Page 46 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

HOPE

We pull into the medical building’s parking lot at the same time as a shiny black Audi.

It screeches into the space next to Pavel’s SUV, and a man with short dark hair jumps out, a white coat hastily thrown over a dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks.

We get out to meet him, and he looks frantic as he scans us for injuries.

He starts speaking in rapid-fire Russian until Pavel raises a hand and says, “English.”

The doctor blinks but switches languages.

“What happened? Is it a shooting we’re dealing with, or a stabbing?

How many men?” His head swivels like he’s expecting a van full of bleeding soldiers.

“Are they already inside? You said it was an emergency. I was in the middle of my daughter’s graduation. ”

Pavel straightens, and there’s something threatening in the shift of his posture. “And it is, Dr. Medvedev. My wife needs medical attention.”

The doctor finally seems to register my presence, his gaze settling on me with wariness. “Wife?”

“My wife, Hope.” Pavel says the words with possessive intensity. “So you see why this is much more important than a graduation ceremony.”

The doctor pales. “Of course, Mr. Fedorov.”

I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Pavel’s caveman display is so over the top it’s almost funny, but there’s a small part of me that enjoys the way he makes my well-being his absolute priority.

Dr. Medvedev nods and clamps his mouth shut, like he knows better than to question Pavel. I haven’t seen this side of him yet. Yes, he demands respect from his men, but this is the cold, commanding head of the Syndicate that no one in their right mind would contradict.

It’s kind of hot.

The doctor unlocks a back door, leading us into a small but well-equipped examination room. Everything is spotlessly clean, stainless steel and white surfaces gleaming under fluorescent lights. I perch nervously on the edge of the examination table.

Pavel follows us in and settles into the chair in the corner like he owns the place.

“Maybe you can wait outside,” I say, turning to face him.

“No.”

My cheeks redden. “This is a medical exam, Pavel. It’s private.”

He crosses his arms, making it clear he’s not budging. “Everything about you is my business, angel moy.”

Dr. Medvedev’s head swivels as he looks between us. Accepting that Pavel isn’t leaving, he clutches his tablet and asks me, “What seems to be the issue?”

“I have hypothyroidism,” I explain. “I ran out of my medication recently, and I’m starting to feel the effects. I just need my prescription fil?—”

“She needs a complete physical,” Pavel interrupts. “Full blood panel and thyroid assessment.”

I take a deep breath and swallow my embarrassment. “And birth control,” I add.

Pavel raises his eyebrows but says nothing else. The way we’ve been going at it, we need to employ a more reliable method than pulling out.

The doctor nods, reaching for latex gloves. “We’ll do your blood work first, then proceed with the check-up.”

He works efficiently, starting off by filling multiple vials with my blood.

I have to look away, so I focus on Pavel instead.

He sits back, watching his every move. His blond hair is pulled back in a way that makes his sharp cheekbones even more pronounced, and he’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his inked forearms.

“Are you currently on any form of birth control?” Dr. Medvedev asks, labeling the tubes.

“Uh, I was on the pill until recently.”

Pavel sits up straighter, arching an eyebrow. “Were you now?”

I shoot him a withering look. “If you must know, I was taking birth control pills to regulate my period.”

That’s a half-truth. I was taking the pills in secret, hiding them from Simon, who was desperate to knock me up the second we said “I do.” It was my one small act of rebellion, my insurance against being completely trapped. But I don’t need to share that in front of the doctor.

“Once we have your lab results and complete the physical, I can prescribe an appropriate contraceptive. You’ll need to change into a gown for the examination,” he says, disposing of his gloves. He gestures to a folded hospital gown on the counter. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

The moment he leaves the room, my gaze moves to Pavel. “I’m not changing with you sitting right there. It’s… embarrassing.”

“I’ve had my tongue in every crevice of your body.” He smirks before swiveling his chair to face the wall. “But if you’re feeling shy… problem solved.”

“I really hate you right now,” I mutter, but I grab the gown anyway and change as quickly as possible. When I sit back down on the exam table, Pavel turns around.

His eyes darken as they take me in. “Jesus, Hope. Only you could make a hospital gown look sexy as fuck.”

I scoff. “Not my intention.”

Dr. Medvedev knocks on the door. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” I call out, but as soon as the door opens, Pavel moves to stand in front of him.

“Actually, Doctor, you’re going to need to put on a blindfold.”

Dr. Medvedev blinks like he misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re going to examine my wife while blindfolded.”

To my astonishment, the doctor doesn’t argue. He simply reaches up, unknots his tie, and slides it from around his collar. As I watch him wrap it over his eyes, I swear to God I’ve entered some sort of parallel universe.

“Pavel, he’s a doctor!” Surely his jealousy doesn’t extend to medical professionals trying to do their job.

“What’s your point? He’s a red-blooded straight man, and I’m not interested in anyone seeing you in”—his eyes rake over me—“that.”

The poor doctor looks absolutely absurd stepping forward with a tie wrapped around his eyes, fumbling like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey.

What follows is the most ridiculous medical examination of my life. He manages to take my temperature and my blood pressure without incident, but when he attempts to listen to my heart, he misjudges the stethoscope placement, and his hand brushes the edge of my breast.

“Get your hands off her,” Pavel growls, standing abruptly. “I’ll do it myself. Tell me where to position this thing.”

My jaw drops as he takes the end of the stethoscope from the confused physician’s hands but leaves the earpieces in the doctor’s ears.

“Mr. Fedorov, I really don’t think?—”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion.”

Dr. Medvedev sighs heavily. “You’ll need to place it on several points across her chest so I can listen to different areas of her heart and lungs.”

“Where do I start?” Pavel holds up the bell with obvious satisfaction.

“Start below the left collarbone,” the doctor instructs nervously.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but at this point I’ve learned the uselessness of arguing with my so-called husband, so I just sit back and let him play doctor.

Pavel places the stethoscope exactly where instructed, but simply having him this close, feeling his fingers against my skin, sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.

“Good. Now let me listen to the right side,” the doctor says.

Pavel moves the stethoscope, his hand sliding across my chest with clinical efficiency. But when his knuckles accidentally graze the side of my breast, my cheeks flush with heat. I shift on the table, trying to relieve the ache building between my thighs.

“How are you feeling?” Pavel asks. When our gazes meet, his mouth curves up, and I realize he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, trying to focus on anything but his infuriating touch.

“Move it above her heart now. Take a deep breath, Mrs. Fedorova.”

This time, when Pavel repositions the stethoscope, he’s shameless. His palm glides over the top of my breast. My nipples shamelessly harden, and I can’t help the breath that escapes me.

I shoot him an admonishing look, but he just shrugs and leans in to whisper, “Just following doctor’s orders, wife.”

Like the devil he is, he continues his slow tease. His knuckles brush over my nipples through the cotton, teasing them into hard peaks. When I whimper, he cups my breast, squeezing with enough pressure to make me squirm.

“Her heart rate seems elevated,” Dr. Medvedev observes with concern. “Are you feeling anxious, Mrs. Fedorova?”

“Maybe a little,” I manage before Pavel’s hand closes over my breast completely, his fingers rolling my nipple in slow, torturous movements.

“What are you stressed out about, angel moy?”

I glare at Pavel, but every nerve ending screams for more. I arch forward despite my best efforts to hold still. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and from the way he drags his teeth across his lower lip, he’s enjoying every second of my torment.

“Nothing,” I hiss, shooting Pavel daggers as his free hand trails down my side and slips beneath the bottom of the gown. “Just a little… on edge.”

Pavel leans in, his voice a low whisper. “If the doctor wasn’t here, I’d bend you over this table and fuck you with my tongue until you screamed. You know what? I might have to do that anyway.”

There must be something wrong with me, because the filthy threat makes heat lick down my spine and settle between my legs.

“Definitely an elevated heart rate,” the doctor mutters. “Perhaps being in a medical office stresses you out.”

I cough as Pavel keeps rolling and pinching my nipple with one hand while the other glides lower, hooking a finger under the lace of my underwear. “Must be it.”

“I wonder what I can do to help relieve your stress,” Pavel muses, tracing the edge of my labia with his fingertip. I swear this man is fucking diabolical.

I’m about to tell him off, but I lose the words when that same finger strokes through my folds. I’m already embarrassingly wet from his teasing, and when his digit circles my clit, I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

“Medical exams can be stressful. Perhaps we should take a break,” the doctor suggests.