Strands of red hair peel off my chest when Roxanne props herself onto her elbows. As our unborn son makes it known with my thigh he isn’t happy about being squashed against it, Roxanne’s eyes bounce between mine. “You’re accepting Nikolai’s invitation?” She’s hardly gotten out her first question when a much more direr one stumbles out of her mouth. “And I’m going with you?”
The ghost-like smile she forever wears when taking my dick between her lips would have you convinced our children aren’t on the sandy shore mere feet from us, building a sandcastle. It has me hard in an instant and fighting like hell not to take her where she lays.
I’d get inventive beneath the beach towels if she didn’t jump up to her feet like she doesn’t have six months’ worth of baby growing strapped to her front.
“Where are you going?” I ask when she races for the French doors of the master suite. My tone leaves no doubt as to how I had planned for her to pay for my unusual bend of the rules. I want her cunt filled by me anyway I can get it. My fingers. My tongue. My cock. I don’t care what she chooses, I just need her to get her ass back here so I can do one of the many wicked thoughts in my head.
The odds of Nikolai and me patching things up fly out the window when Roxanne replies directly to the source demanding her attention. “There’s no time for that,” she says while staring at my cock. “I need to book flights, pack, and advise Smith that we will need the kids’ passports by the end of the week.” I’m not surprised she automatically included our children in her plans. If we go, they go. No fear. “Then I have to organize a pet sitter for the animals. Should someone come here, or should we put them in a kennel?”
Since she isn’t speaking to me, I don’t answer her. It’s for the best. If I had replied, I may have missed her mouthing for me to meet her in the bathroom in five minutes. My wife saw her mother in many compromising positions when she was a child but that doesn’t mean she wants to subject her to the same thing.
Sailor has worked hard the past four months to show Roxanne she’s a changed woman, and I give her another shot to prove her worth by straying my eyes to her instead of the children’s nanny to request permission to thoroughly fuck my wife until supper.
We could sneak away for a quickie, but where’s the fun in that?
My wife wants to be ravished by a merciless, coldhearted bastard, and I need more than an hour to slip into character.
Nikolai & Justine
* * *
In a world of pain, but forever in love!
Chapter One
Almost two years ago, I told Justine I’d protect her no matter what. I promised to slit the throat of a thousand men before I’d ever let anything happen to her and that I would stop at nothing to ensure she’d never face more pain than she already has.
Today, I’m not fucking close to keeping my promise.
My Ahren’s brows are beaded with sweat, her face is as red as the blood that drained from the men who bid on her, and her nails have clawed at my hands like they usually do my back when I’m filling her greedy cunt with my cock. Still, instead of reaching for my knife as I have many times the past two years, I’m repeating the words of the man with his head between her legs while fighting like fuck not to slit his throat once he’s done what he was brought here to achieve.
He isn’t attempting to steal the devotion away from me like Vladimir did multiple times when I was a child. He’s not even looking at my wife’s mouthwatering slit with the eyes of a man not in fear for his life. He’s striving to keep the rod in her back as hard as it’s been the past two years, and for her confidence to remain at the level needed to rule her reign without the slightest bend to her spine.
He’s helping my queen become a mother and giving the Popov entity two brand new heirs.
“Just a little longer,” Dr. Goyette assures Justine while peering at her over her extended stomach that shrunk dramatically only minutes ago. “I’ve almost got it removed.”
Our daughter, Mila, was born without too much fuss. She charged into the world like a stubborn princess ready to rule her monarch almost six minutes ago, and she’s been testing out the durability of her lungs ever since.
Our son, who to this day remains unnamed, isn’t as eager to join his big sister in the humidicrib on my left. The midwives were already concerned when he flipped to a breech position partway through Mila’s delivery, but their fret skyrocketed when every push Justine did caused the monitor strapped to her stomach to sound an alarm.
I was facing an uphill battle to ignore my itch to kill as it was, but the effort tripled when the head midwife announced they needed to bring a doctor in to assist. No female obstetricians are rostered on today, and since Justine went into labor weeks earlier than her due date, her obstetrician isn’t just out of state, she’s out of the country as well.
I almost told them no, but then I remembered nothing is above me when it comes to protecting her—my Ahren, my slice of heaven in a hot and temperamental place. She went to the depths of hell for me, so the least I can do is set aside my wish to kill any man who dares to make her feel less superior to ensure she doesn’t endure more pain than necessary.
The urgency of the midwives claims were unearthed when the doctor arrived in under a minute. He eyed me like he knew all my secrets when he entered the delivery suite at a private hospital in the middle of Las Vegas, but the shrill of the equipment next to my Ahren’s bed saw him leaping into action.
He’s spent the last few minutes working on removing the cord wrapped around my son’s neck, meaning not once has he returned my gawk.
The expression on Justine’s face reveals she’s in pain, but she is putting on a brave front. She’s a fighter through and through. The toughest woman I’ve ever met.
“There we go,” Dr. Goyette announces before he quickly adds a request for Justine to push.
As my queen resurrects from the dark hole her panic pushed her in, she tucks her chin in close to her chest, re-digs her nails into my tattooed hands, then bears down as per the doctor’s instructions. I count to ten in her ear, my voice growing huskier the more the fine hairs on her nape bristle. She’s been trapped in a fiery hell for hours; I'm confident her body feels as if it’s being torn in two, yet she still can’t help but respond to my closeness.
It proves I chose well when I picked her over everything after only knowing her for days. Wealth. Infamy. Family. She comes before them all. For years, anything I loved, Vladimir took, but not even he can take Justine from me. Angels are immortal, so when one convinces a fallen angel he’s worthy of love despite his many fuck ups, his love for her lasts longer than immortality. He will love her until the day he dies, and he will continue loving her until he regains his wings solely so they can meet again.
“Good, Justine, keep going,” encourages an elderly midwife at the doctor’s side.
She has a blue blanket at the ready, and oxygen on standby. I don’t know if the oxygen tank is for my son or me. I faced horrific abuse in my childhood. I’ve been stabbed, shot, scalded, and beaten, yet not one thing I’ve endured has been as gruesome as this. My wife is hurting. Tears are welling in her eyes, and she appears on the verge of collapse, but there’s nothing I can do to help her. Not. One. Single. Fucking. Thing.