Page 16 of A Baby for the BRATVA Boss
“Stay here. Sleep. When you’ve recovered, I will fuck you again, until then, you are not allowed to leave this bed.”
She nods sleepily, a lazy smile on her face as she drifts off.
I wake before she does.
Snow has fallen again overnight, thick enough to hush the world. The fire has burned down to ash. I move quietly through the house coaxing the rooms back to life before the staff arrive.
In the kitchen, the wreath on the window has caught frost, tiny white edges glittering in the dawn. I grind coffee, crack eggs, whisk until the sound fills the silence. A man like me doesn’t belong in a kitchen, but I want her to wake to something soft. Something that smells like home, even if she hasn’t had one in years. At least not a real one.
The pan hisses when I pour the batter. Pancakes. Simple, but warm. The scent rises, mixing with the cinnamon candle she burned last night. I pour coffee, dark and strong, and let it steam while I set out two plates.
When I return to the bedroom, she’s still curled beneath the blankets, hair tangled across the pillow, her body wrapped in mysheets. Her skin glows faintly in the morning light, pale against the dark linen.
For a moment, I just stand there. Watching. Wanting.
Then she stirs, lashes fluttering before her eyes open. Confusion first, then recognition, then something that looks dangerously close to peace.
“Morning,” I say. My voice sounds rougher than usual.
She blinks. “You cooked?”
“I know how to make breakfast,” I tell her.
She laughs, quiet, disbelieving, and it does something to my chest that I want to get used to.
When she sits up, I hand her the tray. She looks down at it, pancakes, coffee, a small bowl of berries from the fridge, and her throat works like she’s swallowing emotion instead of food.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I sit on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat of her skin through the sheets. “Eat. You need strength.”
“For what?”
“For living here,” I say simply. “For the life we are going to have. For the babies you are going to grow. For whatever else you want in this life.”
Her eyes lift to mine as she traces a fingertip around the edge of the mug. “Maybe I just want this. Being wanted by you. Creating a future with you. And a Christmas tree we can decorate together. Traditions that are ours that we can pass down to our children.”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat. When I said all that to her last night, I didn’t expect her to believe me, to want it too. I thought she would just think it was the heat of the moment. But she brings out the need to continue the family name in me. Hersoft curves make me beg to fill her. That urge to fill her grows with every single second that passes.
“Then we’ll get one,” I tell her. “There’s a tree lot a little further down the mountain. We will go today after my meetings.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Really?”
“Yes.” I pause. “You said that you wanted a life that felt real. That includes building traditions. Even before we have anyone to pass those traditions down to.”
For a heartbeat, we just sit in the quiet. She reaches for a piece of pancake, tears it, eats. Her smile is shy but real.
When she finishes, I take the tray and set it aside. “There’s a bath through that door. Hot water. Towels. Use whatever you need. I’ll fetch you some clothes. Greta will be bringing some too.”
Her gaze lingers on mine. “Do you still want all that stuff?” Her cheeks flush. “The things you said when we…you know.”
“You can say it,Angelu.”
“I don’t know how,” she whispers.
“Just say it honestly. I fucked you. I tried not to, but you came in here looking like that and I warned you.” I lift my hand to her chin, rub my thumb over that small scar on her top lip. “And I meant every word I said.”
I can feel myself harden again and she notices too when her eyes drop to the bulge in my pants.
