Page 171 of Bride By Coronation

Angry, I scoot out of the booth and rise.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

"To the ladies' room. I need a moment." I huff.

"Fiona—"

"No! You have a scar. It's shitty how it happened. I get that what your family did to you haunts you, but it's not fair to let it ruin the potential of creating a family of our own." I toss my napkin on the seat, push through the curtains, and follow the sign to the bathroom.

It's not far, just down a hallway past the kitchen. I open the door, lock it, and put my hands on the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

My insides crumple with something I've never felt before. It slices through me, and I realize this is what it feels like to lose a dream.

I love my career, but I always saw myself as a mother. Now I'm married to a man who refuses to have kids because he has a scar on his face?

As hard as I try to keep it from happening, a tear escapes. I swipe at it.

There's a pounding on the door.

Kirill shouts, "Fiona!"

I release an emotional breath, unlock the door, and order, "Leave me alone for a minute."

He ignores my request, pushes past the doorway, and locks the door behind him.

I step back against the wall, arguing, "Did you not hear?—"

He puts his hand over my mouth, tipping my chin with the heel of his palm. His blues rage with fire. He lowers his face over mine and warns, "Don't say you want a baby unless you really want one." He removes his hand from my mouth but keeps it on my chin.

My insides quiver harder. My voice trembles just as hard when I tell him, "I don't just want one baby, Kirill. I want a big family with lots of kids driving us nuts."

His chest fills with air. He studies me, then murmurs, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

I don't flinch, answering, "Yes."

He bunches my skirt in his fist.

My butterflies go crazy. "What are you doing?"

He spins me toward the mirror, splays his hand on the back of my neck, and pushes me over the sink. He drops his pants, tugs my dress up, and pushes my panties to the side. In one thrust, he slides inside me.

"Oh!" I gasp, staring at him in the mirror and gripping the counter.

He grunts, thrusting a few times, then gritsout, "I'm older than you. If you want a lot of kids, then it's time I gave you our first baby, little bird."

26

Kirill

Fiona's greens widen. Her mouth forms an O, and her body trembles.

"This is what you want?" I grunt, sliding forcefully in and out of her, triple-checking she's serious about me fathering her children while conflicting fears and desires run through my mind.

Her face reddens. She grips the counter so tight her knuckles turn white. She squeaks, "Yes."

"You want my babies?" I bark, shocked I'm having this conversation, on the verge of pumping everything I have into her.

Why is this turning me on?

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