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“Eight would be good.”
r /> He laughed, then realized she was completely serious.
“Varushka, people don’t have eight kids here. Well, some people do, but I have no idea why.”
She shrugged. “Children are blessings. You have lots of money. I’m sure you can afford a big family.”
The idea of reasoning with her crossed his mind, but when it came down to it, they had a D/s relationship, and he was the Dominant. That meant his word was final . . . right?
Or did that not count when it came to babies?
Would he make a good father? It was hard to know. His parents had died when he was sixteen, so it was hard to imagine himself in that role. Baba cared about him, but the years they’d spent apart had changed their relationship. She loved him but didn’t try to parent him, aside from scolding him now and then for being a glupyy mal’chik—stupid boy—and insisting on feeding him constantly.
There was time to discuss all of that, in any case. They both wanted children, so the rest was just a matter of negotiation. He hoped.
But now for the real reason he’d brought her here.
They wandered down the sidewalk, Varushka stopping to examine potted plants along the way and ask him what they were called. He had to admit several times that he had no idea. She held his hand, lacing her tiny fingers through his, making him feel like a giant. Although she didn’t catch the attention of every man they passed, the ones who did notice her grinned like fools. He caught himself grinning the same way about every five seconds. It was like having a pet kitten, cheerful and curious and always ready to make him laugh.
And then there were her claws. His back was more than familiar with them now, and he treasured each and every mark she left as though he were the most eager of masochists. She scratched him only in the throes of intense orgasm, so he’d earned them all.
“What are we reading tonight?” he asked her.
She sighed and hugged his arm. “We’re not done reading 1984 yet, remember? You keep getting distracted, but you’re supposed to be listening to correct my English.”
“It’s your fault for making me want you.”
“When I’m just sitting there reading? I don’t think so. I think dystopian novels give you a hard-on.”
He chuckled, both because he loved that she teased him now, and because her cheeks were as pink as her ice cream had been from having said something dirty.
When they reached the store he’d been aiming for, he pushed the door open, casually sneaking a peek at the bewildered expression on Varushka’s face.
“Do you need a watch?” she asked.
“No.”
Her steps slowed, but he dragged her forward. Rows of jewelry glittered in the glass cases.
“Good afternoon.” The woman behind a display smiled.
Konstantin had scoped the place out the week before. He liked the fact that they had a large selection of simple designs, and that they had a no-pressure sales style. He steered Varushka along the displays, watching her eyes widen.
“I’ve never been in a shop like this,” she whispered.
“Never?”
“No. Who can afford such impractical things?” Her tone was dismissive, but her eyes told a different story. She tried not to look in the cases, but gradually edged closer to see what they held. “These rings won’t fit you. I think these are for women.”
There was no slyness in her tone—or hope. She honestly thought he was confused.
“But what if I want a ring with big stones like that?” He pointed at one.
“A man would have to have big stones to wear such a thing,” she replied.
The sales lady coughed, but it sounded more like a smothered laugh.
“Well, what would you choose for yourself?”
