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But I crave more. I wanthim.I want a chance to reciprocate. I want the emotional connection.
I think what might be the most disconcerting part of all of this is knowing he's holding back from who he is. A tiger velveting his paws. I want to feel the bite of those paws again.
He gives me a curious look while concentrating on my feet.
"I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt our son."
I guffaw out loud. "Oh no you don’t. Who told you I'm having a son? Did you see some type of study or test that I haven't seen yet? Because as far as I know, this could be a girl. Maybe even two. "
I glare at him which only seems to amuse him. "You have many traditions in Russia.”
“Traditions or superstitions? They’re not the same.”
Ignoring me, he continues. “Russian tradition says a man who has a firstborn son will be wealthy, and his son will rule with authority and integrity.”
"But guess what, buddy. We aren’t in Russia anymore. And while I may probably have some Russian DNA in me now that I'm actually bearing a Russian child, we’re still American here. And here in America, both girls and boys are given equal opportunity."
It's our goal, anyway.
I try to cross my arms over my chest to make my point, but my breasts hurt today. That's when I see the twinkle in his eyes that goes with the twitching of his lips.
He issogiving me shit. I yank my feet away from him.
“You are so trying to fucking rile me up!”
His muscles clench; he really does hate when I swear.
"Are you really pushing the limits with me?"
"Of course I'm not," I lie. I'm not going to admit out loud that I actually want to go over his lap. Why would I do such a stupid thing?
He tips his head to the side, his tone dark and seductive when he insists, "You like it when I spank you."
I turn my head away. "Like punishment? You spank hard. Of course I don't like it.”
I won't meet his eyes though.
He starts sliding his hands all over my body.
"You miss my dick.”
"Is there some Russian superstition for that, too?"
He snorts. "Of course there is."
“Oh?" I say, as he bends his mouth to my neck and kisses me in that sweet, sweet spot, right between my chin and collarbone. I stifle a moan, because I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
"When I take you, superstition says that if you hear music, it's a good omen for our marriage. If rain begins when you climax, wewill live long, fulfilling lives together. And the reason why I know you're giving birth to a son? We conceived on the full moon."
"Are you…mocking me right now?" The chuckle against my neck makes me shiver. He is so teasing me right now.
"Mikhail, you almost had me there."
While he holds me, the sun peeks from behind the clouds out the window, the direct opposite of a superstitious good luck rain. I don't believe in superstitions, but I can't help but wonder.
A knock sounds at the door.
"Who is it?" he barks.
