Page 21 of Taken & Bred By The Bratva
“Say it again.”
“I choose you, Nikolai Maksimov.”
He kisses me like I’m oxygen and he’s been dying for air. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Bedroom,” he growls. “Now.”
And he carries me upstairs.
14
Nikolai
For the past few weeks, Zara’s been picking at her food. I notice because I notice every fucking thing about my woman. Her favorite dishes get pushed around the plate. She takes a few bites, then, done.
And she’s exhausted, falling asleep in the middle of movies, or with one of her books open on her chest.
At first, I thought it was from stress. Everything she’s been through, with me, the cops still sniffing around, losing her old life. Some sort of delayed reaction.
I make sure she eats, sitting with her at mealtime until she finishes at least half her plate, and she can roll her eyes all she wants.
But then she starts rushing to the bathroom in the mornings. The first time, I think nothing of it. The second, I pause outside the door, listening. I hear her retch and something clicks in my brain, and it’s like my heart fucking stops. Because I knowexactly what this is. I’ve been around enough pregnant women in my family to recognize the signs. And Zara’s showing every damn one. My wife is carrying our baby.
The thought makes me instantly hard. My wife. My child. My seed growing inside her perfect body right now.
I find her kneeling on the bathroom floor in nothing but one of my shirts, gripping the toilet bowl. She looks so small, so vulnerable, and so fucking beautiful carrying my kid.
Mine. Both of them.
“Baby?” I say softly, moving to kneel next to her.
She looks up with watery eyes. “I think I caught something. Food poisoning, maybe.”
I rub her back, then push hair away from her damp forehead. “When was your last period?”
She freezes at my question. I watch her count in her head and see the exact moment realization hits.
“Oh shit,” she whispers, a hand going to her stomach.
“How late are you, sweetheart?”
“Two weeks. Maybe three.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s a smile spreading on her lips.
I can’t stop staring at that smile. My wife, on her knees on our bathroom floor, sick as hell, and fucking glowing.
She wants this baby. She wants my baby.
15
Nikolai
My wife walks out of our room in a dress that makes me want to cancel our dinner reservation. She’s fucking stunning. The soft fabric clings to her tits, hugs her small waist, drapes over her round hips and that thick ass I’ve been obsessed with since day one. Her dark skin glows against the deep green, the emerald on her finger catching the light. Her hair’s down, curls falling past her shoulders, and she’s done something with her eyes that makes them look even bigger.
My pregnant wife, wearing my grandmother’s ring and carrying our baby.
My cock’s throbbing in my slacks before she even reaches me.
“Stop staring,” she says, rolling her eyes. But her hard nipples are pushing against the silk. She likes it when I look at her like this.
