naked and thoroughly fucked, I'm not a shining beacon of warmth and happiness right now. Something's wrong. He knows it. Ezra knows it. It's only a matter of time before Andrei's husband senses start to tingle, and he rushes into the room to witness my breakdown.

I hate how well they can see through me.

"Be right back!"

As I lock the bathroom door, I can hear Mikhail hissing through his teeth. " What did you do? "

I automatically move to the shower and turn it on full blast. While the water heats, I clean up down there as much as I can and give myself a cursory glance in the mirror. Not only is my hair a rat's nest of knots and frizzed curls, but my body has remnants of bruises—whether hickeys or otherwise, I can't tell—but it looks like a war zone. Like a map of the past few weeks, seeping out of my body. I trace invisible lines from one bruise to the next, going through the events in my head as I touch each purple mark.

It's crazy, what I've been through lately.

Impossible , I would have said a year ago.

As steam fogs the mirror and blurs my reflection, I find myself laughing at the absurdity of everything.

I killed a man.

I step into the blistering hot shower and scrub my body from head to toe, trying to scourge the memory of Liam from my mind. The past week was filled with lies upon lies upon lies, from the words leaving my lips to the touches of my fingertips. Despite the heat, I shiver. I'm grateful to be back with my men, and I can already feel some of the stress ease from my muscles, but it's like one pain point disappears for another to take its place.

We haven't been using protection. I've known this in some capacity—it's impossible not to notice—but it hadn't really sunk in until Liam proudly declared that he would be the one to breed me.

My period arriving was a fucking blessing.

But I'm not sure a child would be. Not now, with a war brewing. And maybe not . . . ever. I grab a loofah and scrub beneath my fingernails, chipping away at dried flecks of blood and dirt. That's the problem, isn't it? The blood. My blood. Everyone's obsessed with the Baranova family—if I have a child, I'll just be bringing them into the same mess I was born into. The expectations and the power and the danger.

I don't want my child to be used as a bargaining chip for power. I don't want them to be abused because of their name and family line. And I can't guarantee that people won't come after them, like how Liam and Katya not only controlled my life for years but followed me once I'd left the city, just so that I would come back into the fold and play the part of perfect little princess.

When the water runs cold, I turn it off and stand shivering for as long as I can stand it. I'm not sure how Andrei will react when I tell him I don't want children. In the past, we were on the same page about having a family. I never had siblings, and Andrei never had a stable household. We'd intended to create an experience that neither of us had growing up. One full of love and laughter and warmth.

But after seeing the lengths people will go to claim the Bratva for themselves . . . I don't wish that upon anyone.

Maybe the Baranova line needs to end with me.

When I push open the shower door, I find Andrei leaning against the vanity, a small frown on his lips. I should have known that simple door locks are no match for these men. His eyes follow me as I grab a towel and wrap it around my body. I've never been able to tie a towel, so it's a surprise when it wraps neatly over my chest and I can tuck in the corner to hold it in place. I take another towel and wrap my hair.

Neither of us speaks until we're standing face to face, and there's nowhere for me to run.

"I don't think I want kids, Andrei."

If Andrei weren't breathing, I'd imagine he turned to stone. "We need an heir, zhena. " He takes a deep breath, and I realize that he's wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. I've never seen him in either of those before. I've never imagined him in anything less than button ups and vests and expensive clothing. He looks more man than pakhan . Like flesh and blood and a desire for comfort at home, not like a ruthless leader ruling over a massive underground organization.

He looks like . . . Andrei.

I twist my fingers together as I try to detangle my thoughts. "I was given the Bratva by birth, but you, Andrei—you were chosen. You're not a Baranova. And you were chosen, anyway. You got the Bratva without me."

Andrei lifts a brow. "Someone had to marry you so that Tolkotsky could pass on the title. Bratvas are traditionally led by men. I was chosen, yes, but I was chosen to stand beside you . "

I shake my head. "You don't understand. My father chose you, a man without a fortune, or a title, or a family name. You don't come from a well-known family. You don't have another Bratva waiting back home. You aren't trying to sow your seeds for political or social gain. And my father still chose you, because of how capable you had proven yourself. That has nothing to do with bloodline, and everything to do with ability." I close the short distance between us and cup Andrei's stubbled cheek in my palm. The dark circles under his eyes have lightened, but it will take much more R&R for them to disappear altogether. "Why can't we choose our successor without relying on my body to provide one? There's no guarantee I'd get pregnant, anyway, or that we wouldn't lose the baby?—"

Andrei wraps his hand tight around mine, a sharpness to his gaze as he rises to his full height. "We wouldn't lose the baby, Valentina, despite how much you might wish to." His grip tightens, sending pain shooting into my wrist. But more painful than that are his words.

"I would never wish to lose?—"

He cuts me off abruptly, venom dripping from his tone. "A child would be a blessing. They would be loved and cared for endlessly, because they won't have only two parents, but four . You realize that, don't you? It's not just you and me, Valentina, but it's Ezra and Mikhail too. You can't decide for all four of us if we're going to have kids or not. It needs to be a discussion, and one decided not because of what it means for the Bratva, but because of what it means for us. " He releases my hand and narrows his gaze as he searches mine. "If you have objections to having children, we need to talk now. As I'm sure you've realized, we're not keen on pulling out. You're at risk every time we so much as look in your direction, Valentina. We're ravenous for you all the time. " His nostrils flare, and I can feel the hard point of his cock poking my stomach.

An angry boner, no doubt, but still a boner.

He screws his eyes shut on an exhale. "Mikhail made breakfast."

My stomach churns. "I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat." Turning the doorknob, Andrei pushes the door open to reveal both Mikhail and Ezra waiting—and listening—close by. "We need to talk. All four of us."

Ezra may still be naked, but his expression is unreadable as he stares at me. Mikhail, on the other hand, is red-faced and jumpy. The plate of eggs in his hand bounces up and down as he taps his foot, a vein in his neck throbbing as he swallows whatever is on his mind.

Being with them again after a week apart has been a soothing balm on all our wounds. If anything is going to disturb the peace, I guess I'm grateful that it's only me this time, and not a threat from the outside.

Just me, and the one thing that could tear us all apart.

The truth.