Chapter 34
Alyona
Early afternoon settles over the plantation in a quiet, golden hush that makes everything feel suspended, as though the world has decided to hold its breath for me.
Michael conducts the appointment in my rooms instead of dragging me all the way into town again.
I secretly appreciate it more than I admit.
The last few days have left me jumpy in ways I don’t quite know how to explain.
There’s something comforting about being examined in a space that smells like my soap and my clothes instead of antiseptic and strangers.
He shows up dressed the same way he always does: faded jeans and a t-shirt.
His sleeves are rolled up like he’s about to fix a sink instead of check my blood pressure.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a bored neighbor dropping by for coffee rather than the only doctor brave enough to step foot in a Bratva boss’ home.
“Still feeling nauseous?” he asks, pressing the stethoscope lightly against my back.
“Only when someone tries to feed me fish,” I mutter.
He snorts under his breath. “That tracks.”
As he moves around the room, efficient and unhurried, I notice a shadow slide across the thin strip of light beneath the door. It lingers, shifting just slightly, like someone trying very hard not to move at all.
I can’t help it; I smile.
Michael follows my gaze and sighs, long-suffering. “He’s out there again, isn’t he?”
“Maybe,” I say innocently.
“He’s worse than an anxious first-time father in a sitcom.”
“He’d hate that comparison.”
“I’m aware,” Michael replies dryly. “Everything looks good, Aly. Heartbeat’s strong, vitals are normal, and you’re right on track. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about, despite the six-foot-three Russian sentinel guarding your door.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “Thank you, Michael.”
He pats my shoulder, then slips out through the connecting door to the hallway, deliberately avoiding the main exit.
The second the latch clicks, I cross the room and pull the door open.
Kaz practically stumbles inside.
For a man who can orchestrate kidnappings and corporate takeovers without blinking, he looks sheepish, like a boy caught eavesdropping. His hair is slightly mussed, his shirt sleeves rolled, tension carved into every line of his body.
“I wasn’t listening,” he says immediately, jaw set like he’s facing down a rival.
I laugh. “You were absolutely listening.”
He exhales through his nose, conceding the point, and then he’s in front of me, hands on my waist, eyes scanning my face.
“You’re not very discreet for a mafia leader,” I tease.
His mouth twitches, but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “What did he say?”
“That everything’s fine,” I answer softly. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. And apparently, I’m officially close to three months along.”
He sinks onto the edge of the bed and pulls me with him until I’m settled in his lap, my legs bracketed by his thighs, his arms circling me like he’s afraid I might vanish. His face buries into my neck, breath warm against my skin, and for a moment the ruthless man everyone fears disappears.
His voice is rough when he murmurs, “Ya vlyubilsya v tebya.”
I run my fingers through his loose hair and smile. “You know I haven’t started my Russian lessons yet, right?”
He lifts his head slowly and looks at me. His dark eyes are steady, vulnerable in a way they haven’t been before.
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he says carefully, his fingers tightening on my waist.
My heart stutters so hard it almost hurts.
All the fear, chaos, blood, and danger that seem to orbit his life fade into the background. There’s only him, sitting here with me, holding me like I’m something precious.
“I think,” I whisper, breathless, “I fell for you a while ago. Even though I tried so hard to fight it.”
His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, and when he kisses me, it’s slow and warm and impossibly gentle, like he’s memorizing me. His kiss lingers, slow and thoughtful, making my pulse pound even harder somehow.
I stay tucked against him, my fingers tracing the line of his collar, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. For a man who commands rooms and armies without raising his voice, he’s strangely quiet now, almost contemplative, as though he’s standing on the edge of something.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
Kaz’s hands slide up my back, broad and warm, settling between my shoulder blades. He hesitates, which in itself is so rare that it makes me tense.
“There is something,” he says carefully. “Something I’ve been considering.”
That tone usually precedes a business acquisition or a threat, not whatever this is.
I tilt my head. “You’re scaring me a little.”
A faint huff of amusement brushes my ear. “I’m trying not to.”
He leans back just enough to look at me, those dark eyes searching my face like he’s bracing for impact.
“This engagement,” he says, slower than usual.
“It began as strategy. Protection. A performance for the public.” His thumb strokes along my hip, grounding himself.
“But I don’t want it to be fake anymore. ”
“I would prefer,” he continues, voice roughening as I go still in his grip, “if it were real. If you were truly mine. Not as a shield, but because you choose to be.”
The room suddenly feels very small and very quiet.
I’ve never pictured myself as someone’s wife. Growing up, marriage always looked like a cage, a slow surrender of yourself piece by piece until nothing was left but obligation. The idea used to make my skin crawl.
“I never wanted to be a wife,” I admit, watching his expression tighten just a fraction. “Not like that. Not the way most women are expected to be. My mom taught me, whether she wanted to or not, that marriage—any kind of relationship with a man—ties you down and traps you.”
His jaw sets, already preparing to back off, grip loosening.
“But,” I add gently, touching his cheek, “you don’t make me feel owned. You make me feel like a partner. Like I get a say.”
“If I can still work,” I continue, “if I can still be me and have my own life and my own decisions, then I’m not scared of moving in that direction with you. I just can’t disappear into someone else.”
“You won’t,” he says immediately, fierce and certain. “I would never take that from you. I want you strong, independent and at my side, not behind me.”
Relief loosens something in my chest.
He pulls me close again, kissing me with a depth that makes my toes curl. “I’ll call the lawyer in the morning,” he murmurs against my lips. “We draw up a new contract. A real one.”
I laugh into his mouth. “Only you would propose with legal paperwork.”
“It’s romantic,” he insists gravely.
“It’s very you. But you have to promise—no more helicopters showing up at my job.”
His smile turns wicked and warm all at once as he lifts me fully onto the bed, hands gentle despite their strength, and the rest of the world falls away.
At first, I’m sure this will just be losing ourselves in lazy kisses, his tongue dragging across my lips to coax them open.
I sigh against him, giving him access to anything he wants, to everything as he cages me in with his body, bracing himself above me.
Kaz kisses me slowly and deliberately, taking his time.
The room darkens naturally as I get lost in the sensations of him claiming me languorously.
I don’t realize how deep in I am until he pulls away and I chase after him with a breathless whine.
Kazimir Baranov, Pakhan of the Savannah Bratva, grins down at me wickedly. “Is there something you want, fiancé?”
A shiver goes down my spine at the word, and I’m suddenly aware of just what kind of effect he’s had on me. Just from kissing.
My core pulses with want. I lick my lips, trying to decide how to tell him and land on taking his hand, guiding it down between my legs.
His thick fingers slip beneath the band of my sweatpants easily. I don’t miss how he holds his breath, brows knit as he seeks out my heat slowly. He presses two fingers over my clit, over the simple cotton underwear I have on, and I whine and rock my hips up.
“You want this?” he rumbles, dipping down to press a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Yes,” I whisper back, chasing his fingers again, rolling my hips.
Kaz buries his face in my neck and moves earnestly. His fingers hook into the sides of my panties, moving them roughly. Dip into already wet folds. I gasp as he prods at my entrance, taking his time despite the heat and want racing up my spine.
“You’re mine, Alyona,” he murmurs, and all I can do is make a sound of agreement, too focused on how good it feels as he fucks me slowly with his fingers. With all the events of the last week, my body is overwhelmed with this feeling of connection and voracity.
“Please,” I beg, gripping his shoulders and trying to pull him closer. Kaz makes a low rumbling sound in his chest, pressing our bodies together, his hand jammed between us and pumping roughly at a staccato pace that already has me close.
He curses, rolling slightly to the side and shoving his own pants down around his thighs, grasping his cock and giving it two quick pumps. He’s already hard, and it’s obvious from the intensity of our breathing filling the room that this isn’t going to last long.
Kaz sits back on his knees, yanking my sweatpants off and maneuvering his hands under my ass, eyes locked on mine as he slowly slides my panties down my legs. The smirk that graces his lips when he sees my exposed pussy sends a throb right to my clit.
“Come here,” he rasps, pulling me closer by the hips, still on his knees.
Gripping his shaft, he teases my clit with the head of his cock, slapping it messily and making me cry out.
“You want this,” he murmurs, rubbing himself lazily through my slickness, “don’t you? You’re mine, aren’t you, Alyona?”
I can only nod, words caught in my throat as Kaz leans forward and presses himself intently against my core.
The stretch is delicious, aching, and I take him eagerly, pressing my hips up to sheath him further.
He groans, thrusting shallow and quick. The rhythm is teasing, unsatisfying, giving me just enough to make me want more.
“Kaz,” I gasp, nipples hard and sensitive despite the fact that he’s barely touched anywhere else but my pussy, “please, please fuck me. I want it. I want you to fuck me.”
He grunts, leaning forward and snapping his hips into mine. Seating his cock fully to the hilt, dragging it out roughly, pumping in again. It’s so unrestrained it’s almost painful, but all I can do is give in. I brace my hands on his shoulders and let him fuck me.
The orgasm hits me so unexpectedly I cry out, half-sitting up as Kaz’s hands settle on my waist and try to hold me down.
The room fades away as waves of pleasure crash over and over me.
By the time I’m done shaking, Kaz is coming undone himself, falling forward to plant a messy kiss on my neck, his hips stuttering as he comes deep inside me.
“This,” he pants when we’re both spent and sprawled on the bed, “this is what I’ve been waiting for. You.”
His hand gently covers my belly, and it hits me that all this time I’ve been resisting my fate. Now I’m choosing it.