"Because I know everything about you." I lean against the doorframe, watching her process that.
She says nothing.
I straighten, continuing down the hall. "Pool through here. Indoor and outdoor. Gym in the basement. There’s a garden outside—you can go there anytime, but there are guards. Don't try to run. They have orders to bring you back. And I won't be gentle if you make me chase you."
She follows silently, taking it all in. The beautiful prison I've built for her. Every luxury, every comfort. Everything except freedom.
"You can have anything you want," I tell her as we reach the main staircase. "Books, music, art, clothes. Just ask. The only thing you can't have is escape."
"What if that's all I want?"
I stop on the stairs, turning to look down at her. She's one step below me, which puts us almost eye to eye. Close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat.
"Then you'll learn to want other things," I say simply. "Like I said, I don't give you choices,malyshka. I give you certainty. Structure. Everything your mind is screaming for even if you won't admit it."
Something shifts in her expression. Fear, yes. But also recognition. She knows I'm right. Knows that some part of her craves exactly what I'm offering.
That's when I take her upstairs.
The nursery is at the end of the hall, door closed. I've been saving this moment, anticipating her reaction.
"One more room to show you."
Her brow furrows. "What?"
I open the door.
Pale yellow walls. White furniture. A crib already assembled in the corner, mobile hanging above it with little stars and moons. A rocking chair by the window. Changing table stocked with supplies. And painted above the crib in elegant script:Baby Maksimov.
She freezes in the doorway. Completely still, not even breathing for a long moment.
"You prepared a nursery." Her voice is flat with shock.
"For our children." I move past her into the room, running a hand along the crib rail. "I want at least four. Maybe more if you're willing. But we'll start with one."
"Four?" She's still frozen. "I'm twenty years old."
"Exactly." I turn to face her. "Young. Fertile. Perfect for carrying my babies. You weremadefor this, Vera. That body," My gaze drags over her again, hungry. "Those hips. Those tits. You're going to look so fucking beautiful pregnant."
She backs up a step. Her back hits the doorframe.
Wrong move.
I'm there, caging her against the wood with my body. Not touching yet, but close enough that she can feel my heat. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
"Let me tell you exactly what's going to happen," I say, voice low and rough. "On our wedding night, I will take your virginity. And I don't stop until you're pregnant with my child. I'm going to breed you,malyshka. Fill that sweet virgin pussy with my cum until it takes. Until you're round with my baby. Until everyone who looks at you knows you're mine."
Her breathing is ragged now. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat. And lower—fuck, she's pressing her thighs together. Aroused despite herself.
"I'm forty-five years old," I continue, leaning in until my lips brush her ear. "I don't have time to waste playing games. I want a wife. I want sons. I want YOU carrying them. And I'm going to have exactly that."
"I," Her voice breaks. "I can't."
"You can. You will." I press closer, letting her feel every hard inch of me against her soft curves. "Your body already knows it. Look how you respond to me. How you get wet when I talk about breeding you. How your nipples are hard right now, pressed against my shirt."
"Stop." But it's weak. A token protest.
"I'll stop when you're pregnant." I drop my hands to her hips, grip her through the thin fabric. "Actually, no. I won't stop then either. I'll just fuck you more carefully. Keep you full and satisfied and mine."
