16

Ravil
I keep Lucy on the edge of an orgasm for the better part of an hour. I fuck her with a butt plug, suck her clit, use a vibrator with the G-spot curve. I spank her a little. Suck her toes. I go on until she’s practically weeping with need, and then I end my own torture by freeing my cock and pushing into her.
It feels so good not to have to use a condom. To know she’s already carrying my baby. That she’s my only partner, and I hers.
I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply to keep from coming as soon as I’m inside her. “You feel so good, kitten,” I rasp, my accent sounding as thick as when I first moved here.
“Yes, Ravil, please,” she babbles. She lost her mind long ago, reduced to a wanton puddle of beautiful need.
I pride myself on drawing this response out of her, especially knowing how tightly laced she keeps herself. I doubt she ever allows herself this pleasure. Which is why I’m going to make sure she receives it every damn day.
I loosen the tie that holds her wrists to the headboard, so I can put her on her knees, her arms outstretched long above her head like she’s in some kind of yoga bondage pose. I smack her ass because she looks so gorgeous.
“Ravil, Ravil….”
“Lucy. Beautiful Lucy.” I slap her again and slide in once more. The shudder of pleasure is no less in this position. “I love fucking you, kitten. I could do it all night long.”
“No,” she protests, already desperate to get off. “Ravil, please. I need…”
“You need my cock?” I slam in firmly, pressing my loins against the soft curves of her ass.
“Yes!” She sounds impatient.
I grip her hips and take several short thrusts, bumping her ass each time.
She whines. The silky strands of her long blonde hair fan out across her bare back and onto the bed. She looks like a fallen angel.
Debauched by me.
“You need it hard, Lucy?”
She pants. “Um…”
I give her a demonstration, slamming in hard half a dozen times. The moment I stop, she cries, “Yes! Don’t stop! Oh God, please, Ravil.”
I want to torture her more. To make it last longer for my own pleasure. But the combination of her surrender and pleading along with the sensation of being inside her and claiming her fully pushes me to the edge.
“Blyat,” I curse in Russian, my movements becoming rough and wild. I fuck her harder, losing focus on her pleasure, careening into my own. “Lucy.”
“Yes! Oh God…”
I grow dizzy. The room tilts and spins. My balls tighten, thighs quake. I drill into her like I have something to prove. Like this is the moment she will learn to accept me as the rightful father of her child, make room in her life for us to be a family.
Even if that’s not really what I want.
Or is it?
Fuck.
Fuck.
Yes!
I slam hard into Lucy and stay deep, tumbling over the edge into orgasm.
She comes around my cock, her inner walls squeezing my dick, massaging out every last drop of my seed.
I don’t know how long I stand there on my knees, buried deep in Lucy with the room spinning. After a moment, I become aware of her whimpers. I catch her around her waist and tug us both to our sides, staying inside her. I reach around and rub her clit, and she comes some more, wringing another mini orgasm out of me.
I groan, my arm tightening around her. I rock my hips, pumping slowly in and out as I float in the ecstasy produced by the release. The sense of well-being. Of gratitude. Some might mistake this moment for love.
I’m not so foolish.
I rub her clit again, and she squeezes around my cock again.
Still, this must be the closest I’ve ever come to feeling love. The connection and affection I feel with her is real.
I nuzzle her neck and kiss a patch of skin I find under her soft hair.
What will you do with me? She wanted to know.
Keep you.
I wouldn’t. I won’t. She doesn’t deserve it. But if I were selfish. If I were truly the bastard she believes me to be… I’d keep her forever.
Tied up on my bed.
Filled with my cock.
Moaning my name in that hoarse, desperate way of hers.
Lucy. My brilliant, well-defended attorney-lover. The woman who doesn’t trust me to father her child.
The woman I want to turn inside out. Master.
Love.
Yes, love.
I do want to love in this lifetime. Too bad I’m even more defended than she is.
Lucy
After a snack and a brief nap, I wake to find Ravil standing at the window. He turns when I sit up.
“How do you feel, beautiful?”
I stretch, feeling the relaxation in my limbs. A slight soreness between my legs. The lingering sensation from having something plugged in my ass.
Amazing. I feel incredible.
Not that I’m going to tell him that.
I climb out of bed.
“Are you going to let me out of this room now?”
I shouldn’t sound so testy. Not after he just devoted himself to giving me the most incredible orgasm of my life.
“Yes,” he says mildly. “I’m going to take you to the rooftop pool.”
Pool is a magic word to any pregnant woman, I guarantee it. I perk right up. “Do I have a swim suit?”
“I packed one for you. But you could swim nude if you like, too. The pool is private.”
Skinny dipping isn’t my thing although after our afternoon session, I am feeling far more comfortable in my skin than normal. I find my bikini and put it on. The bottoms still fit, but my breasts spill out of the top.
Ravil’s gaze falls on them, hungry. He grabs and holds out a terry cloth robe that’s too large-probably his-and I slip into it. Then he changes into a pair of turquoise and navy swim trunks.
Like always, I stare at his chiseled, tattooed chest. The light dusting of golden hair across his chest. He tosses my flip flops out of the closet and comes out in a pair of his own, two beach towels tucked under one arm.
It’s a different look for him, and if it weren’t for the prison tattoos, he’d look like a California lifeguard. Blond, built and manly. Not wholesome. But it’s almost like I can see how, under different circumstances, he could’ve turned out wholesome. At his core, he’s not an evil man.
He can’t be-not with the care he takes with me.
Can he?
I ignore his hand when he holds it out but let him lead me out of the penthouse and up a short flight of stairs to the roof.
There, I nearly gasp at the scenery. There are large potted trees. Flower boxes. Colorful umbrellas. Fake grass gives it more color. We round past the roof fixtures, the concrete walls cleverly concealed with bamboo fencing, and emerge at the pool.
Where a pair of teenagers are fooling around.
“Oh my God,” the girl squeaks. Her bikini top is off, floating in the water, and she dives under to hide her bare breasts from us.
Her boyfriend turns around to face us. “Mr. Baranov!” He places his body in front of hers as he grabs the bikini top and surreptitiously holds it behind his back.
“I thought you said it was a private pool,” I murmur.
“I’m really sorry. I know these aren’t the open swim hours,” the boy stammers. His face is red although not as red as the neck of his girlfriend, who has her back to us, ducked down as she puts her top back on.
Ravil says something to him in Russian.
“No, sir,” he answers in English. The teen shakes his head emphatically. Seeing his girlfriend is dressed, he grabs her hand and tugs her toward the steps. “No, I swear we didn’t. I’m sorry we were here when we weren’t supposed to be. It’s just… no one’s usually here during private hours.”
Ravil looks at him coolly. “Come by my apartment tonight around eight, Leo,” he says.
Leo’s eyes widen. Out of the pool, he stands taller than I initially thought, but he’s still lanky. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. He holds his free hand up. “I’m really sorry. Being here when I wasn’t supposed to was really disrespectful. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Ravil nods, setting our towels down on a chaise lounge. “Apology accepted. I still need to see you tonight. Eight o’clock. Understand?”
Leo grabs a towel and opens it for his girlfriend in a decidedly gentlemanly move. “Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t bother drying off himself, just shoves his feet in his flip flops, grabs his towel and girlfriend’s hand and starts toward the doors.
He turns back. “Mr. Baranov?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to tell my mom about this?” His voice cracks a little on the word mom.
“No,” Ravil says. “We’ll leave her out of it. Unless you no-show on me tonight.”
“I won’t,” the young man swears.
“See that you don’t.” Ravil’s already given him his back, kicking off his flip flops and heading for the pool steps.
I watch the couple leave before I join him. The pool is beautiful. The kind that’s made to look like a natural water feature, with a gentle hourglass shape and a spa that cascades down soft rocks into the pool.
“It’s salt water,” Ravil says. “Perfect for your waterbirth.”
My waterbirth.
This man must be insane.
I am not giving birth on a roof in a pool.
I slip off the robe and step in. The water is perfect- refreshing on a warm summer afternoon.
“What did you say to Leo when you spoke in Russian?”
Ravil’s lips twitch. “I asked him if he had sex in my pool.”
I laugh despite myself.
Ravil’s eyes trace my face as if he finds my laugh fascinating.
I quickly tuck my smile away. “What’s going to happen at eight?”
Again, Ravil’s lips curve at the edges. We stand in the shallow end, the water rising to our ribs. “I’m going to have the sex talk with him. Give him condoms and make sure he knows how to treat a girl.”
My lips part. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t that.
“You are?” I say, inanely.
Ravil nods. “He lives with his single mother. I have a responsibility to step in for these man-to-man talks. Especially when I catch him stripping his girlfriend in my pool.”
I can’t help it. I laugh again. It’s so damn sweet. Here I was thinking Ravil was going to make some wicked threat to the kid. Instead, he’s… well, fathering the boy.
“Is he a relative?” I ask.
“No,” Ravil says. “But the Kremlin is my village. And I’m their leader. I have a duty to look after all of them… if I can.”
Something uncomfortable twists under my ribs. An unease.
Maybe I misjudged Ravil.
Maybe horribly.
But no. He’s a criminal. His tattoos prove it.
You claim to have complete knowledge of my profession-exactly what I do and how I manage my business? You researched this thoroughly?
I didn’t. I essentially racially profiled him. Although he did choke a man at Black Light for insulting me. That was a huge red flag for me.
Still, I have no other proof against him that he’s a bad man. Unfit to be a parent.
So perhaps that’s where I must begin. To build my case against him. Or for him. Either way, I need to build a case. Look at the evidence, weigh it.
I duck my head under the water and breast stroke to the opposite end of the pool. It feels great to be weightless. To exercise without the discomfort of my new shape. Without that bone tired feeling I sometimes get when I haven’t eaten enough protein or red meat for the baby.
I swim laps back and forth. Ravil sits at the edge of the pool and watches.
Eventually, I get tired and come up for air near him, water streaming down my face and hair.
“Why did you become a defense attorney?” he asks.
I squeeze my hair out and labor to climb out and sit beside him. “My father is a defense attorney. He represented some of the biggest organized crime leaders in Chicago. Some people said he must be soulless to represent them. That he lined his pockets with blood stained bills. But the thing is-my father believed, as do I, that every man has a constitutional right to a fair trial.”
Ravil raises a brow, and I catch the accusation in it. I didn’t offer him any such due process. I tried and convicted him based on hearsay. I tried to keep him from his own flesh and blood based on my own prejudice.
I drop my gaze to my bikini top and adjust it to keep my breasts covered.
“I grew up hearing my father defend his choice at the dinner table or family gatherings. People inevitably ask, why would you defend a criminal? Especially if you know he’s a criminal?”
I meet Ravil’s pale blue gaze and swallow.
“He would say, every man I defend is someone’s son. Someone’s brother. Someone’s father. If you were a doctor, you wouldn’t refuse to treat a man because he’d been accused of a crime. You’d do your job. My job is to help him through our legal system, which would be difficult for him to navigate on his own. Just because I stand up in court and touch his shoulder and make him relatable to the jury doesn’t mean I approve or condone what he’s done. But I am going to do my job representing him.”
“And you feel the same?” Ravil asks.
I draw an unsteady breath and nod. “Yes.”
“But you do judge them. Even when you represent them? You won’t condone a criminal?”
The late afternoon sun’s dropped behind a building. The breeze against my wet skin suddenly makes me cold.
The truth is, despite what I just resolved to do-to research Ravil’s background and deeds-I’m not sure I want to know. I’m afraid of what I’ll find.
Which must mean… I’m starting to care about the man. And I don’t want to know if he’s as bad as I originally imagined.
I don’t want to know how many graves he’s dug.
Or women he’s kidnapped-apart from me.
I shake my head. “My judgements and feelings are irrelevant. My job is to guide them through the legal system.”
“Do you work harder if you believe they’re innocent?”
I look down at my fingernails. I keep them short but polished with a French manicure. They’re getting chipped. “Honestly? I don’t think that way. Sometimes, the less I know, the better. I make my case based on the prosecutor’s. It’s not about working harder. It’s more about how solid or weak the case is. If any procedures were violated on the part of the police or prosecution.”
“So you don’t care if Adrian set the fire or not?”
“No,” I answer immediately. “Honestly? My assumption is he did. That won’t stop me from doing my best to get him off.”
“Will you be able to get him off?”
I lift my shoulders. “I have a good chance. Their case isn’t great. I can probably show bias based on the fact that he’s an immigrant. Of course, a jury might have the same bias. But if we’re lucky, I can stop this thing before it goes to trial.”
“Was he working for you?” My throat tightens as I ask the question. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Are you building your personal case against me?”
Yes.
“No.”
“Do you believe your laws are perfect, Lucy?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you think there may be reasons to break your laws that still fall under a code of what’s right and wrong?”
I go still, knowing he’s telling me something here. I’m not sure I want to hear it.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m sure there are. I’ve argued cases like that before.”
Ravil simply nods and climbs to his feet. “I’m sure you’re getting hungry.” He offers me a hand.
I take it and let him help me to stand. “Famished.” I sigh because I’m almost always famished these days.
“What do you want to eat tonight? I’ll take you out… if you like.”
Huh. Guess the warden is not that much of a hardass.
“I’m tired, actually. And…” I give him an impish grin. “Are there any perogies left?” I’ve been thinking about the damn meat pies all day long. They are definitely my new pregnancy craving.
Ravil’s lips twist into a grin. “I think there are. I’ll make sure we always have some on hand for you, kitten.” He holds a towel open for me just like young Leo had for his teen girlfriend.
Maybe it’s the sweetness of that image or maybe all my thoughts about Ravil are rearranging, but I suddenly can’t see him as the terrible villain any more.