Marina
Ayawn breaks through the lethargy I feel as I skulk toward the place Stepan asked me to meet him.
Of course I want him in my life. I just have no clue what that can even look like.
He's the best thing that's ever happened to me.
I don't want to lose him, but I don't know what shape this situationship will take when that wedding happens and I'm married.
There's no way Maksim will let me keep Stepan around.
My gut roils as I turn the corner and see his car.
I have a family duty to uphold. Marrying Maksim isn't my choice, and I don't think Stepan can see that.
I shouldn't be out here climbing into his car to sneak off and have sex with him.
I shouldn't even be messaging him. But the pull I feel is so strong toward him, I can't stop it.
Every time I think I could just stop messaging him and pull away, I get so depressed, I feel like I can't get out of bed.
Elira hasn’t been much help either, so I haven't messaged her at all in two days, since the second time she told me to just sleep with Maksim and make him think the baby is his.
I feel trapped. Being with the person I want to be with isn't an option, but this baby makes my future look darker than a midnight hurricane.
And the thought of sleeping with Maksim at all makes me want to vomit.
I open the door and slide into his passenger seat, into the cloud of his cologne that usually makes me swoon. Tonight, it makes my belly feel a bit sick. Not that it's a bad scent, but it's a little strong, and morning sickness apparently doesn't just happen in the morning.
"I wondered if you were coming," Stepan says quietly. I glance at the clock and see it's seven past the hour. I'm usually on time everywhere I go, so that seven-minute delay is proof of how exhausted I am while growing a tiny human in my womb.
"I'm sorry. It's been a rough day." I shut the door and click my seatbelt into place and he takes off down the dark street.
The nervous energy I normally feel around him is absent tonight, replaced by sadness that I am having his baby and I can't tell him.
That, and fear that Maksim will discover what's going on and end the arrangement, thus angering my father.
I don't know what I'd do if that happened.
"You need to talk about it?" he asks, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine.
My first thought should be how sweet he is for asking.
Instead, I can only think about how Maksim's response would've been to send me out of his presence under the guise of caring about me, sending me to rest, but in reality, he simply wouldn't want to be around a mope.
"No, thank you." I force a half smile and turn, looking at the reflection of his dash lights on the side window. He drives out of my neighborhood onto a main road, but I remain quietly locked inside my own thoughts where I battle to keep control.
Breaking down and telling him about the baby isn't a good idea, no matter how much I want to.
He could be sympathetic or offer potential solutions, or he could get possessive and insist I end things with Maksim.
Either way, it ends in pain for both of us because I'm very certain that we want the same thing—to be together.
It's just never going to happen as long as Maksim Orlov is alive, and I'm no killer.
"Are you hungry? We could get some fast food before we go to my place..." His thumb carefully strums the back of my knuckles, but I sigh and shake my head.
"Not hungry, just tired."
He's trying so hard to get me out of my head, but what he doesn't understand is there is no path out of this where it doesn't end in tears. And I don't want to cry.
"Tell me what's going through that beautiful head of yours, Rina."
"Please—" I start to snap at him and realize what I'm doing.
He's not the problem. Even Maksim isn't the problem.
The problem is that I shouldn't be here.
I should never have given him my number or answered when he messaged me.
This grand adventure is my way of acting out on immature and irresponsible impulses, and I should know better.
So I calm myself and say, "Please, Stepan, I really don't want to talk about it. Let's just go to your place."
I curl my fingers more tightly in his, and he respects me by not saying another word the whole drive.
He parks out front of his house and kills the engine, then waits for me to get out of his car.
His hand rides the small of my back as I walk toward the door, suddenly feeling so clingy and needed.
I'm not in a sexy mood, but the instant his lips press against mine once inside the house, I want to lose myself in him.
"Let's have a drink, okay? Help you loosen up?" He pulls away, cupping my cheek, but I know drinking is bad for the baby. I haven't been to a doctor yet, but I know what they’d say and I want to be a good mother. Not a drunk.
"No, just kiss me," I tell him, rising up on my tiptoes to press my lips against his again. But he nips my lower lip and frowns.
"It helps you, baby. You're so tense. I don't want to do this if you're not in the mood. I didn't pick you up just for sex. You're more than that to me."
His words almost kill me. They feel like a knife jabbing into the most sensitive place in my heart.
I want this man more than anything and I can't have him or his perfection or his sweetness.
It's not mine to own, only to borrow, and he knows it.
I can't be more than "just sex" to him. I can't. Because to be "more" means my entire family falls, and how can I live with myself knowing that will happen?
"Stepan," I whisper, hooking my fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him down. "Kiss me now, or let me leave."
His hands claim my hips and he lets me deepen the kiss until we're backing down the hallway toward his bedroom. The door bumps open behind me and we stumble inside without breaking apart. My fingers slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up so I can feel the warm skin of his stomach, which makes me whimper to feel more. He helps me tug it over his head, then reaches for mine. The cool air hits my bare arms as he peels it away carefully, like I’m some fragile object he doesn’t want to break.
We sink onto the bed together, and his mouth finds my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin as I tilt my head to give him more room.
The fact that his touch alone can make me forget everything screams so loudly I almost start crying.
This is the man of my dreams. He is the one I'm in love with, the one I want to be with.
Only he can help me forget all my troubles.
“You taste good,” he murmurs against my pulse point as his stubble scratches at me.
He's even gentle and tender with me, soft light touches across my breasts and down to my hips and back.
Even when I don't tell him what's wrong, it's like he knows me enough to cater his sexual advances in a way they're comforting to me and not too rough.
"I want to help you feel better, baby."
I don’t answer with words. I just pull him closer, parting my legs so he can settle between them. His fingers work the button of my jeans open, then the zipper, and I lift my hips to help him slide them down along with my underwear. He kicks his own pants away and then it’s just skin on skin.
He kisses down my chest, lingering at the swell of my breasts.
His tongue circles one nipple and I gasp, arching into the touch.
“Stepan…” I whimper, still warring with myself.
He's everything I want, so why do I feel so damn guilty for doing this again?
This is my life. I should be allowed to make my own choices.
He crawls back up over me and hovers there, saying, “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” My hands frame his face and I kiss him again, deeper this time, tasting the faint salt on his lips.
His palm smooths over my stomach and lower, between my legs. He touches me gently, exploring, finding the places that make my breath hitch. I rock against his hand, chasing the building pressure. When he slides a finger inside me I moan into his mouth so the moan is muffled and swallowed.
“Your walls are trembling,” he whispers, adding a second finger, sliding them in and out of me, teasing my entrance.
I can’t form full sentences. “Oh, God...
yes, that..." I want to tell him so badly how I love him.
How this whole thing is a nightmare and how I know we're supposed to be together.
How can fate line us up to meet and then mock me so cruelly to keep him out of reach?
But confessing my emotions to him won't change reality.
"I love you, Marina, so fucking much." Stepan's hand continues to work me until I'm pleading, whimpering into every kiss with both hands around his bicep squeezing it.
But when he pulls away and his lips start traveling down my body leaving wet marks, I groan and move my hands to his hair, tangling my fingers in it. His hands spread my thighs wide and he settles his face right there between them.
Then his tongue comes out dipping into my moisture and dragging up in one long stroke that makes my hips jerk hard off the bed. I tighten my fist in his hair to hold on as he licks again and again, tasting every inch of me with open hunger.
He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks drawing it in with pulls that send electric jolts straight through my core. My back arches and I gasp as he works me with his tongue circling and flicking without mercy.
“Step… oh, God, yes… right there."
He growls in response, pulling away to whisper, “I love how you taste.” Then he adds two fingers sliding in deep and pumping in time with his sucking. It's all I can do not to writhe around.
“Oh, my God, yes," I beg, hips rocking up against his mouth. “I’m so close already.”