Page 88 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
I push two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that makes her see stars. She cries out, her inner muscles clenching around me. I work her with steady strokes, my thumb circling her clit until she's trembling.
"Come for me," I command.
She shatters, her body convulsing as pleasure tears through her. I don't give her time to recover. I strip off the rest of my clothes and position myself between her thighs, my cock hard and aching.
When I push inside her, we both groan. She's tight and perfect, her body gripping me like she was made for this. I start to move, slow and deep, making her feel every inch.
"Harder," she begs, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I give her what she wants, driving into her with powerful thrusts that make the bed shake. Her breasts bounce with each movement, and I can't resist leaning down to capture a nipple between my teeth.
"Andrey!" She's close again, I can feel it in the way her body tightens around me.
I reach between us and rub her clit, pushing her over the edge. She comes with a scream, her muscles clenching so hard around my cock that I follow her, my release hitting like a freight train.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. I roll to the side and pull her against my chest, my hand stroking through her hair.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too." I kiss her forehead. "Always."
We lie there for several minutes, just holding each other. Then Mariya suddenly stiffens.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. Instead, she scrambles out of bed and runs to the bathroom. I hear her retching, the sound making my stomach drop.
I'm on my feet immediately, following her. She's on her knees in front of the toilet, her body shaking.
41
MARIYA
Isit on the edge of our bed, staring at the white plastic stick in my hand like it might explode. The bathroom light is still on behind me, casting a harsh glow across the bedroom floor. My stomach churns, but not from nausea this time. Just pure, unfiltered anxiety.
When I first started feeling sick, I'd convinced myself it was stress. Anatoly's threats, the constant running, and the fear that never quite leaves my chest. All of it seemed like enough reason for my body to rebel. But then last night happened. Andrey and I had sex, rough and desperate the way we both needed it, and afterward, I'd barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up everything in my stomach.
Morning sickness I'd heard of. Night sickness? That was new.
So here I am, waiting for a timer to tell me something I think I already know.
The bedroom door opens, and Andrey steps inside. His dark eyes find mine immediately, reading the tension in my shoulders and the way my fingers grip the pregnancy test too tightly. Hedoesn't say anything. He just crosses the room and sits beside me on the bed, close enough that our thighs touch.
His presence steadies me, even when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
"How long?" he asks quietly.
"Two more minutes."
He nods and reaches for my free hand, threading his fingers through mine. His palm is warm, callused from years of violence and survival. I focus on that touch, letting it anchor me while my mind races through possibilities I'd never thought I'd have to worry about.
A baby. I might be carrying Andrey's child.
The thought should terrify me. It does terrify me. But there's something else underneath the fear, but it's barely there. Just a glimmer. Fear overrides everything else.
The timer on my phone goes off, shrill and insistent. My heart slams against my ribs as I lift the pregnancy test, turning it so the little window faces me.
Two pink lines.
