Page 20 of Pregnant By the Mafia Boss

Ruslan’s fingers interlock with mine as my bed rocks to his thrusting rhythm.Don’t think about what he is. Don’t.Pinning my legs around Ruslan’s back, his mouth scorches mine with kisses as he breathes heavily in time with me. The more he penetrates, the more I open like a wounded flower for him. A ball of anguish tightens in my throat as my suppressed grief climbs to the surface.

I wish it were different, Ruslan. I wish you weren’t the man you are. I wish I wasn’t carrying your goddamn baby.

Digging my fingernails into Ruslan’s back, remorse forces my eyes to sting with tears, but Ruslan’s eyes are squeezed shut. Both of us are climbing the peak back to euphoria. Ruslan’s face contorts as he pants heavily, lost in our fake world, an explosion due to erupt. A drop of Ruslan’s sweat slides between the crevice of my breasts as he swells inside of me, the friction unbearable on my clit. I sing out in both ecstasy and guilt as my body shakes into simultaneous orgasm with Ruslan.

He’s broken me in taking me over the cliff face to the edge of an orgasm I’d never had with any other man except him. Now I’m tainted for life.

We fall into an exhausted heap, breaking apart, the guilty sex eating me alive, but I can’t help but admit that it felt so damn right at the time. Ruslan twirls a piece of my hair around his fingers, a satisfied smirk on his face. “What a wonderful end to the evening.” Now the euphoria is wearing off, the danger ofharboring an enemy in my bed is glaringly obvious. My heart pounds, and I hope he can’t hear it.

“I’m glad I didn’t make it too hard for you to find me,” I say, seeing Ruslan’s scars up closer than before.

Think quickly, Fiona. You can’t get into a conversation with the man or start talking.A bright idea lands as I quickly shift away from his grabbing hands, a smile on my face.

“Too hard?” he scoffs as I fake a giggle, both unnerved and captivated by his presence.

“Would you like a coffee?” Ruslan strokes my back, as I slip out of his grasp, quickly finding my robe and wrapping it around myself.

“If you’re making the coffee, then I want it.”

If you know what I’m going to put in the coffee, then you wouldn’t want it.Smirking, I pad lightly through the house to the kitchen. The stutter in my chest almost has me come undone. My iPhone slips devastatingly close to the floor, feeling panicked. I watch the hallway half expecting Ruslan to be standing in the doorway. My fears remained unrealized as I prepare his coffee, and mine, finding my packet of sleeping pills and crushing them, letting them dissolve into the coffee. My eyes dart backwards to the door as I carry his drink of sleep through to him.

I promised my father. Protect the Omerta files.By the time I’m done, beads of sweat drip down the crack of my spine from abject terror.

Slipping back into the room where my hot enemy awaits, my hands tremble as I cross the threshold.God,he is hot, and with the bed sheets draped dangerously low over his toned waist, it makes the situation even worse. Shivering, I agonize over mydecision, setting his hot coffee down on the bedside dresser beside him. It’s the only way….

“Thank you.” I slip under the covers with Ruslan, sitting upright and sipping my coffee first. I need him to drink it so I can buy time to escape when he falls asleep.

It’s strange to have him here. We’ve barely spoken, and as far as I know he just thinks I’m the hot girl from Destiny Bar. “You’re welcome. Maybe we’ll have time for a second round,” I tell him, confident that in a few minutes he will be knocked out.

Ruslan leans over to kiss my cheek. “Yes, but maybe we could talk some first,” he slurs, the sleeping pills starting to work. He’s a big, tall guy so figuring out the ratio of pills to his body weight was hard enough to do. I watch carefully, sipping my coffee as Ruslan slips into unconsciousness.

Fuck.Now’s the time to escape.

Chapter Twelve - Ruslan

Prizing my eyes open, I groan loudly, feeling as if I’ve been annihilated by a Mack truck. Why does my head hurt so bloody much? I lift it up, but it’s as if there’s a dead weight attached to my shoulders. My jaw clenches as I close my eyes briefly seeing if it will bring relief, but it doesn’t.

“What the fuck is going on?” I rumble, feeling around in the darkness for Fiona, but all I find is a carved-out dent where her body should be laying, and an ice-cold bed next to me. That means she’s been out of the bed for some time. The pounding in my head grows as I strain through the darkness. Coming here might be the best and worst decision of my fucking life, because what the hell is going on?

Where the fuck is she?The shrill tone of a phone draws my attention momentarily as I reach out to the bedside drawer, picking up my cell phone. I hold the phone to my ear, unsure of who the caller is.

“Boss.” It’s Mark on the other end of the line, and from the pitch of his tone, I can tell it’s urgent. A loud thump at the front door forces me to jump, and immediately my primal instincts kick in. Flipping back the covers—I stall, the fogginess in my brain stopping me for a split second.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got news.”

I try again to sit up—this time, I’m able to hold my head steady—just.

“What news?”

“I’ve found out who Luca’s daughter is.” An echo filters through the phone almost as if there’s feedback through thephone. Now the thick pounding in my head has been overridden by the anticipation of Mark’s news.

My senses begin to come back online as the sound of rushing water pervades my eardrums. Scanning the room, the blurriness in my eyes clears.She’s in the bathroom. She didn’t leave. But the door.Another loud thud at the front door pulls my attention to it, and this time I swing my legs over the bed, standing to slip my pants on. Quickly, I reach down into my pants pocket, retrieving my gun from its holster. No matter what, I don’t go anywhere without my gun. I head to the front door with the phone still curved into the crook of my neck.

“So who is she?” I ask with a bark, while opening the door. When I open it, Mark is standing, staring back at me with a dubious expression on his face.

“Fiona Anderson,” he mouths, ending the call as the name makes blood course like a raging river through my veins.

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