Page 55 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

Aurum Wellness, when I looked it up, isexclusive.Almost impossible to get into. It caters to New York’s elite and has quite a few clients who fly or drive in from across the country. The interior is flawless, all dark wood and dove-gray walls. There’s an area for water, espresso, tea—served by a woman behind the counter.

We check in with the receptionist, who shoots a look at Konstantin but is obviously too scared to make eye contact. Konstantin is looking around as if inspecting his soldiers. He’s critical, intimidating, and cold.

They don’t ask for his identification. Instead, the receptionist whispers to me, “If you want to, you can just skip the part about the father. Unless… there are any genetic, um, issues you feel should be included.”

Her voice gets higher, more nervous, when she realizes that Konstantin has heard her. He stares her down. But she has a point, and when we sit to fill out the paperwork, I murmur: “Isthere anything I should know about? Any chronic conditions…?” When he’s silent, I prompt as a peace offering, “My mom’s side of the family is prone to diabetes. I dodged that bullet. Also… we have weak ankles,” I joke, stifling a smile when he only raises a brow.

Gently, he takes the clipboard from me and purses the section on the background of the father. He makes a few short notes; nothing crazy, but I scan the information and see that he’s checked off asthma, high cholesterol, and no drug or alcohol use.

“You had asthma?” I ask, the question popping out of me in surprise.

“My brother,” he says gruffly.

“I… didn’t know you had a brother.” There’s a pull in me to ask more. To find out where his family is—if he’s still in contact with them. If he misses them. I haven’t heard anything about Konstantin Martynov’s family; not even rumors, which is suspect.

But now isn’t the time. The door opens and a nurse calls us in, brings us into a small but comfortable room, and lets me know how I should undress and arrange myself.

It’s… awkward, to say the least. Konstantin doesn’t avert his eyes as I slip my underwear off under the button-down dress I’mwearing and slide onto the exam table, covering myself in the drape before pulling the skirt up.

He reaches out, a warm hand on my knee under the drape.

“You’re comfortable?”

I nod, taking in my surroundings. I get regular annual visits, but I’ve never had an ultrasound before. The machine looks surprisingly small, but complex, with a little roller ball in the middle of a bunch of buttons. I glance at the dark screen, and my heart starts beating, hard.

There is a babygrowing in me, right now. And I’m about to see it.

I smile tremulously at Konstantin, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then the door opens. The tech introduces herself kindly and professionally before walking us through what the appointment will entail. She’ll take measurements and photos, then hands us off to the doctor.

I glance over to see Konstantin sitting stiffly in his chair once things get started. Leaning back, the pillow is insanely comfortable and takes my mind off of how cold the ultrasound gel is. The screen looks like a videogame from the nineties, which would be funny if I wasn’t so nervous.

A little blob appears. Barely noticeable, and I’m not sure, but…

“Is that… it?” I ask. The tech smiles, her eyes still on the screen as she clicks and rolls.

“Yes. And it looks like you’re about seven weeks along… so, a little early to be seen by us, but that’s fine. The doctor will tell you when she wants to do the next checkup.”

I glance over at Konstantin and then do a double-take. He’s staring intently at the screen with an expression I’ve never seen on his face before.

It’s almost… infatuation. But softer.

Ifthisis how he feels about our child, then I feel much better about the agreement. I’m suddenly second-guessing my decision to move out west, but if I have to leave my—our—baby behind, at least I know that Konstantin will do anything for them.

I’ll give you everything. I’ll destroy myself, for you.

His words echo in my head. Somehow, I’d tucked them away, even in the throes of passion. Of course I doubted them; they were just something for a man obsessed with fucking a baby into me to say, mindless babble while he plowed into me over and over.

But now…

A strange mixture of elation, sadness, and grief wells up in me as I stare at the screen. The tech explains the measurements she’s taking, and she prints a few images for us to take. I hand them to Konstantin, and he stares down at them reverently.

The rest of the appointment goes by in a blur as I try to keep my emotions at bay. Over and over, I have to stop myself from touching my belly, from cradling our child.

When the doctor leaves the room briefly to print out our care sheet, Konstantin grips my thigh with one hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes boring into mine.

I do everything I can to keep the tears back.