by Renee Rose
Svetlana beams at me, like I just passed some kind of test. “As you can see, water births are extremely peaceful for the mother and baby.
Tears continue to stream from my eyes. It’s absolutely mortifying and completely unlike me to cry at all, much less in front of a bunch of strangers. All I can do is bob my head and try to choke back my terraced breaths.
Maybe Ravil wasn’t just being a dick when he told me I was having a water birth. I mean, he definitely was a dick because the choice should be mine. But the idea doesn’t seem quite so insane or abhorrent now.
Ravil massages the back of my neck, strokes my hair. I find myself leaning into him, drawing his strength, the comfort he offers. And despite the logic, despite knowing I’m still his prisoner, and he’s keeping me here against my will, I’m grateful to him for bringing me here to this class. I never would’ve seen a video like this without him. Wouldn’t have known about water births and the beauty of them. Wouldn’t have researched home births, or hypnobirth or any of this alternative information.
And while it’s not me, I feel far more capable of having a baby than I did a week ago. I have more trust in my body and nature and the beauty and miracle of birth.
I look over at Ravil.
I have more trust in him.
I’m playing the game to get him to trust me, and yet, I’m the one falling under a spell. Because all I see is kindness. Good intentions. Heart.
I reach out and rest my hand on his thigh. He draws me closer with the arm around my shoulders.
I turn my face into his neck and lay a tentative kiss there.
Ravil goes still.
Carrie slides a glance at us. “You’re lucky,” she says. “I wish I was having this baby with someone I love. But hey, it’ll be me and baby, and we’ll love the hell out of each other.”
My eyes pop with tears again. Not because she’s made the wrong assumption about us. But because a week ago, I was in her shoes. Planning on doing it all, all by myself.
And now I’m suddenly being waited on hand and foot. Cared for. Pampered. Massaged. Having my toes sucked. My body played like a fine instrument.
Do I really think I’d be so much better off alone? My old life suddenly seems so empty.
So sterile.
And that’s what I’d be bringing a baby into. To a sterile, empty apartment with a nanny to feed my baby by bottle while I work my ass off all day trying to make partner at my dad’s firm.
None of that feels right any more.
Watching the videos made the idea of a baby seem so much more real. A tiny, miraculous being that would come into my life. That should be celebrated and honored. And birthed naturally in peace.
Christ, did I really just think that? I must be crazy.
But I am thinking it. I am considering what it would be like for my sweet, sweet baby to come gently into the world in Ravil’s salt water hot tub. With him behind me, massaging my shoulders and weeping with me as I lift our son reverentially from the water.
Chapter 13
Ravil
I go harder than stone the moment Lucy places her hand on my thigh. It’s the first time she’s touched me of her own accord, and my body comes alive as if she’s the one who commands me in bed and not the other way around.
I’ve been fantasizing about having her lips around my cock. About ordering her on her knees and feeding my length into her smart mouth.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My goal is keeping her stress-free and pleasured for the benefit of our baby. Holding her prisoner is plenty stressful. And while she’s been willing to receive my punishment and pleasure, it’s different than forcing her to reciprocate, even though it’s common sex play with submissives.
But now all I can think about is getting inside her. Not for her pleasure but for my own desperate need.
I can barely get her out of there fast enough when class is over. We get in the elevator going up, and I’m ready to fuck her right there, but sadly, we’re not alone.
“Hi, Mr. Baranov.” One of the kids in the building is in the elevator with his mom in full soccer gear, holding a box full of chocolate bars.
“Hello, Nate, coming from a game?”
“No, just practice.” He holds out the box. “Would you like to buy a chocolate bar? It’s for the team.”
“I’ll take the whole box,” I tell him. “Can you do the math on that?” I fish in my wallet for a hundred dollar bill.
“Um.” A look of panic flares in his eyes. His mom pulls out her phone like she’s going to use the calculator.
“It’s all right. Take your time,” I say. I’m going to give him the hundred regardless of how many chocolate bars he has. I just want him to use his math skills. I want to say he’s in fifth or sixth grade. Old enough to know how to multiply. “How many bars are in the box?”
The kid drops to his knees and starts to dump them out, counting quickly. “There were sixty,” he reports. “But I already ate one and sold three on the bus ride home.”
“So what does that leave? You don’t have to count. Just do the subtraction in your head. Sixty minus four is what?”
“Um...fifty...six. Yeah, fifty-six.” He shoves the bars back in the box and stands.
“That’s right. And the cost per bar?”
“One dollar. So fifty-six dollars.”
“That was easy.” I smile at him. “No change necessary.” I hand him the bill. “It’s my donation to your team.” I take a couple chocolate bars from the box and hand them back. “And these are for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baranov.” The elevator stops on their floor.
“Yes, thank you,” his mother says, her Russian accent thick. “So much.” She holds the door for her son and darts a glance at Lucy.
“This is Lucy.” I want to add, “The mother of my child,” but Lucy’s not amenable to being claimed by me yet. “Lucy, this is Anna and her son Nate.”
Lucy’s the type who commands that kind of admiration.
Not that I have even decided if I want to claim her.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?
If she’d have me, I’d claim the fuck out Lucy. Body and soul. Especially that soul of hers. I’d teach her what it’s like to be truly loved. Deeply loved. Revered, cared for, cherished. Honored.
“Nice to meet you, Lucy,” Anna says, ducking her head almost like she’s bowing to a princess. She releases the door, and it slides closed.
The moment it shuts, I’m on Lucy. I back against the elevator wall and pin her wrists beside her head. I deliver a searing kiss to her mouth then across her jaw and down her neck. I nip and bite at her nipple beneath her blouse. All the while, I push my thigh between her legs and rub it.
Surprisingly, she kisses me back.
Eagerly.
Like she wants me as much as I want her.
Me. Not just sexual satisfaction.
I don’t know what changed. I’m not sure I care. I just know I can’t wait to get inside her and pound until we both shout.
The elevator stops on the top floor, and I don’t stop kissing Lucy. Using her wrists as leverage, I rotate her away from the wall and walk her backward out the elevator and into the hall. My lips lock on hers, my tongue sweeps between her lips, fucking her mouth like our lives depend on it.
She moans softly.
“I need you naked,” I mutter, my accent thick.
I push into the penthouse and stop kissing her only because we have a momentary audience.
Maxim chuckles as I maneuver Lucy quickly past the living room to my room. “I do believe someone’s getting under Ravil’s skin,” he observes.
I ignore it all. Nothing matters but getting Lucy in my room, in my bed. I close the door behind us and pull off her blouse. She undoes my pants, reaching in to grasp my member. I shudder at the pleasure, catching her nape and drawing her up close to my body.
“That’s it, kitten,” I coax hoarsely. “Squeeze it like you mean it.”
She tigh
tens her grip on my cock, pumping a few times as I try to focus enough to unclasp her bra.
“You’re so beautiful. A goddess,” I murmur. I’m not sure if I’m speaking English or Russian. I toe off my shoes and step out of my pants. Lucy doesn’t take her hand off my dick when she tries to take off my shirt. Instead, she thrusts her fingers in the open V at my collar and tears it open, popping buttons and dragging my mouth against hers again.
“Beautiful, beautiful woman.” I get her skirt off. Her panties down.
She drops to her knees.
I nearly come at the sight.
“Lucy,” I choke before she’s even taken me into her mouth.
“I want to taste,” she says in a very un-Lucy-like, coquettish way. She licks around the base of my head.
A drop of pre-cum emerges, and she licks it off, lifting her sultry gaze to me.
Oh Jesus. Blyat.
She takes me into her mouth, and my knees kick back and lock, I throw my head back in ecstasy. But then I have to look down again because there’s nothing quite so beautiful as my unsubmissive-submissive at my feet. She takes me into the pocket of her cheek, sucking as she moves over my length, then directs me straight down the back of her throat. She chokes a little but doesn’t pull off, just goes slow, adjusting.
My thighs start to shake. I’m already so close to the edge. It feels so good. Lucy is skilled, but it’s not her expertise, it’s the fact that it’s Lucy. That she wanted to give me this. After holding everything from me from the very beginning. Something hard and hidden deep in my chest comes unmoored.
I wrap my hand around the back of her head and fuck her face, starting to lose control.
But no.
I want her satisfied, too. With great effort, I manage to pull out of her mouth. “Come, kitten,” I say roughly. I help her up and guide her onto the bed. “On your side,” I order, and she obeys. I tug her stacked knees around to angle her ass at the edge of the bed where I can enter her from standing.
One stroke of my finger verifies she’s dripping wet.
She always is. Even when she’s slapping my face and angry, her body always wants me.
Always welcomes me.
It knows its master even if she does not.
I ease in even though I’m ready to slam. She lifts one knee to give me better access. Looks at the place where our bodies connect with glassy eyes, pupils blown.
I hook my elbow under her top thigh to hold it up as I push in deeper. One slow withdrawal. Another deep push.
She reaches between her legs to rub her clit.
Blyat.
“Nyet,” I scold.
She withdraws her hand, looking up at me in confusion.
“Who owns your orgasms?” I’m feeling fucking proprietary at the moment. She gave herself to me, and I’m taking her. All of her. Every. Last. Bit.
I bring the pad of my thumb to the apex of her sex, applying gentle pressure as I continue to scythe in and out of her. “You sucked my cock so well, kitten. Should I let you come first?”
She shakes her head. “No,” she pants. “With you.”
With me.
Well, fuck.
That hard hidden thing that broke free in my chest crumbles even more. I fuck her harder. Faster. I bang the hell out of my beautiful, pregnant lawyer, watching as she turns as incoherent as I feel, her cheeks feverish, her hair tangling on the bedspread.
I lean in, pushing her top thigh toward her shoulder, applying more of my weight in each brutal thrust.
“You like it rough, kitten?”
“No,” she gasps. “Yes!”
She probably doesn’t even know her own name right now. I’m sure I don’t.
“You ready to come, kotyonok?”
“Yes,” she gasps quickly. “Yes, yes, yes. Please.”
Blyat. I’m ready, too.
I close my eyes and drag in ragged breaths. My movements grow jerky as I get closer, closer, and then pleasure explodes. I slam in deep and come hard, rubbing Lucy’s clit like it’s my lucky button.
She comes immediately, her muscles gripping around my cock, squeezing and pulsing. I stay deep inside until I’ve caught my breath. And then I still remain inside, staring down at my beautiful captive.
And that’s when I know with total certainty: I won’t be letting her go.
Lucy is mine, and the sooner she accepts that, the better for all of us.
Lucy
Cool soft sheets touch my bare skin. I wake up in total bliss. My body feels relaxed and wonderful. I smell something wonderful from the kitchen.
I sit up and look around. The sinking sun makes Lake Michigan glow a beautiful peachy pink. I must’ve fallen asleep after sex.
And that sex.
Whoa.
That was how Ravil was at Black Light. After I cried red because he choked a man for me. After he had to win me back. The time he got me pregnant.
I hadn’t forgotten, but that passionate side of him is normally so hidden, I’d started to wonder if I’d made it up. Or embellished. But no. That was the Ravil I’ve been masturbating to. Not the cool, manicured dominant who knows exactly what to say or do to make my body turn inside out. I appreciate that side, too. But seeing him unbuttoned, seeing a glimpse of the real Ravil—that’s the part that means something.
Our child was conceived in a fit of total passion.
Passion we both still feel for each other.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt and pair of yoga pants and test the door handle. It’s open. No giant Russian sitting guard outside the door, either.
On my bare feet, I pad toward the living room where I hear the boisterous sounds of men speaking in accented English. I guess they’ve given up the farce? Or maybe they’ll switch back to Russian when they see me.
I spy Ravil in the kitchen, pulling a tray of perogies from the oven with a hot pad, looking far more domestic than I could have imagined. His face blooms into a warm smile when he sees me. Gone is the inscrutable mask he normally wears. The handsome but cool facade. There’s genuine delight in his expression.
And damn, he looks adorable cooking.
“You didn’t actually make those yourself, did you?” I ask. My voice sounds husky from sleep.
A guffaw sounds from the couch. Maxim tosses an arm over the back of the sofa to twist grin at me. “As if. Ravil only knows how to heat food up.” English. Huzzah!
I lift my brows playfully. “Are you speaking to me now? I’m so honored.” I’m teasing—there’s no rancor behind the words. I simply don’t feel it right now.
Maxim darts a glance Ravil’s way. “I always spoke to you. It just wasn’t always in a language you understood.” He winks at me.
“Stop flirting with my—” Ravil breaks off mid-growl. I’m not sure what he was going to say. My captive? My prisoner? My lover? “—lawyer,” he finishes. He slides the perogies onto a plate.
“Your lawyer?” I scoff, strolling into the kitchen like this is my house, too. Like I’m a roommate here not a prisoner. Like I’m Ravil’s girlfriend.
Was that what I wanted him to say? Surely not.
“I’m Adrian’s lawyer, not yours,” I remind him. “Bear that in mind because you do not enjoy attorney-client privilege with me. Your secrets aren’t safe.”
Dima makes an exploding sound from the table where he’s working. His twin mimes a plane crashing. They’re laughing at Ravil.
The whole scene puts me more at ease than I’ve been since I arrived. Like I’m in on the one big happy family thing they have going.
“Don’t worry,” Dima pipes up, looking my way. “He doesn’t bake for any of his other lawyers. You’re definitely something more.”
I smile because it’s funny to see Ravil getting ribbed. It’s even more fun to see him as relaxed as I feel.
“Come, kitten.” He beckons me over. He has a tall glass of milk sitting on the countertop. “Drink this while the perogies cool. And the answer is no, I didn’t make them. Mrs. Kuznetzov brough
t them up ready to bake. I have them on daily order for you.”
“And he won’t let us touch them!” Pavel calls from the living room. “Not even the day-old ones. In case you get hungry in the night.”
“That’s good because I seem to want them for every meal.” I reach for one from the plate, but Ravil pulls it out of my reach.
“They’re too hot.”
He plops a container of organic strawberries in front of me. “Snack on these. I already washed them.”
Damn. Ravil is sweet. Sweeter than I want him to be. I could get used to being treated like that. And where would that get me? I’m not staying here permanently—that idea is ludicrous. Ravil doesn’t get to kidnap a woman and keep her.
But would it be so bad? a little voice in my head whispers.
Yes! It would. I bite into a juicy strawberry, savoring the taste. I’ve never sampled one so juicy, so sweet. Or is that my senses are all heightened from the sex and the physical pleasures Ravil constantly throws at me?
“What else do you want?” Ravil asks. “You don’t have to eat perogies, I just wanted them on hand if you craved them again.”
“I want perogies.”
“I guess there’s no doubt that our baby’s Russian, ah?” Maxim says, wandering into the kitchen. He grabs a perogie and bites into it, then exclaims and opens his mouth, panting. “Hot!”
“You should’ve warned him,” I scold.
“He should’ve obeyed my order not to touch them,” Ravil counters.
“Cocksucker,” Maxim mutters, but it’s obviously with affection.
Oleg gets up from his chair in the living room and walks to the door.
“Where are you going, Oleg?” Ravil asks, even though he can’t speak.
“It’s Saturday night,” Maxim reminds him.
Ravil looks blank.
“He goes to that club to listen to music on Saturdays.”
Oleg lifts a hand to wave goodbye and walks out.
Maxim says, “There’s a girl.”
Ravil’s brows shoot up. “Oleg goes to a club to meet a girl?”
Maxim shrugs. “To see a girl. She’s the lead singer of the band. He has a thing for her.”