His Pretend Baby

by Theodora Taylor

  He didn’t know what bothered him more at this point. That he now had a child to raise, or that Sam, the woman in the green dress, would be sleeping under his roof and he wouldn’t be able to touch her.

  14

  IT was very late by the time Nikolai made it home and he didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for him when he walked in the front door. But soon after stepping across the threshold and flipping on the lights in the foyer, the useless dog came trotting up to him, tongue hanging out.

  Despite having just met him a few hours ago, the dog seemed happy to see him.

  Nikolai glared at his unwelcome guest and tried to step around her, but the dog got in front of him again. And when he tried to dodge, the dog only followed him, nudging him with her square face before dropping to the floor and showing him her belly.

  Nikolai didn’t have much experience with dogs, but even he could understand the message this one was trying to convey. The price for getting by unimpeded by her large body was a belly rub.

  Maybe because he was tired and weary to his very bones, Nikolai bent down and gave her two short slapping pats on her pink belly. But perhaps the dog wasn’t as dumb and useless as he’d previously thought, because she once again flipped over as he stood back up, negotiating her head into his palm so he was forced to pet her again. Then came more head nudges, the greedy dog all but placing the back of her ears underneath his fingertips.

  Nikolai scratched her behind the ears because—well, he didn’t know why exactly. At first he did it to get her out of the way, but then a calmness stole over him. The more he scratched, the more the events of tonight loosened their angry hold over him. And the more the dog rubbed her large head against his palms, the more human he felt. Not like a ruthless killer, but like a man who’d done what he’d had to do to keep his nephew safe. The only thing he had left of his brother.

  A strange pain settled in his chest at the thought of Fedya, and he saw his brother, once again lying on that slab. Those Russian drug dealers had disposed of him like a piece of trash, and they would have done the same to Pavel, if he hadn’t—

  Don’t think about it, he told himself.

  “Go to bed, dog,” he said to the dark grey canine, who he had half a mind to rename Useless. “No more petting. Get out of my way.”

  The dog must have understood he was no longer in the mood to indulge her, because she slunk away into the dark living room as if she knew she’d gotten all the petting from Nikolai she was going to receive that night.

  The dog’s unexpected greeting had lightened his mood, but only for a little bit. He was completely numb again by the time he stepped into his glass and marble shower. And as he watched the blood of the Russians slide off his body and down the tub’s drain, he could sense his father’s ghost like a heavy cloud hanging over the bathroom. Nikolai’s inability to feel any emotion but grim satisfaction regarding what he’d done that night called forth his ghost as sure as if Sergei were still alive. Alive and still showing up at his mother’s apartment commanding Nikolai to come with him, as he had often throughout Nikolai’s teen years. The last time he’d come had been only a couple of nights before his mother’s death, for what Nikolai had known would be a very messy business if he needed more than one gun to handle it.

  To Sergei’s credit, he’d never come back after his mother died.

  As Nikolai got out of the shower and dried himself off, he could also feel his dead mother’s eyes on him. Scared for him. But too scared to say anything to his father.

  Nikolai’s bones ached with both the memories and exertion of killing eight men with only a silenced gun, a wire string, and his bare hands—which wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. Sergei had kept himself in excellent shape all the way up until his sudden death, and the reason for his dedication to staying fit was evident in the soreness Nikolai felt now despite his superior size and muscles.

  After his shower, Nikolai threw on a pair of briefs—the only thing he ever wore to bed, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. It was late. Very late. And he had to work the next morning.

  But he couldn’t make himself get into bed. There was a specific need tugging on him, as sure as a finger pulling on a toy’s drawstring. Instead of going to the bed, he threw on a heavy cotton robe with the Polar’s angry bear mascot emblazoned across the back of it.

  He needed to see the boy and the woman now sleeping under his roof. Make sure they were safe. It was a stupid compulsion. Stupid and unnecessary. There were no Russians left alive to get past his security system. Every threat against the boy was now dead in the basement of a strip club, awaiting the arrival of Tetsuro Nakamura.

  But nonetheless…

  Only two of the top floor bedroom doors were closed and he walked down the hall to the larger room on the left, as quietly as he could.

  His thought had been to check on the woman first, and then the boy, but to his surprise, he found the boy in the larger room, looking like a Russian prince in all the red, gold, and ivory opulence as he snored softly. He didn’t appear to have a care in the world, and for a moment the numbness inside Nikolai’s chest was pierced by a strange ache.

  He would protect this boy, he vowed as his heart iced back over. No matter what it took. He wouldn’t let him turn out like Fedya.

  With irritation he thought of the woman who’d insisted on coming here with Pavel, The judgmental look she had given him when he’d told Pavel not to cry. Fedya had been weak like that, coddled by his mother and mostly ignored by Sergei—which was close to a kindness on the enforcer’s part. Nikolai could remember Fedya sniveling into Natasha’s side much the same way. So Nikolai had corrected him. And Samantha McKinley had reacted to his words like he hit the boy, like he was worse than the men those women came to her shelter to escape. Like he was the exact opposite of her cop boyfriend.

  Bristling with remembered indignation, Nikolai crossed the hallway to her door and put his hand on the knob. He wished he could tell her just how far he’d gone to ensure his nephew’s protection that night. How he—not her cop boyfriend—had taken care of the threat against both of them—

  “No! Please don’t. Please don’t!”

  Nikolai’s heart stopped beating. The words came from inside the room and we’re followed by a distinct sob.

  15

  NIKOLAI acted without thinking, busting into the room without hesitation. He must not have solved the problem with his one man hit on the local Russian mob outfit. One of them had somehow gotten past his security forces and was now hurting her—

  He stopped short when he found her thrashing around in the guest room’s canopy bed, the covers completely thrown off, her oversized college t-shirt up around her waist.

  He looked around to be sure, but no, there was no one with her. Just Samantha McKinley, twisting around as if she were both trying to get away and prevent something from happening.

  “Please, don’t do it. Don’t do it! I’ll do anything you want me to, just don’t hurt him—”

  She was having a nightmare, he belatedly realized. He went over to her and turned on the light beside her bed.

  “Samantha.”

  “No, don’t. Please. Oh my God. Don’t!”

  “Samantha,” he said again, trying to shake her awake.

  “I will kill you. I swear I’ll kill you!” she growled. But the menacing affect of the words were diluted by the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Samantha!” This time he pulled her into a sitting position and shook her harder, trying to break through her nightmare panic.

  Samantha came blinking awake with a startled sound, half scream, half cry, and for many moments her wild eyes bounced around, before finally focusing on him. A shocked beat, and then to Nikolai’s astonishment, her head fell into his chest as she broke down sobbing, this time with tears of relief.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. I thought it was real.”

  “What did you think was real?” he asked from his awkward position, one knee dug into t
he bed and one foot still on the ground, his hands wrapped around her shoulders. “What did you dream?”

  She shook her head frantically against his chest, as if trying to rid her mind of whatever had spooked her so badly. “Nothing,” she answered, still crying. “It was nothing.”

  Nothing had her visibly trembling all over. “Tell me about your dream. Was it about man who came to your house?”

  He wondered then, for much more altruistic reasons, if he shouldn’t tell her about what he’d done that night. If it meant she’d stop crying so piteously into his chest, he found himself prepared to confess anything.

  “No, not him,” she answered, her voice watery. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine…” Another one of those stifled sobs, as if she were desperately trying to keep herself from breaking down even further. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “You are crying… and shaking all over,” he informed her, because clearly she did not know the difference between fine and not fine.

  “I know. I’m being silly, because everything’s fine now. We’re safe. I think it’s a delayed reaction to what happened tonight.” She pulled away from him, and brought her hands up to swipe at her tears. “You can go. I’ll be fine in just a few seconds.”

  She barely got this out before dissolving into more tears.

  Nikolai observed her for a hard second. “I am calling doctor.”

  “No!” she nearly yelled. “No doctors. I just need…” she trailed off.

  “What do you need?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

  He purposefully kept his voice harsh. If she tried to deny him the truth one more time…

  “A-a hug,” she answered. Her teeth were chattering just like the night they’d met. This time he doubted it had anything to do with the cold. “But you don’t seem like the hugging type, so I just n-need something to hold onto.” She looked around the bed. “Muh-maybe a pillow—”

  He climbed all the way onto the bed and dragged her into his arms, tucking her head into his chest. She was right, he wasn’t the hugging type, but he didn’t think twice about holding her. If this was what she needed, he was going to give it to her. There wasn’t even an inner debate as he settled back against the gold headboard with her wrapped tightly in his arms.

  She continued to cry for a long while, dampening the front of his robe. But at least she stopped trembling. Eventually her sobs began to quiet, no longer wracking her entire body. And when she spoke next, her teeth had stopped chattering.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I know it was probably hard for you, especially given your, uh, intimacy issues. But I want you to know I appreciate it. So really, thank you so much.”

  Her words of gratitude grated through him. What kind of unfeeling person did she think he was? Yes, technically she was right about his feelings about intimacy. He put women into three categories: those he would have sex with, those he did not wish to have sex with, and those who he could not have sex with, and the women he chose to spend time with usually didn’t cry or show much emotion at all. They were like him, efficient and capable lovers who respected his disdain for drama and left without tears as soon as the act was done.

  He’d never held a woman this long, much less comforted her through a crying fit. Nonetheless, he didn’t like the way Samantha categorized his preference for keeping his sex life drama free as—what had she called it? Intimacy issues. The two words set Nikolai’s teeth on edge. She obviously thought he was defective—defective like his father had been defective, and so emotionally deficient, he’d let a woman cry as Samantha had in his presence.

  “You can go now,” Samantha said, her voice awkward, as she started to pull back. “As you can see, I’ve calmed. But seriously, thanks again—”

  He kissed her. He couldn’t say exactly why. To keep her from thanking him again, or maybe—he did not want to think too hard about this—maybe because he didn’t want her to remove herself from his embrace.

  Whatever the reason, his hand came up to her cheek, pulled her closer, and the next thing he knew, he was kissing her. Not a soft kiss either. Not the kind of comforting peck men sometimes gave women to distract them from their hysterics.

  No, he couldn’t make that excuse, because when his lips landed on hers, they crashed down hard, demanding… desperate. Don’t cry. Don’t tell me to leave.

  She didn’t cry. She didn’t tell him to leave.

  But she did go completely stiff, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. He felt her hands come up to his chest, and for a moment he thought she would push him away. But then she moaned, turning her soft body into his and giving him better access to her lips and her breasts, which he didn’t even realize he’d gone after until his hand was underneath her shirt, palming one heavy globe as his tongue ravaged her mouth.

  Kissing her was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, like coming out of a Siberian prison to a home cooked meal. Yet he wanted more. More than what he was getting. Wanted… wanted…

  Nikolai groaned roughly against her lips. He needed to stop. This was happening too fast and he was a systematic lover. He enjoyed conquering a woman, making her surrender to his erotic assault, sometimes more than once, before he calmly put on a condom and took what he wanted from her with the sure knowledge that she was now fully prepped to receive his larger than usual length. Like a table that had been properly set.

  But this kiss… it had him pumping himself against her, his arousal thick underneath his boxer briefs and straining to get out. There came a new feeling in his chest, one he dimly recognized as the opposite of the usual ice he maintained at all time. One that caused a weird tumbling sensation inside his stomach.

  He tore her t-shirt, ripping it off her body with one hard yank. She was making him feel. She was making him feel. She was making him…

  Slow down, he said to himself, once again trying to rein in the kiss. But it was like trying to stop a forest fire. With a hose.

  Both of his hands were kneading her breasts now—no, a trickle of logic couldn’t stop what was happening between them. The only thing that could have stopped him in that moment was if she had told him to stop, that she didn’t want what was happening between them to happen. Only then would he have torn himself away from this kiss, released her bountiful breasts, which seemed to have been made to fill up his large hands.

  “Oh God, don’t stop!” She moaned again, pressing her breasts into his hands, her lips into his mouth, her core into his…

  He had no awareness of flipping her on her back, of his robe coming off, of removing the barrier of her panties. No memory of getting on top of her.

  Later, all he would remember of those moments was the feel of finally sinking inside her, the sound of himself groaning with sweet, aching relief. Because it felt like coming home.

  * * *

  Sam technically understood what was happening, but then again, she kind of didn’t.

  First had come the unexpected kiss from Nikolai right after she tried to put on her big girl pants and stop blubbering all over his robe. Instead of letting her go and running like a man on fire back to his room as she’d expected he would, he kissed her! And then there had been confusion, her mind shorting out as she tried to figure out what was happening.

  Then her body caught on fire, a volcano of desperate need forming inside her core, so quickly that she didn’t have time to argue with herself. Her body instantaneously responded to his unexpected kiss with a mind of its own, her breasts swelling, her core becoming unbearably hot. Even her mind abandoned her, screaming right along with every other inch of her, to let this happen. All she needed—and the only thing that would take the nightmare away, was having the Russian hockey player inside of her.

  There came a ripping sound and then both his hands were on her breasts, squeezing so hard it caused her pain. But not the kind that truly hurt. It was a sweet pain that tingled all the way down to her core. She could fe
el his hips pumping against her body as he continued to kiss her, his erection thick and hard as it brushed against the top of her right thigh. But that wasn’t where she wanted him. No, she wanted him somewhere else, and without conscious thought she adjusted herself to get him there, pressing herself into his long length… she let out a shocked gasp. She could actually feel the outline of his mushroom head behind his briefs—that was how hard he was.

  Then it was too late. One press against him. That was all it took.

  The next thing she knew, her back hit the bed. Her panties were yanked down and then his huge body was on top her and… Oh God… he pushed inside and he was… another cry up to the heavens as she bit down on her lip… he was so thick and heavy inside her wet folds. His large shaft spread the outer lips of her pussy farther apart than she’d ever imagined they could go and he didn’t stop, not until he was all the way in, his balls coming to rest against her entrance as he gave her a moment to adjust to his size.

  She didn’t take that moment. Sam was so hot, so wet for him. Instead she shifted underneath him, urging him with a pelvic thrust to keep going. This wasn’t natural, she thought on the razor edge of sanity. She’d never been filled like this before, and it should be hurting. But the hurt never came, only pleasure as he braced himself above her and started moving inside of her.

  He was as she’d expected he’d be, despite all his talk about her pleasure the night they met. Rough. He filled and refilled her with slow thrusts, hard and raw. But Sam didn’t mind, couldn’t mind. It felt magnificent, and another moan tore out of her throat when he adjusted and his length began hitting her clit at just the right angle every time he plunged into her.

  Apparently, that was the right answer. Sam realized he must have been looking for her hot spot when he was going at her rough and slow. Now he sped up, his powerful boy finding a rough and fast rhythm on top of hers.