Page 98 of Claimed By Desire

“No, this is total and utter bullshit,” Natalya says as she stands in the doorway to the nursery, her arms crossed over her chest. “I honestly can’t stand it.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, my darling wife.” I put down my little makeshift easel and paintbrush and wipe my hands on my jeans.

She groans and shakes her head. “You’repainting a muralfor our baby. It’s like… it’s unfair. How are you this attractive and also artistically gifted? Like, did you save a baby in a past life or something?”

I laugh and look at the wall. The image of a bundle of balloons is projected right where I want to put the crib and I’ve been spending the last half hour filling in the shapes with color. “I wouldn’t call thispaintingexactly. More like tracing.”

“It’s still really good. And stupidly sweet.”

“Want to help?”

“I’d better, or else you’re going to tell our kid for the next fifty years how you painted their nursery’s mural, put together all the furniture, bought all the supplies, and decorated everything, while their mother sat around and watched.”

“You’re growing them. I think we’re even.”

“Fair point.” She pats her belly, grinning. “Paint for me then, big boy.”

I roll my eyes and get back to work.

Natalya joins me after a few minutes and we spend a while putting together the mural while laughing and joking with each other.

It feels good. It feels like we’re already a family, even though it’s only the two of us so far. But the promise of the baby hangs over everything. In a few months, that child’s coming, and our lives are going to change radically forever.

Right now, it’s her and me. I can kiss her, tease her, and make her laugh. I can run my hand through her hair and bite her lower lip. I can pull her against me, wipe a little paint on her cheek, and squeeze her ass.

I can be with her, no hesitation, no worries, no perfection.

Even the mural doesn’t look all that great, and that’s fine by me, because it’s ours.

My phone rings as we’re finishing up. I’m tempted to ignore it, but it’s past ten at night and it’s unusual for someone to reach out now.

Oleg’s name shows up on my screen.

I mumble something about having to take this call and step out into the hallway while Natalya finishes cleaning up. “What do you want?” I answer as head into the living room where she won’t hear me talking. “I thought I was dead to you.”

“Trust me, if this weren’t important, I would never reach out to you.” Oleg’s talking fast and his voice quavers ever so slightly. I’ve never heard him this stressed before in all the years I’ve known him, and I’m instantly on guard.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Lev. I think something’s going on with him.”

“Be more specific. And talk fast. I’m working on the nursery. You know, for your grandchild.”

Oleg practically snarls at me, but he doesn’t hang up, which means this isn’t some bullshit game.

“Lev came to see me an hour ago. He said something about handling all this business tonight. He said he was sorry about Step. At the time, I brushed it off, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. I’m worried.”

I go very still. That doesn’t sound like Lev at all. He’s usually glued to his phone, and he’s not normally sentimental. Not with his father, anyway.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t fucking know. You’re the best friend. Find him for me.”

I hesitate. Obviously, I’m going to hunt down Lev tonight, no matter what. But something occurs to me.

“You need my help,” I tell him.

“Yes, boy, I need your fucking help.”

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