Chapter 18

“We must set a date,” Pyotr announced the next morning as he cleaned up the congealed mess of the previous evening’s uneaten supper and the dishes from breakfast.

“A date?”

“We must marry.”

“Must?” Cecily’s eyes narrowed, but Pyotr focused on the dishes in the sink rather than her expression.

However, something in her tone of voice must have warned him, because his hands stilled and he glanced over his shoulder. Keeping his voice reasonable, he said, “We used no protection last night. You could be carrying my baby even now.”

The color drained from Cecily’s face as she spewed the mouthful of coffee she’d been about to swallow.

“Oh, God!”

“Would it be so bad to be the mother of my children?” he asked, heaviness weighing down his heart.

Cecily jumped to her feet and fetched a handful of paper towels to clean her mess. “No, Pyotr, I want to have your babies, but now’s not a good time when I’m finally getting my career off the ground.” She dropped the wad of paper towels on the table and plopped down on a chair and leaned her head into her hands and moaned, “Oh, God, what am I going to do if I am pregnant?”

Pyotr struggled to understand her point of view, but all he could see was her fear and disappointment. He tried to reconcile that with her selfless devotion during his recovery and wondered if, perhaps, she feared that any child would be damaged as he had been damaged. He knew that the trauma he suffered would not be passed to his children, but how to convince her?

He crossed the kitchen kneeled between her legs. He took her hands in his and said, “Cecily, I love you. I want to marry you.” His kissed the ring on her left hand. “I have wanted to marry you for a long time and I will welcome any children we create.”

“But my career,” she whined. “Everything I worked for will go right down the drain.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, knowing the importance of her dreams.

“Because I’ll have to stay at home to take care of them.”

“Why do you think that?”

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she answered, “That’s what happened to my mother.”

“Oh, Cecily, you are not your mother. If you want to work, you will work, although you’ll need to reduce your hours.”

“Look what happened to Gia!”

“Gia is still involved in her field.”

“But she doesn’t have a career any more. She dabbles and, if Vitaly crooks his finger, she’ll leave everything behind and obey his summons.”

Pyotr didn’t seen anything particularly wrong with that; however, he was aware that Gia only pursued her profession at Vitaly’s sufferance. The moment Maksim’s second thought his wife was overburdened or spending insufficient time with him, Emilia, and any other children they would surely have, he’d yank her back to his side. But he dared not say such, otherwise Cecily would bolt. Instead he gave her a version of the truth: “Cecily, everything I do is for you, for us. I want you to be happy and if working yourself to death in that man’s kitchen makes you happy, then I will endure it.”

She pulled a hand from his and wiped her tears. “Do you really mean it, Pyotr?”

“Yes, I really mean it.”

Her relief manifested in a brilliant smile that was like the sun beaming through scattered storm clouds. She leaned forward and kissed him in a sudden burst of passion. He tasted the salt from the eggs she’d eaten earlier and the lingering flavor of coffee on her tongue and knew she could taste the same on him.

“Oh, God, I love you,” she murmured against his mouth.

Pyotr surged upward, taking her with him. He sat her on the table and peeled her yoga pants down. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hoisted herself up so he could draw them and her panties down her thighs and slide them off her legs. It was but a moment’s work to unfasten his jeans and shove them down to free his rampant erection. She moaned when his thumb tested her readiness.

“You’re always so wet for me,” he marveled.

“Always for you,” she murmured back. “Only for you.”

He gripped the base of his penis and aimed the swollen appendage at her core.

“Take me, Pyotr. I need you,” she begged.

“You are mine,” he rasped, first in English, then again in Russian.

“Yours!” she cried out as he plunged inside her.

The table’s legs screeched on the floor as he pounded into her. His hands gripped her hips to hold her where he needed her. Cecily’s head fell back and she let loose a long, loud moan as her body catapulted into orgasm, convulsing around him. Pyotr’s mouth moved to her neck. The hot, wet clutch of her body around his thrusting cock milked an orgasm from him. Grunting, he clamped his teeth on her shoulder as he emptied himself into her welcoming body.

When the aftershocks quieted, he unlocked his fingers from her hips, but could not find it within himself to apologize for the bruises that would bloom on her fair skin and show evidence of his possession. With reluctance, he withdrew from her body.

“Cecily, will you marry me?” he asked between panted breaths.

“Oh, Pyotr, of course, I’ll marry you,” she replied.

He drew back and gazed into her eyes. She saw the question lurking within them and added, “All I ever needed was the choice.”

And that, he realized, was the issue all along. Cecily had been forced, first taken into his custody and then shifted to Maksim’s restaurant—a disposition of her future that she could not endure because she had not chosen it. In short, she wanted to be asked, to know that her opinion and decisions mattered.

The splat of his semen dripping from her body and hitting the floor caught his attention.

“You do realize that if you’re not pregnant already, then you soon will be,” he said.

“Then you’d better marry me pretty damned quick,” she quipped and smiled back at him. She reached up to stroke his cheek.

“Stay home today,” he urged, feeling months of deprivation make his cock twitch as it once again sought to return to its favorite place.

Cecily inhaled and considered his request which hadn’t been couched as a question, but as a command. However, she seemed to realize its importance. Pyotr had sacrificed much in order to be with her. She had given him her devotion and love, but not her commitment and the big man, who seemed to need so little, needed that. She looked at him, this indomitable man who had nearly lost all of himself and who asked for nothing and everything. She needed to show him that he mattered, what he wanted mattered.

“Hand me the phone, big guy.”

Pyotr released a long, low breath of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he crossed the kitchen to bring her the phone. He watched in anticipatory silence as she dialed.

“Hey, Jaime, it’s me, Cecily.”

“What’s up, Cecily?”

“I can’t make it into work today.”

“That’s not giving me much notice, Cecily.”

She flinched from his disapproval, but held her ground. “Pyotr wants me to stay with him today and I will do this for him.”

Jaime sighed, not wanting to accede to her demand, but not wanting to lose his best chef, either. “You’ve been working some extra-long hours these past several weeks. Take today, but be in on time tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Jaime. You bet I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“What are you and Pyotr doing today?”

Not wanting to tell her boss that she was staying home to make love with her fiancé, she glanced at Pyotr who overheard the question. He said loudly, “We’re getting married.”

“Pyotr!” Cecily exclaimed even as Jaime hung up. The dial tone beeped as she dropped the phone.

He caught her up in his arms and wondered if Cecily would mind postponing their honeymoon. He had a meeting tomorrow to lock down the storefront to open his martial arts studio.

After an extended shower during which no water was conserved, they made their way downstairs.

“What’s up with you two?” Mrs. Macdougal inquired, her eyes bright and sharp. “You’re giggling like naughty children.”

“We’re getting married,” Cecily announced.

“Of course, you are,” the old woman said with insincere severity. “I’ve hardly ever seen two people suit each other the way you do. I just hope you’ll be giving me honorary grandchildren soon.”

Cecily’s cheeks turned pink as she thought of the racket she and Pyotr had made. So did Pyotr’s. Mrs. Macdougal’s eyes twinkled. It had been far too long since the big, old house rang with the laughter of children.