Page 47 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

“Let’s shower. We can worry about the world tomorrow,” I rasp, leading the way as I salivate, thinking of soaping down her delectable body. Confidently, I step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and turning the water to the right temperature.

Fiona giggles as the steam from the shower fogs up the bathroom, her hands working overtime to work me out of my shirt and pants. She unbuckles my jeans, my hard arousal bursting free.

“Mrs. Utkin, I think you’re a little dirty and you need some soap. Want me to clean you?” The primitive fire is stoked by this heavenly woman in front of me—her wedding dress dropping to the bathroom floor, her come-hither mouth, sparkling eyes, and halo of chocolate brown hair.

“I’m feeling a little dirty, and yes, I think I need cleaning. Know anybody who can help me?” she teases, licking her tongue over her top lip. I unclasp her bra, her bountiful breasts hanging free.

“I think it’s a husband’s duty to keep his wife clean. Don’t you?” I tease, enjoying the game with her.

“Yes, I think it is,” Fiona says breathily. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

An amused grin rises on my mouth silently as I follow Fiona into the shower and pass her my coconut-vanilla-scented body wash. Spurts of hot water hit my face as I let it wash the dirt and grime away.

“Put it on this.” I hand her a loofah, scrubbing it over her silky-smooth body. Her breasts are swollen, nipples hard in arousal. I turn her to slide them down my chest.

Water runs over her sensual lips as I claim them, a cascade of water mingling as your tongues collide. Fiona’s touch takes away the stress and the worry of Bratva responsibilities if only for a little while.

She loofahs me down, body wash lathering over my tired, tense limbs, right down to my feet. Her hand stroking between my sturdy legs as she gifts me her mouth, closing it over my stiff cock.

I put my hands on the shower tile to steady myself a hard release escaping my lips. “Dammit, Fiona,” I growl, her lips working magic and the water dissolving any discord between us.

Her jaw loosens, sucking my cock deeper into the hot, slippery cavern of her mouth, working me over until I remove my cock from her mouth, easing her back up towards me.

I slick my hair back, splitting the water as it cascades in sheets between us. “Your turn, my beautiful wife,” I tease, taking my time, repeating the intimate motions of lathering her clean, cupping her full breasts. As reward, I flick my tongue back and forth over a nipple, fire shooting through my veins as she moans under the waterfall of pressurized water.

My tongue swirls in circular motions down her body to her pussy, first guiding my fingers inward, massaging and probing. She grinds like she always does with a silent request for more.

“Wrap your legs around me, Red October.” She giggles through the water, the extra element making it more exciting. She wraps herself around me, holding tight, digging her fingers into my thighs, using the wall as leverage.

Thrusting, I penetrate her hot pussy, her mouth opening with pleasure. It feels different inside her now that she’s my wife. Now she’s mine to claim whenever I want.

“Mr. Utkin,” she calls out, her voice distorting from the water. Playfully, I call out back to her.

“Mrs. Utkin.” I bury myself inside her, between the sheets of cascading water, the soft hum of Fiona’s orgasm rolling through as her legs shake once I let her free. I look down at my hard-on, thick and ready for more. “We haven’t finished yet. Ready for more?”

“I’ve got all night, especially now you’re my husband.” Chuckling, I help her out of the shower first, draping her in a towel. “I do like the sound of that, and you can say it as much as you like.”

Chapter Twenty-Three - Fiona

I’m on Oak Street again, but this time it’s just me, crossing the street to the new baby store alone. That’s what it’s felt like I’ve been doing for the last three months. Alone. Ruslan promised to make an effort to be around more, but ever since those files were discovered, he’s been around less and less.

Today with my belly extended to the size of a small basketball, I’m pissed. I wanted him to come with me.

“Can’t you take the morning off mob business, just to come with me to the baby store?” I pleaded with him earlier, his glib reaction even more irritating.

“No, there’s no need when you’re going to be given the whole baby’s clothing line when you have the baby shower. You don’t have to worry.”

“I do have to worry. I want to get a stroller, look at some paint for the nursery we haven’t done. I’m getting bigger and bigger, I won’t be able to do it soon,” I told him, but he didn’t budge, and what’s worse is he looked very hot in his collar shirt, and slacks, dressed for a meeting.

So here I am, shopping alone, checking out the range of strollers in the store, overwhelmed by all the choices, but wanting to pick one that will fold down easily.

God, I’m so close. I don’t even know if I’m ready to be a mother.I keep walking around, picking up different sets for my little girl, not even sure of what name to go with. Should I hold on to my family’s dying legacy, giving her an Italian name, or should I let Ruslan pick? Maybe we can hyphenate. I let the cascade of mental thoughts barrel through my brain as I head to the counter with my purchases, heading for home, bouts of nerves starting to kick in from time to time.

What kind of father is Ruslan going to be? My feelings are growing stronger every day for him, and waking up next to him seems normal to me as his wife, but it’s days like this when I think he really isn’t that into me.

Sighing, I pull off from the curb, heading for the freeway. I reach an upcoming light and a large black Jeep railroads me back towards to the left side where the curb is. Behind me is another black Jeep with the same agenda, bumping me from behind. A shockwave of panic hits me, prompting me to grab the wheel.

“Shit!Who are these people?” I freak out, thinking quickly and sharing my live location with Ruslan. My anxiety grows as I notice all the drivers and passengers in the cars are men.

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