Page 77 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

“You feel that?” he whispered.

I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

He began to move. Slow, deep, all-consuming thrusts that were more than just sex. Every push was a promise, every retreat a confession. The thunder rolled outside, matching the rhythmof our bodies. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He groaned, his control snapping. “You’re so tight,” he panted, his thrusts becoming faster, harder. “You’re taking all of me, Cass.”

“I want all of you,” I sobbed, my voice breaking. I could feel the pressure building, a second climax, brighter and more intense than the first, coiling in my stomach. “Drew, I’m close, I….”

He stopped, pulling back just an inch, his whole body shaking with the effort. “Wait. Look at me.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his. They were clear, desperate, and filled with a terrifying, beautiful truth.

“I love you,” I whispered, my body on the very precipice.

A sound broke from his throat, half-sob, half-groan. He thrust into me, one final, devastating time, and I felt him touch my womb.

“I love you too, Cass,” he roared, his voice breaking as he came apart, his release flooding me at the exact same second my own orgasm ripped through me.

We collapsed together, a tangled, shuddering mess. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot and ragged, and I held on to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that was falling apart.

And for that one perfect, storm-wrecked moment, I let myself believe it was enough.

That love could save us.

That maybe, just maybe, we’d survive what was coming.

But deep down, as the thunder faded and the rain quieted, I knew the truth.

The lies were catching up.

And when they did, not even love would be enough to save me.

Chapter 21 – Drew

I squeezed the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white as I pulled up outside Kirill’s place. The engine ticked as it cooled, a metronome counting down to something I wasn’t ready to face.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the building through the windshield, my mind a chaotic mess of half-formed thoughts and suspicions I couldn’t shake. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—a lonely, desperate sound that matched exactly how I felt.

My wife was lying to me.

Mywife.

The woman I’d just married three days ago. The woman carrying my child. The woman I’d stood in front of my entire family and promised to protect, to honor, to love.

And she was hiding something that could destroy everything.

I wanted to be wrong. God, I wanted to be wrong so badly it physically hurt.

But every instinct I’d honed over years in this world was screaming at me that I wasn’t.

I finally got out of the car, my legs heavy, and walked to Kirill’s door. Each step felt like I was walking toward an execution—mine or Cassandra’s, I wasn’t sure yet.

I knocked.

Kirill answered in a hoodie and sweatpants, his blond hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His sharp blue eyes took me in with one sweep, and his expression shifted from casual to concerned in half a second.

“You look like hell,” he said.