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"I've heard that it is one of the best ways for someone to pamper a pregnant woman. Your feet get tired carrying the extra burden of a baby within you."
I moaned. He is excellent at this with those thick, strong fingers of his as he massages the achiness out of my feet.
"Mikhail, I’m notthatfar along."
I mean, aside from maybe a few extra pounds from the late-night pizza and fries I've been craving.
"Does that matter?" he said. I wondered why his accent was suddenly thicker. It’s usually only this way when he feels emotional. I noticed a little furrow between his brows.
"Mikhail?”
"What?"
"Something’s troubling you."
We’ve both been a little out of sorts with everything happening. While he's been very good to me for the past couple of weeks, taking care of all of my needs, spending every waking moment with me, he's also been hard at work with his brothers. I do catch wind of what they're talking about. There's some sort of rumor that Volkov has lost his mind, and his next attack on us could be unprecedented. There's even talk about Mikhail assassinating him, or having him assassinated.
I respect my husband's wishes and stay out of their online communications. Even though Icouldlook into them if I wanted to.
Things have changed, though. The staff is no longer here, save one person his mother insisted on bringing from her own home, a woman who has stayed with them since their infancy. Mikhail says Yelena is like a second mother to them.
I like having Polina here, and his mother, of course. His brothers…that depends on which ones. Some are a little…friendlier than others.
But other things have changed, too.
For one, Mikhail has barely touched me. I shouldn’t say that. He massages my feet and my back, but we haven’t had sex in over a week, which is unheard of for us. The last time we had sex, I bleda little bit. According to my doctor, that's common for women in the first trimester. Their bodies are swollen in places they didn't even expect, and an ultrasound and some testing later showed that the baby is totally fine. But Mikhail hasn't really wanted to do anything since.
He's definitely not put me over his lap. He told me that he wouldn't hesitate to punish me, but now, I am not so sure.
I love being dominated by my husband. Whoever thought I would miss it?
I miss our intimacy.
“This is lovely," I say now, as the scent of lavender fills the air. He pours some lotion in the palm of his hand, rubs it between his palms to warm it, then applies it to the heels of my feet. "Mikhail, you need to stop treating me as if I'm going to shatter if you're too rough with me."
A beat passes before he responds. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t lie about it." I intentionally try to be a little rude, to ruffle him a little bit. He looks up at me from beneath lowered brows, stern. My heart does a little flip in my chest.
I lick my lips and swallow. Draw in a breath. “We need to have some fuckingsex."
Yeah, I just said that. Even dropped the F bomb, which under normal circumstances would get my butt spanked. But now he only grumbles at me, the little rumble in his chest making my heart squeeze. And when he doesn't say anything else, I swallow the lump in my throat.
Why does it feel like rejection? It's strange.
"Don't try me, Aria. I'm doing my best here."
"Obviously you are. But we still are us, Mikhail. You've done everything, and I'm so grateful. Daily foot and back massages? Those love notes you leave me on my pillow when you walk across the room? Breakfast in bed? I mean, you had a tailor come out and help me pick out the most luxurious maternity wardrobe a mother can ask for. I know you’re going above and beyond."
I play with the ring on my finger. "And I don't know what you're doing in the other room. But I suspect that also has something to do with me, and I'm excited about that. But I miss…us. That raw, primal thing we had going." A lump rises in my throat, and I try to clear it with no success. "I miss the tiger."
Every night I go to sleep, I can see the tattoo on the broad expanse of his back when he's lying on his belly, his hands tucked under his pillow. The tiger’s eyes mock me now. I felt the bite of its claws so often, I long for it. And now…who would've thought I'd feel rejected because he's being too damn nice?
I kind of feel like a spoiled brat. I have a custom-made wardrobe behind those closet doors. A credit card with a ridiculous limit. I mean, does it even have a limit? Everything I could ask for, including the attention of the man that I love. Because yes, I know that I love him.
And while I'm not totally at peace with carrying his child? I'm telling myself I still have a good bit of time ahead of me. That's plenty of time to get used to the idea.
When I'm uncomfortable, he makes me comfortable. He has a team of doctors to take care of me and to monitor all ofmy symptoms. I have medication and Russian remedies for the nausea. He helps me sleep and holds me when I'm restless. Massages my back, and massages my feet.
