by Marian Tee
She bit her lip hard, the look on her face telling him that she was holding back from saying anything.
He breathed sharply, feeling that with every second that passed, the further she was slipping away from him. “Are you hungry? We can have breakfast---”
“Sergei.”
Her voice tapered out in the end, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, and the sight of it nearly drove him to his knees. This was it, he thought lifelessly. This was the end, and even knowing that he should simply bow out gracefully – he just couldn’t.
“I fucked up,” he said bleakly, raising his eyes to her. “I know I fucked up, Erie---”
“Sergei---”
“Please.”
“I don’t want to hear another word,” she said shakily. “Okay?”
The billionaire whitened.
“I came here to get my stuff. That’s all. So there’s no need to say any of those things – okay?” And as if she could no longer bear hearing his voice again, she pushed past him and entered the house.
“Fredericka?” Sergei heard his father call out in obvious shock, and it was only then he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake in the house. Fredericka’s reply was muffled, and when the billionaire finally found the strength to turn around, he saw that his whole damn family was on the stairs, all of them immobile as Fredericka marched past them.
When Fredericka disappeared from view, Misha came to him, clapping a hand over his shoulders. “Prosti.”
The billionaire nodded jerkily. “It’s no one’s fault but mine.” He lowered his head, thinking that he had become exactly what Fredericka had feared. Someone who acted exactly like his goddamn age, someone immature enough to have been swayed by past trauma. Someone who didn’t deserve her trust---
He heard Seri gasp, and for some reason, he also heard Vassi whistle.
The billionaire’s head jerked up, and the first thing he saw was Fredericka, dressed in the wedding gown he had purchased for her.
“I told you,” she said shakily, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You didn’t have to say any of those words. I really just came here to get this.” Fredericka watched Sergei take several steps up, her heart aching painfully at the rather clumsy way he moved. He had always been impossibly elegant, and now---
“I listened to your every message, you know,” she whispered. “And I read all your emails.”
The billionaire stilled.
“It tended to get kinda repetitive in the end,” she teased with a tremulous smile, “but those were my favorite parts.”
“Was it?” It had taken a long time for the billionaire to answer, but when he did, the sound of his silky tone was so wonderfully familiar that this time she just couldn’t stop the tears from rushing down.
Nodding vehemently at him, she said, “They were my favorite because they reminded me of what was important.”
The billionaire reached her then, and she smiled up at him, cupping his face, saying, “You did fuck up---”
A hoarse laugh escaped him. “And that’s the important part?”
“No. The important part was that you only fucked up once. But before it – before this, I was the one who fucked up, again and again, and you always forgave me. You always came after me, and so---” Her voice caught. “How can I not forgive you, too?”
He had already hauled her to him before she even finished speaking, and she was already sobbing against his chest by the time he whispered fiercely, “I love you.” He kissed her hard, saying hoarsely against her lips, “Thank you for still letting me be your trophy husband.”
Epilogue
The waiting room was once again fully packed when I arrived for my three-fifteen appointment, and just my luck, the first thing I saw playing on the wall-mounted monitor was a live interview of Elsa Nilsson.
“That woman is older, uglier, and boring as hell,” the Swedish beauty derided.
Heads turned, gazes swinging from the TV monitor to said older, uglier, and boring-as-hell woman – a.k.a. me.
“I am terribly sure,” the woman continued in her thickly accented English, “it was a shotgun marriage. We had such a lovely thing, Sergei and I, and I am confident he is only a beast with me---”
There was a sudden change in channels, and then the receptionist was rushing to me, red-faced in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Grachyov!”
The noise inside the waiting room dramatically increased, all eyes averted from my direction.
“It’s okay, Carla,” I reassured her with a forced smile. Claiming the last vacant seat in the room, I quickly took a magazine and pretended to be engrossed in it even as I cursed the model in my mind. Damn her for being so beautiful and thin just when I was feeling as big as a house.
I was now in my last trimester, and before I knew it, my tummy had ballooned into this huge, hard ball that seemed to weigh a ton. Almost every part of my body hurt, and the only time I felt good was when I was sleeping, in the bath, or when I was having sex---
The last thought had me flushing, and I hurriedly lifted the magazine to cover my face. Pregnancy had made me incredibly sensitive and horny, and these days the billionaire only had to look at me and I swear to God, but it was enough to have me wanting to jump his bones.
Wanting being the operative word since I couldn’t actually jump now.
I couldn’t even tiptoe, and all these limitations were just driving me crazy with paranoia and jealousy.
How could the Russian billionaire still love me when I looked like this? How could he still want to fuck me when I looked like this? I could feel my throat tightening, and I had a horribly sinking feeling that I was going to burst into tears any second.
My phone suddenly rang, and I quickly fumbled for it inside my bag, thankful for the distraction. “Hello?”
“I’m on my way, pchelka.”
I sniffed. “Don’t bother. By the time you arrive, it will be too late.”
“I love it when you’re overdramatic,” the billionaire murmured huskily. “It’s strangely hot.”
“Pervert.” But I couldn’t help laughing a little all the same.
“I’ll see you in a bit, pchelka. I love you.”
“Ditto, lyubov maya.”
He chuckled. “Too shy to say ‘I love you’ with people around?”
I ended the call without answering, never mind if it was childish. He was used to it anyway, and besides, I was pregnant. Everyone knew pregnant women were always right.
When my doctor stepped out to personally greet me, she was visibly surprised to find me alone. “Won’t your husband be accompanying you?”
“He’s running a little late, that’s all,” I said cheerfully. I could feel the other patients looking at me again, and I could practically feel pity dripping from their thoughts.
I took my usual seat inside the clinic while my doctor excused herself to take a call. When she returned, she was smiling widely, saying, “I’ll take you to the X-Ray room, if that’s alright, Mrs. Grachyov?”
“Oh.” I was bemused. “Why do I suddenly need one?”
“Standard operating procedure,” she assured me. “It’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about, I promise.”
“We’ll need to switch the lights off,” the doctor said after I had changed into a hospital gown. “Again, that’s SOP, so please don’t worry.” She helped me to the bed, saying, “Just lie down and relax. The procedure will be quick and painless.”
When the doctor left, an indefinite amount of time passed, causing me to fall asleep and waking up only at the sound of the door opening. I opened my eyes groggily to see who it was and closed them as soon as I caught sight of someone in scrubs with a surgical mask entering the room.
A pair of strong hands suddenly took hold of my ankles, and I froze.
Was this part of the procedure?
The hands moved up on my legs, placing one on each elevated clamp. It left me uncomfortably wide open, and I fought back a blush as I realized how much the X-Ra
y technician could see of me. A part of me wanted to demand if this was truly necessary, but then I thought about what kind of headlines it would produce---
Fredericka Spears acting like a diva just because she’s a billionaire’s wife---
I forced myself to stay calm. This is SOP.
The man reached for me between my legs, and I tried not to tense. Once in a while, his hands, covered with surgical gloves, would brush against the insides of my thighs, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the way my pussy involuntarily quivered at the contact.
The man parted my folds open, and my fingers curled into fists.
Wider and wider---
Oh my God, I could feel myself getting wet. This was so wrong, but how could I stop myself from getting wet when I was just so sensitive?
And then I felt it---
A finger sliding inside---
I reared up, about to scream rape---
A hand clamped over my mouth, and I started to struggle.
“Relax.”
My eyes widened at the familiar sound, and I choked out, “Sergei?”
Instead of answering, the billionaire only pried my folds wider apart---
I moaned.
And then I felt him bending down just before his tongue thrust inside of me.
I screamed.
Even knowing that the walls were thin and people outside could hear me---
I couldn’t stop screaming.
It was just so damn good.
Just when I was about to climax, my husband lifted his mouth off, and I moaned at the sound of him unzipping himself. A moment later, and he was thrusting his engorged cock inside of me, and I screamed again. Over and over he plunged into me, and God, God, God, I didn’t want it to stop. It was so gooooood----
Voices reached us.
“This is scandalous, utterly scandalous,” I heard someone – probably another patient – gasp furiously. “You have no right to enter here---”
Recognizing Dr. Jacobs’ voice, I tried to push Sergei away, saying weakly, “Stop.”
But this only made him thrust harder into me, and I fell back on the bed.
No chance, I thought dazedly. Absolutely no chance to think when he was fucking me so good---
“Just because this woman is married to Sergei Grachyov doesn’t mean she should get away with anything! Her husband will probably thank us for exposing the truth about her---”
“Mrs. Thompson, you don’t understand---”
The door burst open, and the lights switched on.
Carla, Dr. Jacobs, and an unknown woman stumbled inside the room, all of them open-mouthed in shock. Behind them, more women stumbled to a stop, their eyes glued to the billionaire and me.
With my legs up, the billionaire’s cock still buried deep inside of me, I could only guess how I looked, and I threw my hands up to cover my face with a moan.
But the billionaire wasn’t embarrassed. Instead, impatient fury lined his voice. “Do you mind? I still have to finish fucking my wife.” I heard people scrambling, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut.
“Oh my God, Sergei, we need to---” But my cry of dismay turned into another scream. The billionaire had my little toy with him, and he had it on my clit, vibrating hard, as he resumed his thrusts.
* * *
Back in the waiting room, the other expectant mothers were still in their seats, properly chastised and envious, all of them unable to stop listening – and fantasizing – as the once all-too-serious Sergei Grachyov continued fucking his wife.
And just like that, the truth dawned on them.
That Sergei Grachyov, once a very proper man, could act in such a way---
The expectant mothers couldn’t get their phones out fast enough, tweeting and posting status messages on their social media accounts, and in a matter of minutes #ElsaNilssonLied became a trending topic worldwide.
Sergei Grachyov was a beast, like Elsa said, but it was also clear to see that he was now his wife’s beast and would stay that way.
* * *
Continue reading for a bonus novel…When I Moan
* * *
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BONUS: When I Moan: Russian Stepbrother Romance
Chapter One
Four years ago
Misha Grachyov absently walked down the hallway, his gaze trained on the medical journal he was reading. Tall, dark-haired, and silver-eyed, he made head turns whenever he went, and with his imposing height and hard-hewn body, he looked more like a Cossack warrior than anything else.
Or at least Cossack warriors who also happened to wear glasses and a lab coat over his school uniform.
“Hey, Misha.”
“Hi, Misha.”
“Good morning, Misha.”
Both male and female students he walked past were eager to greet the town’s hottest nerd, half out of sheer admiration and infatuation, the other half in hopes of exploiting a friendship with any of the Grachyov brothers. The Grachyovs were the wealthiest family in this side of California, and everyone knew that each son was slated to inherit at least a billion dollars from their Russian magnate father.
Misha walked past all of them without a glance.
Everyone silently sighed in disappointment, all of them having secretly hoped they’d be the one to break Misha’s legendary concentration. A moment later, the sighs turned into scowls and glares when they saw their target slow down in front of Room 1C.
They had hoped the rumors about the Grachyov brothers weren’t true, but now that Seri Devereaux was in high school with them, there was no escaping reality.
Misha Grachyov had a sister complex.
* * *
Seri rushed out of her classroom the moment she saw who was waiting outside. What was he doing here?
A small group of girls had formed a circle around Misha by the time she reached him. They were all fawning over her brother, flirting with their gazes and cooing words, but Misha appeared oblivious to them all.
She tapped Misha on the shoulder. “Hey, Misha.”
He looked up right away, as if her voice was the only sound his ears recognized, and Seri could feel the other girls glaring harder at her back.
“Seri.” He smiled down at her. And then he blinked, as if only seeing the girls around them for the first time. He smiled at them, too, and the girls sighed. Out loud.
Seri mentally shook her head. Misha was so clueless. If he weren’t her stepbrother, she would have thought he was faking it. But because she had known him since she was five and had lived with him and the other boys since she was eleven, Seri knew it was real.
Misha was the hottest and most clueless nerd there was.
Ever.
“So, umm, what are you doing here?” Aside from ruining her plans of becoming anonymous, she added silently. She had hoped high school would be different, and that maybe – just maybe – no one would know she was the Grachyov’s little sister. She had even left home ahead of her brothers, opting to walk to school rather than sharing a ride with them.
But all her efforts were useless now of course.
She wanted to get mad at Misha, but how could she, the way he was ruffling her hair with a fond smile on his face?
“Do I need a reason to see my little dove?” Misha teased.
Seri mentally cringed, knowing his pet name would just make the girls more jealous of her. She opened her mouth to tell him that he wasn’t ever to call her ‘little dove’ in public, if he still wanted her to live, but then she saw the affection in Misha’s silvery gaze---
Seri said weakly, “”I’m happy to see you, too.” She could feel the number of glares that was being sent her way doubling as she spoke.
Yup, she thought morosely. I’m definitely going to get bullied again.
He raised his hand, lifting something up at eye level. “I also ca
me here to give you this.”
Guilt singed her cheeks when she saw what he was holding. “Sorry,” Seri mumbled as she took her lunchbox from Misha. She knew how much work Fyodor put in every day, personally preparing her lunch, and this despite the fact that her stepfather had a full-time chef in his employ. It was a probably a Russian thing, the way they took deathbed promises a little too seriously. As part of his vow of being both Seri’s Mama and Papa, Fyodor had committed to doing everything Marianna used to do for her daughter.
Like, everything, to the point of even taking online classes for the art of bento making.
“I’ll text Papa later, I promise,” Seri told Misha.
He patted her head. “Don’t forget your lunch next time, da?”
She nodded, hoping that would be the end of it.
But unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Misha actually leaned back against the doorframe, looking like he didn’t mind spending forever with her.
Which was great and all, Seri thought, if there didn’t happen to be scores of other girls in the same hallway, all wanting a piece of Misha…as much as they wanted to tear her into pieces.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Aren’t you worried you’ll be late for class?”
Misha only shrugged. “Not really.”
Right. She had forgotten about the teensy weensy fact that Misha could have graduated high school at thirteen. Only he didn’t ---
“I wish the school would reconsider letting me sit in with your class,” Misha grumbled.
Because of that.
Misha had a huge sister complex over her, to the point that he had been okay with twiddling his thumbs in high school just to spend more time with Seri.
“It’s unfair that Sergei gets to teach your class while I get stuck with only seeing my cute little sister during breaks---”
She said uneasily, “Umm, Misha---”
“And Vassi’s the lucky bastard because---”
The school bell rang, cutting him off.
