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Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 25
CamilaSomehow, though I know I had awful nightmares, I don’t wake up with the usual migraine. Historically, after terrible nights, I’m wrecked the next morning. This time, I wake up with a cartoonish, cat-like stretch that makes my body sing.It’s because of him. My attention goes to my bed, the spot Asher sat while he cradled me against himself. Asher chased the demons away. I didn’t even know that was possible. Throwing open my curtains, I recoil at the bright sun. Then I see the clock on my dresser.No way, it’s noon? I slept that long? No wonder I feel amazing.So what if it’s late? Not like I have anywhere to be. I take my time cleaning myself up. I even pick a cuter dress than usual, a long, flowing green one that makes my eyes pop. Sitting at my vanity, I curl my hair off my neck; I could do it with my eyes shut at this point.Subconsciously, I’m trying to look nice for Asher. I want to thank him for how he comforted me last night. I hope he was able to get as much sleep as I
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 26
AsherThe door to my office opens. “You haven’t left yet, Mila?” I ask without looking up.“It’s me,” Camila says.Spinning in my padded chair, I see that she’s lingering on the threshold. Without looking at my desk, I flip the notebook shut. Mila brought me excellent intel on Yannick: he’s gotten word about my upcoming wedding. The leaks we carefully created to spread the word that I’m getting married have been a huge success. But these details aren’t meant for Camila’s eyes.“What is it?” I ask, checking the time on my watch. “I know we said we’d get dinner together, but it’s a bit early.”Shaking her head, she closes the door, resting her weight on it. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”The way she phrases that makes me wary. “What happened?”She glances at me, but she can’t hold my gaze. “I’m trying to think of how to bring it up.”“Just say it,” I urge. “Nothing shocks me these days.” Camila continues to stare at her feet. One foot crosses the other, her toes rubbing her
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 27
CamilaNo man should be able to wipe away every drop of sorrow with a kiss, but Asher manages it without effort. It’s only our third kiss, but he kisses me like we’re familiar lovers, finding the perfect way to angle our mouths and pressing his tongue on mine just how I like it.“Asher,” I whisper.“Do you want me to stop?” He kisses my shoulder, moving the strap of my dress down my arm until it drapes on my elbow. His mouth explores the new patch of untouched skin. “Say the word, ptichka. I’ll do as you ask.”His hands glide my other strap down. There’s nothing holding my dress up but my chest as it rises and falls with my every quickening breath. Just tell him you don’t want this. My hands circle his strong neck as the words die in my throat. One word and he’ll end it. One little word and this stops. My nails scrape down his deltoids, feeling every groove.Asher’s breath scalds my cheek. He’s waiting, the moment hanging in the air like a drop of dew on a leaf.I’m standing on a clif
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 28
AsherSweat drips down my backbone, cool against my sizzling skin. I’m not sweating from exertion but from the strain of keeping myself in check. The urge to drive my cock faster and deeper into Camila with every thrust is beyond tempting.But when I look at her under me, I know I can’t.She’ll shatter. She’ll break. I never expected to care about this before now. When I imagined pumping inside of her in the past—and I imagined it often—I was ruthless. In those fantasies, I made her scream—whether from agony or delight, I didn’t care. But now … I do.Why?Something digs painfully into my knuckle. It gets worse when I squeeze Camila’s fingers to hold her hands over her head. That’s when I see the ring I forced on her finger—the seal of our upcoming false wedding. A prickle begins at the nape of my neck, and it worms down into my ribs.This is why.Shaking myself, I push the bubbling emotion deep below the surface of primal lust raging at the surface. My pace quickens. The wet sound of
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 29
CamilaMy reflection looks nothing like me. Yes, it’s my face with the right color eyes, the familiar cupid’s bow mouth, but that’s where it ends. The woman staring at me in the mirror, with her hair wound up in an elegant braid with white flowers woven through and sparse rouge on her cheeks, is a stranger.Rubbing my hands down the wedding dress that squeezes my middle, I let out a sigh. Get it together, Camila. This is you. You chose this dress for this day. My inner voice doesn’t help. I still feel like I’m out of my body, watching somebody else prepare for her wedding.“Miss?” Ollie asks. “Do you like it? Should I add more blush or thicker eyeliner?”“You did great,” I assure her gently.“But … you barely have any makeup on.”That was intentional on my part. I’ve never been one for pounds of foundation or exaggerated styles. I thought that if I looked more like my usual self, I might be able to handle this day better.Looking at my reflection again, I wonder if I made the wrong ch
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 30
Waving his fingers over the rings, the priest raises his voice so it belts around the church without the aid of a microphone. “The servant of God is betrothed to the maid of God in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”Asher takes my hand; I jump at the sensation of our skin touching as memories of him fucking me invade my thoughts again. He slips the ring on my finger to settle beside the engagement ring. When he lets go, my arm feels like it weighs ten times more than before.“Asher Volkov,” the priest says, his hand held in the air. Asher cringes when he hears the name. It’s the first time I’ve heard him addressed like this. I try to catch his eye, but he purposefully avoids it. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”There—now he looks at me. “I do.” His voice is solid as stone. It gives me strength, helping the shaking in my knees evaporate. How strange that two simple words could have so much power.“Camila Marakov Rubinova.” It’s my turn
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 31
AsherNo matter how many times I spin the ring on my finger, I can’t find where it starts or ends. It’s almost the same tint of silver as my eye color. The platinum with a black diamond inlay through the middle strikes a powerful aesthetic. Pricey, but I bought it myself. If I’m going to wear jewelry, it needs to be exquisite.Camila looked blatantly stunned when the priest asked her for the ring. I should have prepared her more. I was busy with other, more pressing plans.Plans that turned out to be pointless.The reminder that my trap wasn’t sprung is infuriating. I twist the ring faster, friction burning against my finger. I continue to spin in spite of the pain. Why didn’t Yannick show up? Mila’s intel was rock solid. He knew about the wedding, knew the time, the location, everything. He knew more than Camila.And yet …A spike of shame runs through my heart, and I stop twisting the ring. My mind wanders back to yesterday afternoon, to the wedding itself.To Camila.I busied mysel
Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 32
CamilaI’m a pile of needles. Each time I move, I feel my thoughts prickling me—not hard enough to draw blood, but still enough to remind me of my discomfort. I can’t believe Mom is coming here. Settling on the cushion of my vanity, I run my brush through my hair. There are no tangles; I’m brushing it just to stay busy.Will she like it here? What should I say to her?What can I even say to her?Hi, Mom, you remember Asher? Turns out he’s a Bratva pakhan who killed a man the night before he showed up to buy our studio.Oh, and he’s my husband now. But don’t worry, it’s just a temporary thing.God, she’ll never forgive me if she hears any of that.My phone on the vanity begins to buzz, and I snatch it up, answering without looking. “Hello?”“Camila!” Adriana shouts in my ear, and I have to hold the phone away while wincing in pain. “Oh my God! You’re okay!”“Yeah, of course, I’m okay.” I guess she must have worried because we haven’t spoken to each other in a while. “What’s up?”“What’
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