Chapter 26 Kirill
KIRILL
Seven months later
“Are you really sure you want me to do this?” I check, looking over at my beautiful, impatient, hugely pregnant wife.
Tess tilts up her chin. “Yes. For the zillionth time, yes.”
She’s standing over me, and I’m in my office chair, which is to say I can look straight into her face. It’s a Saturday morning, and I am doing my most unethical hacking job yet. And it’s at the request of my wife.
Of course it is. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.
“It’s a pregnancy craving, I need it!” She pouts and rubs her stomach. She’s so gorgeous I weaken again. “And I’m up to date with all my studies for my degree.”
I’m glad she’s taking a year out from her university course while having the baby. But as I consider the computer screen where I’m one click away from what she wants, I wonder if she should go back early to understand ethics better.
“Mmm.” It’s still a sceptical noise.
“Please, husband?”
I look back at Tess, and she makes puppy dog eyes at me. I love her blue eyes.
“You know that I can’t deny you when you call me husband,” I mutter, and pull her down onto my lap. Her slight body is curvier now, and I stroke my hand over her swollen belly.
My baby. My wife. My whole world.
“So you’ll do it? I need to read Pregnant with his Pucking Twins, immediately.” She snuggles into me and presses her lips onto the spot beneath my ear that makes me shiver.
I love having her close, and even after being together for months now, she still has the capacity to surprise me with how at peace I feel when she’s near.
“Everyone else has to wait until the author has finished writing the book.” I wouldn’t feel so bad if this was just getting an early copy. “I think there might be a reason authors do things like edits and—”
“She said she was writing it. It’ll be published eventually. This is just like pre-ordering.”
I do not point out that this is nothing like pre-ordering. The pregnancy hormones are making Tess a little bit crazy.
But whether it’s peanut butter and raspberries on toast with whipped cream at three in the morning, redecorating the nursery for the third time, or breaking into her favourite author’s computer and stealing the unfinished manuscript of Pregnant with his Pucking Twins, I will do it.
My love for my wife knows no bounds. Even ethical ones against unsuspecting middle-aged authors who don’t update their computers as often as they should, and who have totally inadequate back-ups.
I sorted that. All this author’s work is now backed-up daily to a cloud subscription she won’t remember signing up for because I did it for her. It’s very reasonably priced too. She got a great discount.
I give it one more try. “I’m just saying, you’ll be reading—”
“Not the way the author intends it, blah-blah-blah, I know. I need it now. It’s called Pregnant with his Pucking Twins! And I’m pregnant! On that basis, I’m sure.”
I’m still not sure what that title means exactly. Hockey player, accidental pregnancy, and twin babies, I assume.
I’m clearly not the right audience.
“You cannot tell the London Smut Club about this,” I remind her.
I promised to give up most of the malicious hacking when I joined the London Maths Club, and I have no faith that the wives wouldn’t tell their husbands.
And apparently death isn’t a solution I’m allowed to routinely use anymore, so I have to utilise more stealth.
“Yep, got it. I promise. This is our secret, husband.”
“One of them…” I wink. What used to be a solo murder hobby has become something we plan together—when she’s not reading the latest smutty ice hockey romance—and share with the London Maths Club.
Tess jokes being married is like having her own true crime podcast, complete with vigilante justice.
She’s not wrong.
Truly, the joy of finding and murdering people who deserve it is best shared. Like boxes of chocolates, but with more mess.
Tess’ returning smile is positively wicked.
“Okay.” I feel more ambiguous about this than most of the killing and torture I’ve done. “I’m sending it to your e-reader now.”
“Eee!” She wriggles until I release her, and when she’s on her feet, she does a little happy-dance and kisses my cheek. “Thank you! I love you!”
“I love you too,” I say and she kisses me again, this time on the lips, before she grabs her e-reader.
I watch her indulgently as she curls up as best her pregnant body will allow onto the sofa on the other side of our library, and starts reading.
Her face shows her every thought. Excitement, happiness…
total confusion… Then she’s consuming the book with obsessive speed, just like I do when I get engaged with a project.
And as ever, her joy is infectious. If she’s content, I’m content. It’s that simple.
Over the next few hours, Tess reads, and I fetch her regular top-ups of tea and snacks and work on opening a backdoor into an organisation Tess particularly dislikes. I did a bit of digging, and I agree with her.
The afternoon slides into evening, and I bring over a blanket, tucking it around my girl. I send some instructions to my second-in-command of Blackfen, and he messages back with a summary of the day’s events. Quiet, since it’s a weekend.
I’m deep into my work when my wife’s happy sigh and the soft thump of her e-reader hitting the sofa makes me look up.
She’s glowing. Admittedly, she has been all the way through her pregnancy, apart from the brief morning sickness moments when she was glowing green.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask as I save my work and push away from my desk.
“So much! Thank you.” She gets up, and before I can protest that she shouldn’t exert herself, she has barrelled over and fallen into my lap. My arms close around her.
This is my favourite place for her, except, perhaps, for when I’m inside her.
“So you were right, it didn’t need any editing, or formatting?” I’m surprised, honestly.
“Oh no, it was terrible.” She smiles up at me. “A disaster. Missing words, spelling mistakes, plot holes big enough to park a car in. The characters barely make sense,” she tells me earnestly.
“But you enjoyed it?” I check.
“Yes, because there was this bit…” She launches into a long anecdote from the story, where the hockey player discovers that the woman he had a one night stand with is pregnant with twins, and instead of freaking out as she expects, he moves her into his house, insists they marry, starts listening to podcasts about child-rearing, decorates a nursery, and builds a crib.
I smile inwardly, because we’ve done a lot of those things together.
As she talks, I stroke her back and run my fingers through the silk of her hair. When she’s passionate, it’s the best feeling for me. She’s the fire that gives energy and light to our life.
“It was so great,” she concludes. “You should borrow my copy and read it when the book comes out.”
“I will.” I’ve long since realised that reading her books occasionally makes her happy. It’s also educational. These hockey players are very inventive. “If you’re still buying a copy?”
She widens her eyes with shock. “For sure! I want to read it again and see the changes, and how it should be. And I need to pay for the book I read!”
I wave my hand. “I’ve already done that. The author got a special bonus payment that looked as though it was from one of the retailers. The money is in her account.”
It felt like the least I could do, given the circumstances of my pregnant wife losing her mind and requiring the book immediately in a very dubious manner.
“Thank you.” Tess traces her hand over my jaw and up over my scalp, digging her fingers into my hair. It feels good to have her hands on me.
“I’d do anything for you, lapochka. You know that.”
She tilts her chin up in a silent request for a kiss, and I gather her closer to me, side-on so our baby isn’t in the way, and dip my head to meet her mouth. It’s a sweet, loving kiss, but as ever, my body responds to her proximity.
“Husband,” she murmurs onto my lips, tempting me to deepen the kiss into a filthy, wet slide.
“Did that book make you all hot and needy?” I tease when we come up for air.
She nods. “That, and you, sitting over here so gorgeous and perfect.”
I’m not, but I don’t correct her. If she wants her illusions, I will take shameless advantage and keep her for myself.
“Since you put this baby in me, I’ve been…” She wiggles on my lap, and my already-hard cock throbs.
“Well, you did say you wanted to thank me for the book.” I slide my hand into her top and her soft warm skin floors me yet again with how much I don’t deserve her beauty.
Her grip on my nape tightens possessively, and I bite back a moan.
“How about over the desk so my belly doesn’t get in the way?” she pants.
“Yes.” Always yes. The only issue is that I don’t want to let her go long enough to bend her over and fuck her as she needs. “I love you, and I’m going to make you scream.”