Page 25 of Knocked Up By the Russian

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 whenshe 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.

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