Page 126 of Viparious

She beams up at me and shakes her head so fast that it becomes a circle. “No, Papa be there.”

Lifting her up, I kiss her cheek and take her back to her room to get her ready. Once she’s dressed, she plays with the frill on her bathing suit and dances around her room to a tune that only exists in her head. Leaving her to the choreography she’s making up, I go to fuck with Inessa.

She’s changing into her bikini as I step into our closet. Fuck me, she’s beautiful. The cast of her pregnant belly and tits sits proudly on the wall and soon there’ll be another one to match it. I stroke around her stomach from behind, cup the bump, and kiss her neck.

This house contains everything I need to survive. Each person saved me. But the woman in my arms, she’s my soul.She turns in my arms and dramatically throws her arms around my neck as she pulls back so her tits don’t brush my chest. I pick her up to make it easier on her. I lift her higher, so her head is above mine and ask, “How sore are you, malysh?”

She’ll have random bursts where she’s swollen and uncomfortable, then need to be fucked because her hormones drive her crazy. But she’s in a good mood and strokes her fingers through my hair with a dreamy smile.

“Not sore, I just wanted you to hold me.”

Holding the back of her thighs, I lift her higher as she squeals and pulls at my hair as though I would ever drop her. I’d carry this woman on my head and allow her to bark orders at me if she so much as expressed an interest in it. Her squealing turns into a giggle as I press my lips over her bump. The fear that I’m tainting their life is still there, but she chases it away and hugs my head.

I won’t breathe for the next year. It was the same with Verena and I didn’t even notice the band around my lungs until she reached her first birthday. But my wife softens as she kisses my crown. No words are required when she knows everything — the good, bad, and ugly. It all belongs to this mouthy woman.

Little footsteps run through our bedroom and Verena hugs the back of my legs. Inessa presses on my shoulders for me to return her to her feet. Before I turn to pick up the little queen, she pushes through my legs and stretches up to touch Inessa’s bump. Her hand is tiny, but the force behind her is unmistakable as she grabs my thumb and places my hand beside hers.

“Baby,” she whispers. There’s a gremlin-like quality to her voice, but she’s excited to be a big sister. I pick her up and throw her in the air while my bratty wife shakes her head in disapproval.

The giggle is worth it, and I press a kiss to Verena’s chin. She hugs my head as Inessa tickles her side and squeals through her laughter, “Papa, help.”

I lift her higher to sit on my shoulders and she holds my hair in her small fists. Inessa’s face drops and she slowly backs away with her hands raised and a warning. “Vlad, don’t you dare.”

I know every inch of her body and our daughter pulls my hair like I’m an animal she’s training. She crosses her ankles and kicks her heels against my chest while she waits for me to tickle her mother.

The brat knows I’m going to, and she ends up backing herself into a corner. Gently grabbing her arm, I pull Inessa into me, and she pleads with our daughter. “You don’t really want mama to be tickled do you?”

I look up and Verena shakes her head. “No, papa love mama. No hurting.”

Despite her age, she knows the most important thing and she puckers her lips before kissing the bridge of my nose.

1 Little star

Epilogue 2

5 years later

Stamping can be felt more than heard as I sit in my office, and I finish my glass in time for Inessa to barge in. She’s pissed. Smoke should be coming from her ears, and she slams the door closed, continuing her marching until she’s on the opposite side of my desk. She leans down as she flattens her palms on the wood to stare into my eyes and her tone is hard, making me hard.

“You gave him a knife?!”

Playing dumb, I lean back and say easily, “He wanted it.”

She moves back, cursing under her breath and looking around the room as though someone can agree with her.

“Fucking idiot. I’m married to an idiot.”

Her hands ball into fists as she rounds the desk and stops at my side. She shakes them out to cup my face as she speaks slowly, like I’m too juvenile to understand at a normal pace.

“Vlad, you do not give a five-year-old a knife. Do you understand?”

Our son wanted it, so he got it. I don’t see the problem. Even if he didn’t say the word knife, he said he wanted to stab someone.

She doesn’t relax as I hold her hips and pull her down to sit on my thigh. But she stares into my eyes, trying to implant her speech into my brain.

“Especially Vasili, he’s like you and dangerous enough without a fucking weapon.”

It won’t work. I’m proud of the little ball of rage. He could make art out of shit, and I’d force some cunt to spend millions on it if it made him happy. There’s nothing my children could do to make me have any other reaction. Kill, maim, or torture. They’re fucking perfect as long they are happy.

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