Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Aria

I lie against the pillows,my belly temporarily happy after breakfast. Mikhail brought me breakfast in bed this morning after promising to massage my feet with his strong, capable hands.

He does it every day.

"Why the feet? I asked him the other morning.

"I’ve heard that it is one of the best ways for someone to pamper a pregnant woman. Your feet get tired carrying the extra burden of a baby within you."

I moaned. He is excellent at this with those thick, strong fingers of his as he massages the achiness out of my feet.

"Mikhail, I’m not that far along."

I mean, aside from maybe a few extra pounds from the late-night pizza and fries I’ve been craving.

"Does that matter?" he said. I wondered why his accent was suddenly thicker. It’s usually only this way when he feels emotional. I noticed a little furrow between his brows.

"Mikhail?”

"What?"

"Something’s troubling you."

We’ve both been a little out of sorts with everything happening. While he’s been very good to me for the past couple of weeks, taking care of all of my needs, spending every waking moment with me, he’s also been hard at work with his brothers. I do catch wind of what they’re talking about. There’s some sort of rumor that Volkov has lost his mind, and his next attack on us could be unprecedented. There’s even talk about Mikhail assassinating him, or having him assassinated.

I respect my husband’s wishes and stay out of their online communications. Even though I could look into them if I wanted to.

Things have changed, though. The staff is no longer here, save one person his mother insisted on bringing from her own home, a woman who has stayed with them since their infancy. Mikhail says Yelena is like a second mother to them.

I like having Polina here, and his mother, of course. His brothers…that depends on which ones. Some are a little…friendlier than others.

But other things have changed, too.

For one, Mikhail has barely touched me. I shouldn’t say that. He massages my feet and my back, but we haven’t had sex in over a week, which is unheard of for us. The last time we had sex, I bled a little bit. According to my doctor, that’s common for women in the first trimester. Their bodies are swollen in places they didn’t even expect, and an ultrasound and some testing later showed that the baby is totally fine. But Mikhail hasn’t really wanted to do anything since.

He’s definitely not put me over his lap. He told me that he wouldn’t hesitate to punish me, but now, I am not so sure.

I love being dominated by my husband. Whoever thought I would miss it?

I miss our intimacy.

“This is lovely," I say now, as the scent of lavender fills the air. He pours some lotion in the palm of his hand, rubs it between his palms to warm it, then applies it to the heels of my feet. "Mikhail, you need to stop treating me as if I’m going to shatter if you’re too rough with me."

A beat passes before he responds. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t lie about it." I intentionally try to be a little rude, to ruffle him a little bit. He looks up at me from beneath lowered brows, stern. My heart does a little flip in my chest.

I lick my lips and swallow. Draw in a breath. “We need to have some fucking sex."

Yeah, I just said that. Even dropped the F bomb, which under normal circumstances would get my butt spanked. But now he only grumbles at me, the little rumble in his chest making my heart squeeze. And when he doesn’t say anything else, I swallow the lump in my throat.

Why does it feel like rejection? It’s strange.

"Don’t try me, Aria. I’m doing my best here."

"Obviously you are. But we still are us, Mikhail. You’ve done everything, and I’m so grateful. Daily foot and back massages? Those love notes you leave me on my pillow when you walk across the room? Breakfast in bed? I mean, you had a tailor come out and help me pick out the most luxurious maternity wardrobe a mother can ask for. I know you’re going above and beyond."

I play with the ring on my finger. "And I don’t know what you’re doing in the other room. But I suspect that also has something to do with me, and I’m excited about that. But I miss…us. That raw, primal thing we had going." A lump rises in my throat, and I try to clear it with no success. "I miss the tiger."

Every night I go to sleep, I can see the tattoo on the broad expanse of his back when he’s lying on his belly, his hands tucked under his pillow. The tiger’s eyes mock me now. I felt the bite of its claws so often, I long for it. And now…who would’ve thought I’d feel rejected because he’s being too damn nice?

I kind of feel like a spoiled brat. I have a custom-made wardrobe behind those closet doors. A credit card with a ridiculous limit. I mean, does it even have a limit? Everything I could ask for, including the attention of the man that I love. Because yes, I know that I love him.

And while I’m not totally at peace with carrying his child? I’m telling myself I still have a good bit of time ahead of me. That’s plenty of time to get used to the idea.

When I’m uncomfortable, he makes me comfortable. He has a team of doctors to take care of me and to monitor all of my symptoms. I have medication and Russian remedies for the nausea. He helps me sleep and holds me when I’m restless. Massages my back, and massages my feet.

But I crave more. I want him. I want a chance to reciprocate. I want the emotional connection.

I think what might be the most disconcerting part of all of this is knowing he’s holding back from who he is. A tiger velveting his paws. I want to feel the bite of those paws again.

He gives me a curious look while concentrating on my feet.

"I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt our son."

I guffaw out loud. "Oh no you don’t. Who told you I’m having a son? Did you see some type of study or test that I haven’t seen yet? Because as far as I know, this could be a girl. Maybe even two. "

I glare at him which only seems to amuse him. "You have many traditions in Russia.”

“Traditions or superstitions? They’re not the same.”

Ignoring me, he continues. “Russian tradition says a man who has a firstborn son will be wealthy, and his son will rule with authority and integrity.”

"But guess what, buddy. We aren’t in Russia anymore. And while I may probably have some Russian DNA in me now that I’m actually bearing a Russian child, we’re still American here. And here in America, both girls and boys are given equal opportunity."

It’s our goal, anyway.

I try to cross my arms over my chest to make my point, but my breasts hurt today. That’s when I see the twinkle in his eyes that goes with the twitching of his lips.

He is so giving me shit. I yank my feet away from him.

“You are so trying to fucking rile me up!”

His muscles clench; he really does hate when I swear.

"Are you really pushing the limits with me?"

"Of course I’m not," I lie. I’m not going to admit out loud that I actually want to go over his lap. Why would I do such a stupid thing?

He tips his head to the side, his tone dark and seductive when he insists, "You like it when I spank you."

I turn my head away. "Like punishment? You spank hard. Of course I don’t like it.”

I won’t meet his eyes though.

He starts sliding his hands all over my body.

"You miss my dick.”

"Is there some Russian superstition for that, too?"

He snorts. "Of course there is."

“Oh?" I say, as he bends his mouth to my neck and kisses me in that sweet, sweet spot, right between my chin and collarbone. I stifle a moan, because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

"When I take you, superstition says that if you hear music, it’s a good omen for our marriage. If rain begins when you climax, we will live long, fulfilling lives together. And the reason why I know you’re giving birth to a son? We conceived on the full moon."

"Are you…mocking me right now?" The chuckle against my neck makes me shiver. He is so teasing me right now.

"Mikhail, you almost had me there."

While he holds me, the sun peeks from behind the clouds out the window, the direct opposite of a superstitious good luck rain. I don’t believe in superstitions, but I can’t help but wonder.

A knock sounds at the door.

"Who is it?" he barks.

"Polina. Don’t try to bite my head off from behind the door. Jesus, Mikhail."

"What do you want?" he says in a voice that I know is trying to be a little gentler, but still sounds as if he’s biting her head off.

"Mom wants you guys to come out here and come down to dinner. She says it’s bad luck to spend so much time in a bedroom."

Mikhail smirks at me, as if underscoring the point that he’s not the only one holding Russian superstitions in high regard.

“We’ll be there! Don’t listen to your brother."

He flashes his eyes at me. "Behave yourself."

“Yay!" Polina says on the other side of the door. "We have so much to talk about. God, let her out of there already." She pads away and we’re left alone in the room.

“Aria,” he says warningly.

“What?” I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom. “I need a shower.”

"We have rules here.”

"Oh, do we?" I turn on the shower. "Want to enlighten me?"

He follows me into the bathroom. "You know exactly what those rules are. You disrespect me in front of my family, I’ll have to discipline you."

I turn around and look at him. "Ooh, big scary Russian guy’s gonna punish me." I roll my eyes. "Do you really think I’m afraid of that by now?"

Oh, my God, what am I, ten?

He pulls up his phone to make a phone call. "You stay right there.”

"Yes?" It’s the doctor from the ER. I can see the contact on his phone, and he’s got it on speaker.

"Is it or is it not dangerous for a husband to spank a disobedient wife?" My jaw drops. Oh my God. He did not just say that out loud. I am so embarrassed my cheeks flame.

"Mikhail,” I say. My voice is shaky, with a little tremor. “Don’t!”

"It’s very dangerous," the doctor says, and for a second Mikhail’s face falls. "If he wants his dick intact. Do you want her to kill you in your sleep? You might be bigger than her, but she could still smother you." I laugh out loud. God, I love this woman.

"I mean for her."

She laughs. "I know exactly what you mean, and the answer is no, with caution of course you can engage in all sorts of deviant sexual behavior."

Deviant sexual behavior. Oh my God. I’m so changing my name and moving out of state.

"Yes, Mr. Romanov. Kinky sex is fine. Once in a while, other things are fine as well. I’ll send you an article that I wrote on this subject."

An article she wrote. Kill me now.

“Thank you."

"Anytime." He disconnects the call.

"You couldn’t say something like…I don’t know…can we have a little rough sex? You had to pull up that whole disobedient wife thing? Oh, my God." He’s swiping through something on his phone, rapidly reading. One of the sexy things about him is that he’s a speed reader, no matter the language.

"I don’t think I’d be pushing that button right now, if I were you," he says. Dear God. Why did I have to do this? I jump into the shower, as if somehow a barrier of water is going to save me from his punishing palm.

And just as I suspected, just when I get to the conditioning part of my hair treatment, he’s right in the shower with me.

“Mikhail!" I protest when he takes the bottle of conditioner out of my hand and throws it right out of the tub.

"Hands on that wall," he says in a low drawl in my ear.

I shiver. Yes. I’ve missed this so much. I brace myself against the wall and swallow hard. "Yes, sir," I tell him. Trying to remember what it’s like to submit. Little push, little pull. Let him lead. Don’t fight it.

"I finished that article. It was quite enlightening. It seems as long as I don’t prohibit you from breathing properly, a good spanking can actually enhance your hormones, and make you feel better about things."

"Huh. Imagine that," I say, wryly. But I don’t move.

"About that disobedience…"

"When exactly did I disobey you?"

"When I told you that you always speak respectfully to me in front of my family, and my men. Both hands on that wall. Now."

The first slap of his hand against my ass feels so hard I almost lose it. I come up on my toes right in the shower. I forgot that water can amplify the effects of a smack. I hiss in a breath, but I don’t protest, because I know I need this. I need to take my medicine.

He spanks me again, and again, working his way all around my butt, my upper thighs, pausing between smacks, stroking between my legs. I’m already on the edge. They say some women hate sex when they’re pregnant and some love it. Thankfully for me, I’m in camp two.

"I seem to remember a couple of curse words from your mouth as well, my love," he says, with feigned calmness.

He reaches across me and takes something off a hook. What the – no. Polina. For Christ’s sake, why did you have to buy the bamboo bath brush?

"Stay right there,” he commands in a harsh tone. I stay in position, cringing for the first smack.

I am not disappointed. The brush whistles through the air before it lands with a thud. I yell out loud, because it hurts.

He traces the welt on my ass. "I fucking miss seeing my stripes on you. Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous." By now I’m on the edge, practically ready to cry, but I don’t want to. Not yet.

He leans one arm against the tiled wall, hot water cascading down his back and mine. His forehead to mine, he whispers, “You know that I love you. Do you know that, Aria?" There’s a rare sincerity in his eyes, a vulnerability that makes me want to cry all over again. I nod and swallow. "I do,” I whisper. "And I love you. Do you know that?"

"I do now." He bends down, and oh, thank heaven, wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, holding me in place just before his mouth crashes to mine. I taste the salt of my tears and the heat of the shower, his lips, and the memory of orange juice at breakfast.

I’m transported into another time and place where I do nothing but revel in bliss. I’ve surrendered myself to him, but even more? He’s surrendered to me. The two of us have become one. We truly have. And right here between us – Mikhail next to me, and the tiniest little heartbeat of a baby within me, we’ve formed our new family.

His rough hand cups my ass, massaging out the pain from the spanking that I craved.

"I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you needed."

"Mikhail, it feels so greedy for me to complain about anything when you give me everything I could want. All those clothes, the massages, and the breakfast in bed. The bubble baths and everything that I wanted. The computers and the monitors and everything, it’s just…It’s too much."

One sharp shake of his head. "It isn’t too much. It would be too much if you didn’t deserve it, Aria. But you are my queen.”

That’s it. Now I really am crying. Damn these pregnancy hormones.

He bends to take my mouth again, and after a long, lingering kiss, he spins me around and rinses my hair. I relish the feel of his thick fingers on my scalp. Hot water across my aching ass…

When the loud blast of an alarm tears us out of our reverie.