Knocked Up by the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #3)

Chapter 11 - Amy

It was late when they finally arrived back at the apartment, and Amy stalled in the living room, eyes fixated on the setting sun outside the wall of glass windows.

"I was thinking of opening a bottle of wine," Ivan murmured behind her, and she heard his keys clink on the kitchen counter as he walked past. "Would you like to join me?"

Pursing her lips, Amy had to admit to herself there wasn't really anything else to do. They had six months ahead of them, she might as well get used to him being in her space every moment of every day.

"Sure," she conceded, leaving the view outside to watch her new husband. He grabbed a bottle of merlot from the wine cabinet, placing it on the counter before finding two delicate stemmed wine glasses.

"Your mother seems happy," he stated, red wine splashing into the glasses as he poured. He made quite the picture, dark hair mussed and the lines in his face relaxed for the first time in days. He looked up then, lips quirked. Her cheeks heated, and she hummed her acknowledgment as she looked away.

Her mother had been relaxed, and Amy hated to admit that it was once more because of the Nikolais and their dirty money.

Not even Zia had known about the debt Amy's father had left for them to pay, but the streak of bad luck that followed years after he'd left was what really made both Amy and her mother desperate. Ash had been a sickly baby, though he was perfectly healthy now, and hospital bills had added to the strain. The job Zia had gotten her couldn't have come at a better time. They'd been living month to month, just barely covering their expenses, when Amy had lost her job after the poisoning.

Her heart hurt just thinking of it now. Her mother had been forced to pick up more double shifts, and the twins had been through growth spurt after growth spurt. Amy didn't know what she'd have done if she hadn't been hired to work at Eclipse. They'd paid her more than she'd expected, though, and in the months following Amy had finally been able to afford more for herself and her family.

Moving closer to the office was essential, and so was getting her own space. Her apartment might've been a little downrun on the wrong side of town but it was hers all the same. Just like her car.

Her whole family had lived in her mother's little three-bedroom for the past decade, and more than one fight had started from a lack of privacy. Even Aaron and Adam, the twins, had to be separated before things got bloody.

Ivan handed her one of the wine glasses, snapping her from her thoughts. She followed him to the couch, sipping the dry blend slowly as she sat next to him.

"Why did you take me there?" she murmured, cocking her head to the side. "Don't get me wrong, I love helping them—but I thought... with the package and everything..." she trailed off, shrugging, unable to admit that she'd been expecting him to lock her up in the apartment while he tried to figure out what was going on with Adrian.

"You looked like you needed a break," Ivan answered, and while the words would've made sense coming from someone else, it didn't make a lick of sense coming from the control freak himself.

"I did—but why? I don't get it." Her brow furrowed, eyes catching on a folded-up wedding magazine near a bike magazine. Questions burned inside her head. So many things didn't make sense. She turned back to him, words spewing out before she could stop them. "Why go to such lengths? We don't even like each other. You've been a pain in my ass since you stumbled into Eclipse halfway through the working day."

God, she remembered it even now. His hair mussed and his eyes sleepy as he stumbled through, a cock-sure grin on his face. She'd thought Lev and Zia had lost their freaking minds making her work with the one brother known more for the girls hanging from his arms than anything else. The horror she'd felt that day, knowing she'd have to do her own work and his too.

He proved me wrong about that, though, didn't he? Her conscious whispered and she shook the strange thought away.

"You never take anything seriously," she continued, brows creasing further. Which was pretty fucking hilarious considering how much of a dictator he could be with her. The party boy persona hid so much. "So, why spend a week putting together a wedding when we're going to get divorced in a few months anyway? Why the car, and the house, and the fucking ring? Why do any of it?"

She turned her glare onto him, suspicious of his motives. None of it made any sense.

"Ivan?"

He placed his wine glass on the table, something indecipherable in his gaze when he turned back to look at her. "Mishka."

Amy blew out a frustrated breath, a rant building inside of her. "Can you just stop calling me that? I've told you a million times. Why don't you just lis..." Her words trailed off as he placed a palm around her neck, his lips meeting hers in a soft kiss.

"What are you doing?" she whispered when he finally pulled away.

"Distracting you." He bent to pull her to him again, and her hands reached for his suit jacket—but not to push him away. The scent of oranges left her dizzy, and the taste of the wine on his breath left her drunk. How the hell was she supposed to think in those circumstances?

Warmth pooled in her belly as his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her into him. I should stop this —but the thought stopped right there as he deepened the kiss, tongue dancing with her own.

Sanity prevailed in the end, though. Hearing herself whimper, she finally pulled away. His breath caressed her forehead when she looked down. Bad idea! Her brain screamed and she couldn't help but agree.

"I think I should go to bed."

A sigh whispered across her skin as she pulled away. "Fine, Mishka. Have it your way."

Unable to meet his stare, she got up from the couch and left the room. Heat stirred in her belly when she caught him unbuttoning his shirt in her periphery. Don't you dare , she told herself. Going back would be a colossal mistake in the making.

Reaching his bedroom, she peeked over his shoulder and found him shirtless and sitting with his elbows on his knees. Fingers gripping his hair, the only proof that she was bothering him as much as he bothered her.

Her stomach swooped and she hurried away, intent on grabbing a pair of pajamas to sleep in. Guilt prickled when she climbed into his bed, hearing the rustling downstairs. The leather couch was huge, by her standards, but she was barely five-foot-two. Ivan was over six feet with shoulders like a football player. She didn't think it was easy for him to fall asleep, but he hadn't complained yet. She'd just ignored the mornings she walked through to find a leg or an arm hanging off the edge.

And what are you going to do about that? Her conscience whispered as she stared at the city skyline. Sharing the bed was a major no-go. That just wasn't going to happen. Ivan's muscled heat next to her for a couple of hours at a time and she'd give in within moments—but sleep didn't come as the hours passed, and she cursed, twisting around to get comfortable.

Heat simmered in her belly, and her fingers traced her stomach before pulling away. Warmth flashed across her cheeks. She could hear him moving around downstairs; there weren't enough walls in his apartment. What if he heard her?

Settling in for a long night, she tried to close her eyes. They opened a few minutes later, and Amy glared at the sky above her, wondering if a glass of milk would help her finally reach the point where she could doze off. She looked toward the rails separating the bedroom from the rest of the house. Is he asleep?

There weren't any lights on, but she waited a little longer, weighing the decision in her mind.

Ten... maybe twenty minutes passed and she let out a soft, frustrated growl. She was being ridiculous, Ivan had stopped moving around a while ago. He had to be asleep. Besides, she wouldn't be long enough to wake him. She just needed... something.

As she got out of bed, Amy considered grabbing her cell phone to use the flashlight, but she'd already learned the big Russian slept light. Par for the course considering he was Bratva, she surmised.

She figured there had to be enough light, and her eyes had adjusted well enough to make her way around. Amy tiptoed across the bedroom and down the stairs, stalling in the middle of the living room at the sight of Ivan's golden back washed in the glow of the refrigerator light.

Fuck. Her frustration doubled as she frowned at him, annoyed that he was awake. That he was standing there, stealing her chance for peace. Seeming oblivious to her presence, Ivan pulled out a carton of ice cream, and she raised an eyebrow, bemused. He could complain about her sweet tooth as much as he wanted, but she’d seen the dozen different flavors of ice cream in his freezer.

Watching him move carefully around the kitchen, she grew irritated with him... and herself. What am I doing... I shouldn't be here. But she didn't make a move to leave.

More questions she couldn't answer flicked across her mind as she watched Ivan grab a spoon from the rack near the basin and open the container. She recognized the brand and had found it strange a few days ago when she'd spotted the twelve containers of ice cream in his freezer. All of her favorite flavors. He'd picked the hazelnut; its purple lid was familiar even in the dark.

"What are you doing?" she asked, freezing him in place before he took the first bite. Heat flickered through her at his shadowed stare, but Amy didn't listen to the voice at the back of her mind telling her to go back to bed.

Walking toward him, she breathed in his scent, eyeing the gun he'd laid on the counter. He never went anywhere without it, but normally he kept it out of sight.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, blinking at her lazily as she stepped past him and toward the fridge.

"Felt like something sweet?" she mocked, pulling the fridge door open again as his chuckle warmed her stomach. Stop that!

"What are you looking for?" he murmured, and she just knew he'd abandoned the ice cream container on the counter to taunt her. He was probably leaning against it now, a smirk on his lips. Her frown deepened and she pushed the thought of his abs out of her head.

"Mishka," he drawled lazily, and her heart fluttered.

"Milk. We've run out." The only carton in the fridge was almond milk, and she wasn't about to join his health crusade to test whether it would work the same as good old dairy.

"Want me to run to the store for you, Mishka?" he drawled. She didn't dare look at him to see if he was serious. "Or... if you're having trouble sleeping, I could always find something else that might work."

Another chuckle teased her ears, and she scowled. Seriously? Did he really have to be so relaxed while she felt on the brink of madness? She didn't answer him; it was obvious what he meant, and that only added to her exasperation.

Something must've given her away, though, because Ivan's hand wrapped around her waist, and he dipped to nuzzle her neck. Goosebumps flickered down her spine, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, unable to face him.

"Helping you relax. That's the problem... isn't it, Mishka?" he asked, and her fingers whitened on the fridge door as his hand lowered beneath her pajama shirt. His hand was hot against her skin. "You're too tense."

Butterflies erupted at the feel of it, and her breath rushed out of her, leaving her dizzy as he bit her shoulder lightly. Swallowing a whimper, she leaned against him, arching like a cat. His hand dipped lower, and she blinked at the contents inside the fridge. What the fuck are we doing?

She spun around, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but Ivan stopped her words, shutting the fridge and pushing her against it while he pulled her into a kiss. His hardness pressed into her stomach, and words failed her. Amy moaned into his mouth, pulling him to her, arching her hips to invite him closer.

"Fuck." He broke away with a hiss, hands dropping to her thighs. The world around her went unbalanced the second he picked her up, and she cried out, wrapping her legs around him for balance.

"Ivan!"

The fridge rattled when he rocked against her, and Amy dropped an arm down his back, fingernails scratching against his skin.

"This what you need, Mishka?" he growled against her lips, his kiss bruising and forceful. She whimpered, reaching toward his jaw. Her pajama bottoms were rough against her skin, and with every rock of his hips, sparks littered her vision. She murmured his name on a broken gasp, hips lifting to meet his—but Ivan stopped, and Amy found herself squinting up at him, lips pulled into a scowl.

"Why did you stop?"

"Tell me this is what you need." He whispered kisses against her neck, and her blood simmered. "Tell me you want me."

His questions irritated her; the way he relentlessly tried to control everything grated on her nerves, and she reached for his hair. Tugging it until he bent to her will and kissed her on the mouth again. When he tried to pull away, frustration curled in her stomach, and she bit his bottom lip in retribution—hard—before she turned her kiss softer.

Ivan groaned into her mouth, and she let him go. His fingers bit into her thighs, and he leaned his forehead against hers as he lowered her feet to the floor. "I'm not going to continue until you answer the question, Mishka."

He sounded just as breathless as she felt, and the thought made her smile. "Why?" she asked, standing on her toes to trail softer kisses against his neck.

"Is this not enough?" she murmured, nibbling on his ear. His whole body shuddered in her arms, and the thought of bringing him to his knees made her feel powerful. "Why do you need to control everything, Vanya?"

Pulling away, she looked up at him, seeing his eyes squeezed shut, brow lined with frustration. Her fingers ached to soothe it. She wrapped her arms around his neck instead, and he let out a breath, arms around her waist. "Because I'm not going to fuck you just for you to use it against me the next time we fight."

His ocean-blue eyes were dark when he blinked them open and stared down at her. One of his hands reached toward her face, and she raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm nearly ten years older than you, Mishka, and I refuse to let you think sleeping with me is a mistake."

Would it be? The questions in her mind threatened to ruin the moment, but the hunger in his eyes quieted her head, and Amy bit her lips. What if she gave in? Just this once. Would that really be so bad?

"I want you to show me what it means to be your wife," Amy whispered, pressing her lips to his again. They only had six months anyway.