Chapter 23
ELLE
Ican’t sit still.
I’ve checked the table three times, fixed the same candle twice, and now I’m just standing here like an idiot, pretending I’m not freaking out.
“Okay, Elle,” I mutter to myself. “You’ve got this. You’re just telling the man you married that you’re pregnant. Stop freaking out.”
I smooth down the sinful little item I put on and head for the light controls.
Dim lighting screams romantic…right?
I glance at the mirror while passing by and immediately regret it. My lipstick looks all smudged and like it’s barely holding on, probably from biting my lip repeatedly in anticipation and nerves. I quickly fix it up, throwing another glance at the mirror, and force a breath.
It’s fine. You’re fine. He’s going to be happy. He loves Pasha, he’ll love this baby, and maybe, if I don’t faint mid-sentence, he’ll love this whole surprise idea too.
The bedroom glows golden, soft and warm, like the inside of a dream. The table by the window is set for two. Candles flicker in pools of wax. The air smells faintly of vanilla and for once, everything feels…peaceful.
And tonight, I’m going to tell Nikolai he’s going to be a father.
The thought still hits me in waves. Every time I think I’ve wrapped my head around it, the truth swells again—bright, impossible, holy. There’s a little heartbeat growing inside me, and it’s ours.
I smooth my dress; black silk, simple, just barely modest enough to qualify as clothing. It slides against my skin like water when I move, the kind of dress that makes promises without saying a word.
I check the clock again.
Eight thirty. He’s late, but that’s not unusual.
The real surprise will be seeing him walk in and realize what I’ve done. Nikolai Ivanov, master of control, walking into something he didn’t plan.
Oh, I can’t wait to see how that’ll go.
I stare at the door to our bedroom. Any second now, he’ll walk in.
Any. Second.
My stomach flips when I hear footsteps outside the door. My eyes immediately go to the champagne chilling on ice near the table for two I’ve had set up by the window.
Too bad you can’t drink, Elle. My hand instinctively falls to my belly.
The footsteps grow heavier.
Measured, powerful, unmistakable.
The door to our bedroom swings open, and there he is—tie loosened, coat slung over one shoulder, a few strands of dark hair falling across his brow like they got tired of behaving.
His shirt’s open at the throat, his sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that should honestly come with a warning label.
My mouth goes dry.
He fills the doorway like he owns it, like he owns me, and suddenly all my big, confident “I’m going to tell him tonight” energy packs up and leaves the building.
Just for a temporary hiatus.
“Elle,” he says, his voice low, surprised. “What’s this?”
I smile, pretending to be calm even though my pulse is auditioning for a rock concert. “Surprise.”
For a heartbeat, he just stares, taking it all in.
The candles.
The champagne.
Me.
“You did all this?”
“Unless the maids decided to get sentimental,” I say. “Yes, I did.”
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, eyes dark in the candlelight. “And what exactly are we celebrating?”
Well, can’t exactly spring a baby on him like this, can I? “Us,” I say, because it’s also true. “You. Me. The fact that we’re happy together.”
He smiles, looking at me with a softness, right before his gaze turns hungrier. His eyes take me in, drink me from head to toe, stopping everywhere the dress cinches tight.
He kicks the door shut behind him, his eyes locked on mine and the move, sexy and dominant in every way possible, already has me thinking depraved thoughts.
"Is everything okay?" he asks, prowling toward me like I'm prey he's been tracking all day.
I nod, throat suddenly dry. "Everything's fine. Great, actually. I just wanted to—"
He's in front of me now, so close I can smell him, my pulse jumping like it's been electrocuted.
"To what?" he murmurs, one hand sliding around the back of my neck, thumb brushing the sweet spot just below my ear.
My brain short-circuits. Words? What are those? "To... um..."
Before I can remember how sentences work, he spins me around and backs me up until my shoulders meet the wall beside our bed.
His palms land on either side of my head, the space between us charged and narrow. Then, his mouth is at my throat, breath hot against my skin.
"You look fucking edible," he growls against my neck. "Are you okay to eat after I devour you?"
And that’s it. Rational thought packs its bags and flees the scene. This was not how I planned the evening going, but my body's sending out flares like it's voting unanimously for Option B: Sex Now, Talk Later.
"Um," I manage, eloquent as ever when his teeth graze my pulse point. "Yes?"
“You don’t sound convinced,” he chuckles in a low growl, getting my teeth on edge from want. His hands trail up the outside of my thighs, my hips, setting my core on god damn fire.
I grab his lapels, yanking him closer. "Yes," I repeat, firmer this time. "Hell yes."
The baby news can wait fifteen minutes. Or twenty. Or however long it takes for him to do whatever he's planning to do that has his eyes looking like that.
He grabs my chin, tilting my neck up. I feel my chest heaving as he dips his head down, his lips brushing up against mine.
From the first contact itself, I’m a shuddering mess.
He puckers a few soft kisses, on the corners of my mouth, along the bow of my lips…
and then…and then he slams his lips on mine.
I feel the wind leave my lungs as I moan, parting for him. His tongue slides against mine, demanding, taking, giving all at once. I can't breathe, don't want to, would happily suffocate if it meant not breaking this connection.
My hands are in his hair now, tugging, pulling him closer, closer, like we can somehow occupy the same space if I just try hard enough.
His hands, those massive, deadly, gentle hands, slide down my sides, mapping the curves of my body through the thin fabric of my dress.
When they reach my thighs, they bunch the material up, slowly, inch by excruciating inch, until cool air hits the tops of my thighs and his fingers brush bare skin.
Suddenly his grip changes. I hear a rrrriiip, loud in the quiet room, and my dress gives way, sliding off my shoulders in two torn halves.
For a second, all I can do is stare at him and that wild edge in his eyes.
"I liked that dress," I gasp.
"I'll buy you ten more," he promises, then drops to his knees in front of me like he's about to pray.
And oh god, the sight of him, kneeling before me like I'm his altar... It's enough to make my knees buckle.
His hands curl around the backs of my thighs, steadying me, thumbs brushing teasing circles just shy of where I'm already embarrassingly wet.
"Hold still,” he grips my thighs and forces my feet to part, planted on the floor, before his hands slide up to curve beneath my ass. My spine is welded to the wall, and I can’t tell if I’m melting or burning alive.
Then, he presses against my ass, pulling me closer till my pussy hits his mouth.
And…fuck, I’m inferno.
His tongue slides through my folds, devastating and full of force. My head falls back against the wall with a thud, the slight pain barely registering through the pleasure racing through me.
"Nikolai," I choke out, one hand flying to his hair, clutching tight.
He pushes a thick finger inside me, his wet, luscious tongue circling my clit. I think I sob in ecstasy.
Another finger joins the first, stretching, curling inside like he's seeing how far he can push me.
When he finds it, hitting that spot that makes the world go white, I nearly collapse. Only his arm around my waist, strong as steel, keeps me upright.
"That's it," he says, his breath warm. "Let me feel you. Let me taste how much you want this."
My body stops feeling like mine—it’s all him, all heat and urgency, every nerve pulled tight like a string about to snap. His touch builds a rhythm that pulls me apart and puts me back together, a rhythm designed to drive me insane.
And then, I come.
The orgasm hits like an asteroid, sudden and violent.
I cry out, walls clamping down around his fingers, body shaking so hard I'd collapse if not for his hold on me.
He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps going until the pleasure edges into something almost painful. Until I'm gasping and begging and not sure if I want more or if I'll die if he gives it to me.
Only when my legs are literally trembling does he finally pull away.
He stands, an Adonis if I ever saw one.
Mouth wet.
Eyes dark as sin.
There's a look on his face like he's just tasted something divine.
Next thing I know, I’m off the ground, hanging over his shoulder.
“Liked that, did you?” he squeezes my ass. I jerk, sucking in a breath through a hiss.
He chuckles. Three long strides and he tosses me onto the bed. I land with a soft "oof," hair fanning out around me, limbs splayed like a rag doll's.
He doesn't speak as he strips, watching me the whole time.
I pull at his tie, fingers working buttons. My eyes follow the planes of his chest, the sculpted edges of his muscles.
I still can’t believe I got this fucking lucky.
When he's finally, gloriously naked, he climbs onto the bed. My eyes lower to his cock. Hard. Thick. Jutting proudly from a nest of dark hair.
From the hardened length of it alone, I know there’s never been a moment in my life when I’ve felt more wanted.
"Turn over," he orders, voice like gravel. "On your hands and knees."
The words hit me like a spark, and heat blooming low in my stomach. I shift, doing what he says. The air is cool, almost teasing, sending a full-body shiver through me.
His hand trails down my spine, a whisper of contact. "Perfect," he murmurs.
“Remember,” I throw a look over my shoulder, coy and sweet. “There’s dinner waiting, darling.”