The Bodyguard's Baby (Russian Alpha Erotic Romance Book 3)

by Kendall Duke

  It was getting to be a pattern. A very, very upsetting pattern.

  I hadn’t had much of a libido before Ivan. He awakened all of my appetites.

  It wasn’t fair that I was once again denied so suddenly.

  I didn’t want to take it as a rejection, because I knew, logically, that’s not what it was. But I was also… Emotional. Much more emotional than I’d ever been in my life; previously, I’d depended on my logic to get me through some of the truly depressing realities of being my father’s daughter, a young woman without a mother, without love, and with an uncomfortable proximity to the Russian mafia. Becoming a doctor was all I dreamed about, even in the wildest throes of my wildest romance novels. But Ivan changed all that.

  I was now a woman with appetites.

  And there was only one still available for satisfaction.

  “Ivan,” I said one evening, curled into the crook of his arm, “my classes start tomorrow.”

  “Are you excited?” He smiled down at me happily, so proud of my cleverness even though I hadn’t even started yet. “I not believe it when you tell me how much you love school, but I know is true—you barely speak during exams. You love to work on this, your learning.”

  “I do,” I said, feeling thoughtful. I’d wanted to bring up our sex life, but it was hard to say something upsetting to someone while they were being so completely supportive. I remembered something else, too, something I’d once thought about that got buried under all of the drama in our lives. “Ivan… You’re very smart. Very, very smart—you’re bilingual! And technical, I know you can do things with computers and security systems… You know a lot of stuff, and you definitely like learning.”

  “Da, all of this is true. Although… I would not call myself bilingual.” Ivan looked down at his lap, his thick lashes hiding his eyes. “And I would not call myself very smart.”

  “You speak excellent English when you’re not nervous,” I told him. This was true; Ivan was more articulate speaking to our doctor and virtually everyone else than he was with me. I never teased him about it, especially since his vocabulary was constantly surprising me… And because I’d noticed during some of our… Encounters… That his English didn’t keep up with his dirty mind. The thought brought a blush to my cheeks, and as if he noticed it right away he started to withdraw. I went back to our tamer conversation. “Why wouldn’t you call yourself very smart? I certainly think you are.”

  It surprised me, how much this seemed to mean to him. He glanced at me, the palest blush on his high cheekbones—there and gone—telling me the truth about how my compliment made him feel. “I have hard time with letters,” he explained. “I not very good with reading. Not even in Russian—I can take my time, highlight page, make things easier to see. But I have trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I look at page of book is like…” He thought hard. “Is like many letters backwards, like they twist in front of my eyes. Make it very difficult to read. But if I hear something,” he went on, encouraged by my interest, “I can remember it long time, sometimes forever. I feel like… My brain record it. But if I try read something, take long time, maybe I not understand even if I recognize all the words. Very hard. Lot of work.”

  “Ivan, are you dyslexic?”

  “What is this?” He furrowed his brow, his silky eyebrow bunching up as he listened. It was so hard to remember that arrogant veneer from the first time we met.

  “From what I understand, it sounds like what you’re describing—as if the letters were written backward, or your brain turns them around in strange directions, making it difficult to read. Do you think that sounds right?”

  “Da,” he said, and shrugged. “But I not going to school for learn any more, Julie. I twenty-five years old, I work for the family. I not going to school.”

  “But you might like reading, if it wasn’t so hard,” I said, running my hands over his skin, tracing his wrist bone, the pad of his thumb, his palm. “Reading is wonderful. Learning is wonderful.”

  “I not smart, Julie, not like you,” he said carefully, his lashes hiding his eyes again.

  “Being dyslexic has nothing to do with intelligence,” I told him. “Which, by the way, you have plenty of.”

  “Family use me for muscle,” he said unceremoniously. “That is life.”

  “Well…” I thought about it for a minute. “What would you do, if you could do anything? Anything in the world?”

  “I do it right now,” Ivan said sincerely, looking into my eyes. “I hold you. I love you. I love our baby.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling at him as my heart pitter-patted at his words, “but I will love you no matter what, and so will our baby. And one day I’ll be able to eat more than pureed fruit and our baby will be big and strong, walking around and being as handsome as you are.” Ivan blinked when I said this, and I realized how much it meant to him to be a father. It was amazing. “But what would you do? Anything in the world—you could fly spaceships, write novels, paint masterpieces. What would you do?”

  “I never think about this,” he told me seriously. “Is not important—”

  “Why?”

  “Because I learn, age five, when my father die and Sergei take over, that I am stupid. Cannot read, cannot lead. I am muscle,” he said again, looking at me without a single ounce of self-pity. “My job is to do for family, protect Alexei, most of all—before you,” he said, his eyes softening. “I am very good at this job, milaya. I am best.”

  “But is it what you would have chosen?” I studied those dark eyes, the grey and hazel color so rich and opaque. “Think about it.”

  “Is nothing to think about,” he said, but he bit his lip.

  “Is our son going to live like this too?” I asked the real question, the one that mattered more than all the others. Ivan’s gaze snapped to mine, then shuttered.

  “No.” He said it with a finality that surprised me. “No. Our baby be American, like you. Our baby never work for the family. No.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed and the ghost of a smile played on his lips. “How you know this baby is boy, milaya?”

  “I just know,” I said, nestling back under his arm. He’d given me a lot to think about.

  “This baby is beautiful, smart American girl. Like her mother,” Ivan said, and kissed the top of my head. I poked his side and he twitched, some of his composure lost as he chuckled into my hair. I tickled him a little again, feeling the hard ribs beneath my fingers contract and expand as he wiggled away from me, just enough for me to reach out again. My breath was coming in sharp bursts as I laughed out loud at him, Ivan’s smile captivating me; he writhed some more as I latched on to his sides and then we were both squirming, then wrestling, then I felt him, hard as a rock, prodding my center, I moaned his name—

  And he stopped. Just like that.

  “Julie,” he said, and somehow he was standing. A second ago, he’d been wrapped around me and now… I sat up, disappointment filling me up.

  “Ivan?” I recognized that look—that crazed, over-protective look. It was receding from his face now but I recognized it all the same. “Ivan! Sex is not going to hurt the baby!”

  “You not know this,” he said, taking another step back, but I was suddenly furious. I jumped up from the couch, crossing my arms over my swollen breasts, my furious nipples now standing at attention and feeling as deprived as the rest of me.

  “Of course I do. Dr. Landau literally said: sex will not hurt the baby.”

  “Dr. Landau was not talking about kind of sex I like,” Ivan said, and his chest began to rise and fall, ever so slightly. It was the only way I knew for sure the conversation was getting to him too. “Dr. Landau not talking about sex you like, Julie.”

  I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of ending our conversation with such a ridiculous pronouncement. “And what kind of sex is that, Ivan?” I put my hands on my hips, now, pointing my hard nipples at him. His eyes flicked down f
or a fraction of a second, and I saw his pupils flare. Good. I wanted him to feel just a tenth of the frustration I did.

  “You like it when I am rough with you,” he hissed, then sucked on his own tongue and took a step back. Ivan clenched his hands. “You like it when I take you hard. You like it—” He stopped himself from continuing, but we were both completely turned on already. It was too late. He was absolutely right; he knew exactly what I liked.

  “I’m going out,” I snapped, and started walking past him towards the front door. For half a second, I thought he might let me, and then I felt his strong arms wrap around my waist.

  “You not going out,” he snarled, and then picked me up and cradled me to his chest so tightly I could barely move. I could tell he wanted to just throw me over his shoulder like a cave-man but didn’t want to endanger the baby. I got my arms free on the stairs and started trying to claw my way free, but he was so strong he didn’t even slow down. Before I knew what was happening he’d dropped me on the bed and in the blink of an eye, a sharp snap on my ankle told me things had just taken a turn.

  “What the hell is this?” I stared down at the silver link around my ankle, then at him. Outrage roared through me.

  “You not even like go out, you like stay home with me, watch movie, fuck, go sleep,” Ivan’s eyes were less wild than they’d been a minute ago. He ran his fingers through his hair. “You never go out.”

  “I want the option! I don’t want you telling me I have to stay here and sleep in this bed and never have sex again!” I yelled the words. I was so pissed I slammed my fist into the mattress. “That’s crazy!”

  “You fragile,” Ivan growled, his eyes sparkling in the half-light. “You cannot go out, even if you really want to—you cannot—”

  “I can do whatever I want to, Ivan. I can do anything. I’m pregnant, not sick!” In sheer defiance, I stood up on the bed; my height finally matched his, and I pointed at him to emphasize my words. He glowered back at me. “If you think this is going to keep me here, you better lose the key. Because when I get out of this damn shackle I am going to go find the first—”

  “Nyet, Julie, don’t even say these word!” Ivan’s face was so electric with rage it took me half a second to register what he thought I was going to say. My word was ‘policeman,’ which, given his connections, probably wouldn’t do much in reality. And our ridiculous situation was mostly the product of temporary insanity, I was sure, and I was also positive Ivan would never hurt me, never in a million years. But he thought I was going to find some random guy and… And do what? The kinds of things we did? He was definitely crazy.

  And then I thought about it… Ivan hadn’t been throwing up and exhausted. There was no tax on his considerable libido. And we’d barely gotten to be with one another since… I realized it might make perfect sense for him to be afraid I’d go find someone else to fill my needs—without a serious conversation about commitment, which we’d never had. Of course this was silly, but he was obviously half-crazy with about a dozen different kinds of worry—that he was somehow not enough for me, that I was fragile, that the life that brought us together was going to end up hurting our child somehow.

  I promised myself I would reassure him.

  I promised myself.

  …Right after he fucked the hell out of me.

  “Get this off of me,” I hissed. All of the rational, logical thoughts I had helped me understand him, but none of them got rid of the desperate need my body felt. I had to have him—in me, making me his, using me for his pleasure and my own. I needed it. Now. And I would do almost anything to get it. “Get this off of me, or don’t bother coming to bed. Ever.”

  “You very bossy,” Ivan said, staring me down.

  I started very slowly pulling my shirt up, enjoying the feverish look that seized him as I did so. He’d been diligently giving me privacy, I’d noticed, letting me get dressed in the shower without him around. I’d been feeling so unwell most days that I hadn’t wanted anything different, but I felt just fine right now. I yanked my top over my head and knew my nipples were hard, pointed tips, signaling my desire to him as clearly as if I’d shouted it. He froze. I plucked the straps of my bra off of my shoulders and slowly reached around to unsnap it, then threw it in his face with a flourish. “Go fuck yourself, then, Ivan,” I snapped, and my victory lasted all of two seconds.

  Ivan pinned me against the headboard, circling both of my wrists easily in one of his hands. “Nyet,” he growled, then dragged his teeth from my earlobe to my collarbone. “You no like me go fuck myself, milaya. You like me fuck you.” His teeth seized my earlobe while his other hand caressed my face, then forced his thumb inside of my mouth. I refused at first, pushing my face away, but he sucked on my neck hard enough to make me gasp and when my mouth opened, he slid it inside. I wrapped my lips around it, moaning as he teased me with his own tongue, then gently sucked his finger. “See?”

  I spat out his thumb and kicked away from him; he looked genuinely surprised, his hair slightly disheveled from jumping after me on the bed. I was standing precariously on the corner, and I watched his eyes widen as he saw what I was about to do. “Don’t!” I put my hands out towards him and he froze. “You don’t get to touch this, Ivan,” I snarled at him. He stared up at me with a mixture of ravenous hunger and fury on his face as I balanced on the bed and slowly peeled my jeans and underwear off. I was perfectly safe; I was pregnant, but not anywhere near the stage where my balance was off. And adrenaline was racing through my body and at absolute worst, if I fell, I would fall on a California King bed. But I knew Ivan wasn’t thinking about any of those things. He was thinking about how hard his dick was. His body was flooding with adrenaline too. And he was going to grab me right out of the air—

  BAM! I was in his arms and pinned to the mattress one more time. I squirmed and he leaned back, his eyes feral; he couldn’t stop staring at my nipples. I arched my back and he surrendered; I saw his eyes glaze with lust as his teeth seized my nipple, his body slamming between my legs. My arms were pinned over my head, my legs spread wide by his considerable mass, and through the fabric of his pants I felt the length of him, starving for my body the same way I starved for his. He roughly arched his back and ground the fabric covered beam against my tender pussy lips; I was so wet I could hear it, the slip of the fabric, the ripple of it, as it ground into me. I gasped—it hurt. It felt amazing.

  He was arched over my body, not allowing his weight to touch me anywhere but my pussy and my hands. I struggled, but I couldn’t slide away from him; he pushed harder against my pussy, torturing himself with the heat of my body, and I saw his eyes close as he felt the pain and pleasure of it. He couldn’t stand it much longer. I bit his neck, listened to him hiss out a breath, and felt him trade my wrists back to one hand so he could unzip.

  The pressure was incredible; he didn’t give me a chance to adjust. One second, I was struggling beneath him, swearing his name, and in the next—his hard length sank inside of my wet pussy, my body welcoming him instinctively, loving every inch. Ivan was broad and long, and I felt him in my spine, probing my body even while he reared back to make sure his weight was never on my torso. I hissed as he nudged further in, making me take him to the base, until I could feel his balls pressing into me. He was so far inside it made my eyes swim. “Mmmmmm,” I moaned, shamelessly enjoying what I told him he could not have. He bit my lips and pulled out before thrusting back inside, his free hand now squeezing my breast, teasing my nipple until it sang.

  “You want it,” he whispered. “Say it.”

  “I want it,” I moaned, bucking in to his next thrust.

  “You so bad, Julie,” he murmured, licking my throat as he kneaded my breast. “Very bad. Say it.”

  “I’m not bad—”

  “Say it, milaya, tell me the truth. You always like hide from this truth, but I know—” He moved faster, his long cock gently sinking in to me as I sighed, my back arching to welcome him—“I know what you want. Bad kisk
a. Say it.” He nibbled my throat again.

  “No,” I said, thrashing under him, but it was useless. His hand was like a vise. With every movement, though, my body fought to get closer to orgasm, and I felt myself growing hotter, the liquid heat that powered my orgasms grinding through me like an expectant tidal wave. “No!” I felt my legs opening wider as he dipped between them, spreading me, filling me. My pussy welcomed him, dripping so much that my thighs were wet, his thrusts effortless.

  “Da,” he panted, his own lust catching up with mine. “Da—naughty kiska—” He was gritting his teeth; I felt tears in the corners of my eyes, and then, suddenly, my entire body clenched with the strength of the orgasm that ripped through me. As if it had been waiting impatiently, my pussy seized him, milking him, rhythmically pulsing as I came on his cock, and then, just as hard, Ivan emptied into me. He rasped a chant against my lips as his hardness stiffened and he picked up speed, “uh-uh-uh,” filling me with every thrust. Our juices clashed together in the center of my body as I cried out, feeling the way we meshed together, the solid, tender meeting of our flesh.

  When it was over—when I could feel the extent of the dampness beneath me, between my thighs, from how much we’d needed each other—I kissed him. I kissed him as hard as I’d cum, letting him feel how badly I wanted him all over again, making him understand that being away from him was almost painful. He kissed me back, letting go of my wrists and pulling me against his body, unheedful of the expensive shirt and pants we were likely ruining, and as we felt each other with tender caresses Ivan rolled over and pulled me on top of him, letting me perch upright over his hard hipbones while he settled in the wet spot.

  “I missed you, Vanya,” I whispered. I traced the outline of his lips with my fingertips. “Can you feel how badly I needed you?”

  He stared up at me with love on his face, his eyes open and bright. After a second, though, they clouded slightly. “Da, lyubimaya, but is not safe, is it? We…” He swallowed, looking up at me. “I mean what I say. You have naughty kiska, my Julie. You like rough.”