Smacked
The poodles whimpered and woke me from a deep sleep. Goosey’s tail was thumping on the hardwood floor, and Anastasia was whining excitedly. I sat up and glanced around the room, trying to locate the source of their excitement. Both were staring at the swinging door that led to the kitchen. I assumed Dmitri had woken up early and was helping himself to a midnight snack, but when I heard the rattle and hum of the garage door opening then the chime of the alarm being deactivated, I realized someone had come in from outside.
Goosey trotted off to greet whomever it was who entered the house—at 3:00 a.m.—and cocked his head as he listened to movement in the kitchen. That’s strange. Maybe Dmitri had left the house to hang out with Pasha and didn’t want to wake me, or perhaps Boris had come over early to see the girls open their gifts on Christmas morning. Anastasia was wiggling and wagging her tail too but stayed by my side, unwilling to leave me unguarded.
The poodles were highly-trained watchdogs and obviously recognized the scent of our visitor. If an intruder had entered the house, the dogs would’ve barked aggressively and snarled to scare off the perpetrator. Plus, we had armed guards stationed around the house at all times. It was a member of our inner circle for sure, but they didn’t get this excited for Boris or Dmitri because they were accustomed to seeing them every day. Weird.
The kitchen door swung open and a tall, shadowy figure of a man stepped into the family room. He brought with him the chill of the bitter cold winter air and the faint scent of cologne. Goosey whimpered and danced at the man’s feet, and Anastasia let out a high-pitched whimper, overjoyed to see whomever it was.
“Dmitri?”
No response.
My heart raced as the man approached where I lay on the couch. Butterflies fluttered in my belly, and although my senses weren’t as attuned as the poodles’, my instincts alerted me that the person coming into the room was someone familiar. As the shadowy figure neared the couch, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights cut through the darkness and illuminated his face.
“Merry Christmas, angel.”
Vladimir.
My husband placed his warm hand on my shoulder and knelt beside me and gazed into my eyes. He picked up my trembling hands, brought them to his lips, and kissed the inside of my wrists. After all the hoping, wishing, and praying, my husband had finally come home. Stunned to see him, I gazed into his bright blue eyes, wanting desperately for this moment to be real and not a manifestation of positive thinking. I touched his face, ran my fingers through his hair, and wrapped my arms around him.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Why didn’t you call?”
He cupped my cheeks and smiled. “I’m fine. Our family is safe. Trust me, Carter, there is nothing to fear.” He smothered me with kisses and told me he loved me over and over as he massaged the back of my neck. Feeling the warmth of his body and inhaling his scent unleashed a rush of excitement inside me like a colony of bats making a mass exodus from a cave. George had been still while I slept, but when he heard Vladimir’s voice, he kicked around as if trying to get some attention from his parents.
“Someone wants to say hi to Papa.” I positioned Vladimir’s hands on my stomach and wiped away tears of joy as Vladimir experienced the lively sensation of movement from our energetic little boy. He lifted my shirt, kissed my stomach, and praised George for waiting for him to come home before joining the family. The healthy glow radiating from my husband’s complexion and the sensation of his warm hands caressing my skin brought on a rush of excitement that had lain dormant for months.
I tugged on Vladimir’s arm, brought him up to the couch, and we shared a long and sensual kiss to commemorate the first official moment of our forever lives. Everything we were fighting for, every sacrifice we made, every ounce of pain and fear we faced brought us together in this moment. A pleasurable groan escaped his lips, and his hand traveled inside my pajama pants. He fingered the lacy straps of my underwear as if he were struggling with the idea of making love to me or not. “We should wait.”
I shoved him in the chest and pointed a stern finger at him. “No freaking way, boss. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months.” I touched him below the belt and stroked his erection. “This is happening.”
“You’re so fucking sexy, Carter.” He picked up my hand, ran his finger over my wedding ring, and led me to our bedroom.
When we crossed the threshold, Vladimir turned on the light and regarded the changes I made to our room. The picture frames over our bed now held joyful memories of the girls on their first day of school in America, Babushka and Anya sewing dolls for the orphanage, Boris, Pasha, and Dmitri playing cards, drinking, and smoking outside, and a candid snapshot of me surrounded by our friends and family taken during my baby shower. Photographing our family had become my passion. I loved capturing snapshots of our daily lives, rather than staged poses where everyone smiled for the camera.
Vladimir’s gaze drifted from the wall to the bed, and he spotted the repurposed boot liner I had crafted into his Christmas stocking. He sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes glistened as he regarded the handmade stocking I had placed on his pillow. He picked up it up and held it as if it were a precious, living thing. “You never gave up hope.”
I shook my head. “Never.”
Vladimir’s admiration for me glistened in his eyes. Staying loyal to my husband and finding the courage to keep our family together filled me with pride. I couldn’t wait for him to reunite with the girls and see how we transformed our house into our home. At last, my king had come home to reclaim his seat as the head of our family.
“Open your presents.” I was excited for him to see the treasures waiting for him in his stocking. We sat on the edge of the bed, and Vladimir pulled out his first gift. It was paper-thin and held the envelope from my doctor that revealed our baby’s gender. He shot me a quizzical expression.
“The paper inside has one word written on it. Boy or girl. The doctor was going to tell me at my appointment, but I wanted to wait for you.”
Vladimir tapped the paper on his knee and a naughty grin spread across his face. He lifted it and tucked his finger under the lip of the envelope preparing to open it, but instead, he ripped it in half, then in quarters, then into tiny shreds of paper. “Surprise, he’s a boy.” He tossed the pieces into the air and they rained down over the bed like confetti.
“Vladimir!” I shoved him playfully, welcoming back his cute and adorable side I had missed for months. It was a part of him he reserved special for me, and at that moment, the burden of all the stress and tension that had weighed me down lifted off my shoulders. I absorbed the beauty of that crooked smile and ornery laugh that never failed to melt my heart.
“Fine. If you want to be a jerk, then I’m not going to give you this.” I snatched away the gift that held the flipbook with over a hundred nude photos of myself. “You probably wouldn’t like it anyway. It’s X-rated.”
Vladimir’s eyes sharpened and he reclaimed his gift. He tore off the paper and his expression turned serious as he regarded the album’s cover photo. It was a recent picture of me in the nude with my long hair cascading over my breasts. I placed my hand over my bare stomach, prominently displaying my wedding ring. The photo was black and white, but I embellished my ring with a spot of color and highlighted the stone in its evening shade of blood red.
“Your beauty is breathtaking.” He flipped through the photos and set my transformation into action. In the early ones, my body was frail and bruised, and my lips were twisted to form a tortured smile. Vladimir’s jaw tensed as he witnessed the abuse on my thin body, the cast on my arm, and the deep purple bruises in the crook of my elbow from the IV needles. Even though the photos were disturbing, I felt a sense of empowerment as my bruises faded and the cast was removed, giving my growing midsection and full breasts the focal point of the photos.
I gained a healthy amount of weight, a maternal glow, and a confident smile that gave him a glimpse of the new me. I was no longer the battered and bruised victim I was when I returned to America—I was a survivor. A wife, sister, daughter, friend, and mother who fought to save her family and never gave up on the promise of forever.
“I’ll cherish this for the rest of my life.” He kissed my picture and pressed the album against his heart.
“That’s only one of the albums I made. The others wouldn’t fit in your stocking.” I motioned to the thick memory albums lined up on the desk in my photo studio. “I had to keep myself busy. It will take you a month to go through all the pictures of the entire family.”
“This means more to me than you’ll ever know. While I was in Russia, The Bratva sequestered us in a location so remote and secure, I had no idea where we were being held.”
“Us? You mean you and Maksim?”
He nodded. “We worked day and night to complete Project K. As punishment for my insubordination, they wouldn’t allow me to contact my family and refused to give me any information about what happened after they took you away from me. The fear of not knowing if you were alive or dead was more painful than any torture they could’ve inflicted on my body. The only thing that kept me alive was believing you were waiting for me to come home.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Vladimir.”
“Day after day, night after night, all I could think about was seeing your beautiful body, touching your soft skin, and praying you wouldn’t give up on me. Knowing you were making these gifts and never doubted me is proof that I married the bravest, most loyal woman on earth.” Tears of joy welled in his eyes. “I love you, Carter. You are my world.”
I loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and slid it off. I ran my fingers along his skin. He inhaled sharply, excited by my touch. I snaked my fingers up his chest and drew an imaginary heart with my fingernail over one of the Bratva stars tattooed on his shoulder. “Forever,” I whispered.
“Nevsegda.” Vladimir repeated the sentiment in Russian and stripped off my pajamas—his clothes—that consisted of one of his white undershirts and an extra-long pair of silky pajama bottoms. He pushed my long hair over my shoulders and admired my full breasts. His eyes were wild with lust, and the moment I had been fantasizing about for months was about to become a reality.
Turned on by my sexy Russian, I stripped off the rest of his clothes. I admired his lean, sculpted body and checked his skin for evidence of new scars or trauma. He seemed to be in good shape, and it appeared whatever wounds he had sustained from his fight with Maksim had healed. Seeing him perfect and healthy, I mentally vanquished all the terrible images I kept catalogued in my mind of him being tortured and beaten. I had a million questions about why Moscow allowed him to return home, what was next in our lives, and if he was still a member in good standing with the Bratva…but for now, this moment was all about us.
I drew back the blankets, whizzed my body pillow across the room, and crawled under the sheets with my husband. He lay beside me so we were facing each other. My belly was so round, he wasn’t accustomed to working around the beach ball-sized barrier between us. I cracked up as we tried to find a comfortable position without putting pressure on the baby.
“Relax, beautiful. I’ll get you comfortable.” He coaxed me into the center of the bed and tucked a pillow underneath me to relieve the pressure on my lower back. He slid his hands under my hips and massaged my aching muscles. I didn’t know how he pinpointed my pain, but he found the exact spot where I felt the most uncomfortable.
“How does that feel?”
“Amazing.” I had been having cramps in my back on and off since last night, and his therapeutic touch did wonders for my pain. I took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling refreshed from the warmth and strength of my husband’s strong hands.
“Need special attention anywhere else?” He glided his long, elegant fingers teasingly across my pizda.
I nodded in the affirmative, which prompted Vladimir to treat me to an intimate massage. I moaned and swiveled my hips as he stirred my excitement and aroused my passion.
“You’re so wet, Carter,” he whispered. “I need to taste you.” He lay on his stomach and grasped my thighs as he sank down and kissed me between the legs. He hummed with erotic pleasure as his tongue slid across my sweet spot. The warmth of his mouth and his sensual lips escalated my pleasure, and I ran my fingers through his hair and held him close to my body, urging him to bring me to orgasm.
He nuzzled my pizda and swirled his tongue across my clit, sending my arousal level soaring toward climax. I pulled his hair and groaned dramatically when my pleasure peaked. Then I unwound my fingers from Vladimir’s blond locks and dropped my hands to my side. Vladimir savored my release as I panted and came down from my sexual high. He sat up on his knees, lifted my legs, and rested them on his thighs so we could make love without putting strain on my body.
As we stared passionately into each other’s eyes, he slid his penis inside me. “You feel so good, angel.” Lost in his loving eyes, our bodies synced into a sensual erotic rhythm. He made love to me slowly, thrusting deep and pulling back, gently rocking me back and forth. As he moved inside me, his hands traveled to my breasts. He teased my nipples, cupped my beauties, and spoke in Russian, complimenting my voluptuous figure and blossoming maternal beauty.
I could’ve lived in our intimate moment for a lifetime, but I was exhausted by his stamina. I smacked his ass, which was our secret lovers’ code for go faster. He took my cue and our slow and languid love making session gained in speed and intensity. Vladimir grasped my calves, lifted my legs, and thrust harder and deeper inside me, grunting and panting as he reached orgasm. He called my name and groaned dramatically as he released inside me. When the moment was over, I pulled him down next to me and turned on my side to get my back against his chest in spoon position. Vladimir cuddled me in his arms and caressed my stomach until I fell asleep in his loving embrace.