Chapter 3
Mariya
I snuck around getting my bra, dress, boots, and room key before looking at the Russian, who gave me more than several screaming orgasms.
My plan had no room for men, but this one was tempting.
He was right; I was aching, and every movement brought a devastating memory of beautiful pleasure and dull throbbing pain.
The pain when he whipped me or when I came so hard that I almost dislocated my hands from being restrained with the cuffs.
The most delicious of all pain came from when he was knocking my insides with his stellar cock.
Was I fuck going to settle down with Owen’s diseased worm.
The man had earned his rest, but I couldn’t resist touching his hair and brushing the long strands back from his eyes.
He wasn’t diseased, but he’d been around the block a few times with skills like his.
My eyes moved to look at his large hand resting on the pillow.
I swallowed hard, feeling the bruising around my throat.
His grip had been like an iron vice, turning and twisting me around, fucking me in positions that I didn’t think to be possible.
My pussy was rubbed raw from the damn condoms, but I wasn’t on any contraceptive.
The last thing on my mind had been sex.
I worked every spare second of the day to reach where I was.
I shook my head, clearing it.
It was a mutual exchange that had a time limit on it.
I pulled back and left the bedroom to get dressed in the living room without disturbing him.
My flight left soon.
This was the only way to escape my parents and Owen’s obsession.
I had six years of experience dealing with his obsessive nature, and he would find me on this tiny Island.
My family wouldn’t mourn me, only the loss of their deal with the Chartwells’.
If they got a hint that I had money, they would join the manhunt.
My long-awaited plan was coming to fruition, and I couldn’t let a good dicking distract me.
I slipped out of the Russian’s room before I made the stupid decision to wake him up.
***
My life was a dream come true.
With 66 countries offering digital nomad visas, I was able to travel with ease to many European countries.
I planned to start close to my home base and span out into the rest of the world.
My one great joy was watching video bloggers who went to many countries that weren’t bombarded with tourists.
Those countries were my ultimate goal.
Only three months into my great escape plan, I hit a snag. I was pregnant with the Russian’s baby.
I stared at the pregnancy test, holding it with both hands to try and stop the trembling, but the two pink lines glared back at me like a cruel twist of fate.
The one time I chose to be reckless, to escape from my suffocating family member's countless expectations and enjoy a taste of freedom, I was hit with consequences.
Now, in a quiet Budapest apartment, the weight of my freedom collided with the reality growing inside me.
I sat on the toilet, processing my new circumstances.
I fled England to avoid a life dictated by others, but this—this was different.
The thought of a child, a tiny life I could nurture and protect, stirred something deep within me.
For the first time, the idea of sharing my life with someone didn’t feel like a cage.
It felt like hope, but more than hope, my baby would be my family.
With a deep breath, I placed a hand on my tiny bulge and made my decision.
My baby would be showered with love.
It would never feel unloved.
I would keep the baby.
This was my choice, my future, and no one—not my family, not society—would take it from me.
This child was mine.
And I had the next six months to plan its arrival. My mind flitted to its father, but I had no clue who he was or how to contact him.
***
“Twins?”
I asked the Irish nurse because it must have been her accent, and I didn’t understand her. I decided to speak slowly to her so she could understand me. “No, I’m having one baby.”
I even stuck my finger up so she knew that I was having one baby. She narrowed her eyes at my finger and violently stuck two fingers up at me before wiggling them around in my face.
Rude.
“Two. Yer havin’ two bairns. I mean babies. Two,”
she said before her eyes softened, and she stopped sticking her fingers at me.
“Ah, know it’s a shock, but yer going to be a Mam.
The more, the merrier. They will grow up together, fight together, play together and if yer lucky, love one another rather than trying to do one another in.”
“Two? Two babies?”
I asked, giving her both sets of my fingers.
“Yer pushing yer luck, get thay fingers doon,”
she cackled as her accent thickened. “Let me show you. Do you want me to see if I can find a wee willie or no?”
“Oh, my god. If it is anything like its father’s, it will look like a third leg,”
I said, focusing on the screen. “If you find a penis, can you point it out to me?”
She chuckled. “Ah, surely will.”
I ended up in Northern Ireland to remain hidden but be in Britain long enough to have the baby—babies.
Now that I knew it was twins, I might settle down here or move further south.
Moving south meant I would be out of the British system in case Owen was still looking for me.
I left the hospital in shock.
A boy and a girl.
A son and a daughter.
My son and daughter.
My life had irrevocably changed.
I was terrified and excited, but a strange sense of calm came over me. I would be the best mother I could be to both of my children and when they were old enough, they would see the world with me.
I thought of the Russian and his large specimen that beat the odds against the condoms.
Another statistic I learned was that 1 in 5 women get pregnant when using condoms as the only method of contraception.
His two fastest swimmers managed to infiltrate not one but two of my eggs.
He would never know he had children, but perhaps this was how it was always meant to be.
In four months, I would give birth to my babies and start a new life as a mother.
I rubbed my large belly, gently caressing my son and daughter with an overwhelming love blossoming for both of my children.
The nurse was right.
The twins would always have one another. My family life would be full of love and laughter. My early years of securing my future finances would allow me to be a full-time mother only working when needed.
The fear slipped away as if it was never there, and the bubbling excitement took over as I thought of a new plan.
Fuck fate, I made my own.
Part II