“No,” I say firmly. “You didn’t.” She may have offered some version of an apology, but it wasn’t for that, and it wasn’t accepted.
She watches Svetlana check her blood pressure and write it in a chart. She steals a glance at the numbers.
“That chart is in English!” Lucy points. “Svetlana, you speak English, don’t you?”
Svetlana is wise enough not to even lift her head or acknowledge the words.
“Come on, I’m supposed to believe she’s a licensed midwife in this country and doesn’t speak English? I’m not a fool, Ravil.”
I fold my arms over my chest, my lips curving slightly. Maxim was right. It didn’t even take her a week to figure it out. “That doesn’t mean anyone will speak English back, kitten.”
I watch that notion settle over her and don’t necessarily like the way it lands. With Svetlana, I wanted to create unease. When I do it to Lucy, it makes something twist in my gut.
Whether it’s a protective instinct for our child or because I can’t stand seeing Lucy knocked too far off balance, I can’t be sure. I’ve always been protective of her, even at Black Light.
Svetlana hands Lucy a test strip and a cup and, in Russian, tells her to pee on it.
Apparently Lucy is familiar with the test because she takes it into the bathroom and returns a moment later and hands the strip back. Svetlana compares the colors on the test strip to her chart. “That’s good,” she says in Russian as she writes it down. She pulls out her stethoscope and listens to Lucy’s chest then her belly.
Svetlana palpates Lucy’s belly then takes out a cone-shaped instrument, placing it on the side of her belly and listening to it.
“Are you listening to the baby’s heartbeat?” I ask.
“Yes.” Svetlana takes her ear away. “You want to hear?”
Blyat.
Like earlier, when Lucy first felt the baby kick, the idea of hearing its heartbeat makes him seem so real. Our baby, swimming inside Lucy right now. I kneel on the floor beside Lucy and put my ear to the small end of the cone. It takes me a moment to focus. To really listen. And then I hear it—the steady, fast rhythm. Our baby’s heartbeat.
So tiny. So faint. So precious. This tiny, helpless miracle will be coming into our lives.
My eyes burn. I blink rapidly as I look up to find Lucy’s gaze intent on me. Her fingertips lift to cover her mouth. “Benjamin,” she blurts.
“Benjamin,” I repeat.
She lets out her breath all in a rush with her words. “I don’t know, it just popped into my head. I think his name is Benjamin.” Her eyes grow bright.
I find her hand and hold it, not moving from my place at her feet. “Benjamin is a perfect name.”
Svetlana gently takes the cone from me and packs it in her bag. I hardly notice as she pulls out a few sheets of paper and sets them on the bed. “Have her fill in her diet to track her protein on that chart. I don’t need to come for another month, but if you want, I’ll come again next week.”
I don’t look away from Lucy’s beautiful face. I love seeing it soft and overcome with emotion, as changed as I am by a baby’s heartbeat. “Yes, next week,” I say to Svetlana, squeezing Lucy’s hand again.
Svetlana leaves, and still I don’t move, except to push Lucy’s knees wide. I stroke my thumbs up the inside of her thighs, dragging the fabric of her skirt up.
Conflict swirls in her eyes. She shifts her pelvis on the bed, probably turned on. Probably against her will.
Then she slaps me. “That’s for telling everyone to speak Russian around me.”
I let it fall, then catch her wrist and bring her fingers to my mouth, sucking one into my mouth.
With her other hand, she cuffs the top of my head lightly. A symbolic act, not a real one. “And that’s for...”
She stops as I take her middle finger and suck it into my mouth. She squirms some more.
“For what?” I ask when I release her finger and move my head to trail light kisses up her inner thigh.
Her breath catches and releases. “For…”
I make the kisses firmer as I grow close to the apex of her thighs, nipping and licking until I reach her panties. I bite lightly over the gusset.
“For hiring a midwife who will give you all the personalized attention you could need?”
Her breath comes out as a soft moan when I push her panties to the side and flick my tongue over her nether lips. Her knees jerk closed, but I push them back open.
“You’re so…” —her fingers bury in my hair, tugging me closer to her as I delve my tongue between her folds— “infuriating.”
I lick up and down her with the flat of my tongue, slide my hands under her thighs to pull her core closer to the edge of the bed.
“When will you stop,”—she breaks off with a cry of pleasure—“punishing me?”
I lift my head and lay a wicked smile on her. “Never, kitten.” I return to laving her with my tongue, penetrating her with it, flicking it over her swelling clit. She grows wet and swollen, and I slide two fingers inside to stroke her inner wall while I coax her clit out to play more. Getting the little nubbin between my lips, I suck hard.
She screams and grips my head with both her hands, tearing at my hair. I pull my lips off before she comes, still stroking slowly with my fingers.
“Not so fast, kotyonok. You think I’m going to reward you after you slapped my face?”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s smart enough to know to wait. If she’ll just surrender to me, she’ll get what she needs.
I get up from my knees and untie her dress, pulling the sash all the way out. “Looks like you’ll have to be restrained.”
Lucy
Ravil strips me
