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But my husband and father-to-be saw right through me. He shuffled out of bed immediately, ignoring my fake protests.
“I’m fine, Nik, really, …”
He tried to look casual, got up and went to the kitchen to get some water. I waited, dozing instantly with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. It felt like an eternity before he finally came back, and he had a bag filled with ice cream.
With an impish smile, he sat on the edge of the bed and said, “I didn't know which flavor you were craving today, so I got every flavor available. Take your pick.”
I tried to suppress the tears that welled up in my eyes at his thoughtful gesture. Nik always teased me about how often I cried at his actions, calling it the ‘crazy pregnancy hormones.’ He called me 'baby' and I always defended myself by asking who wouldn’t be moved by such actions.
His catchphrase soon became, “Let me know if you need anything, Ashley. I'm here for you.” And he meant it, even when I denied needing help.
What I found most interesting, however, was that while Nik's actions spoke volumes about his love and care, he never really expressed it in words. He maintained his strong and stoic facade and never got too sentimental or romantic.
It was his way of preserving his image as a cruel mafia boss. But deep down I knew that his actions spoke louder than words. His gestures of love and support were what really mattered to me.
In the quiet moments when he showed me compassion, when it was just the two of us, I could see the love in his eyes. His language of love was one that didn't need to be spoken, but could be felt in every touch, every look, and every ice cream run.
And that was enough for me.
I looked at my husband with a mischievous smile and did my best to suppress the water welling in my eyes. “Hey, want to have some ice cream too?”
Nik let out a sigh, “I'd love to.”
Even though he wasn’t at all a fan of sweets, he always forced himself to eat them with me, so I didn’t feel lonely. When I burst into tears, it barely surprised him. I'd been a crying mess throughout the whole pregnancy. He chuckled softly as I sniffled, then walked up to me and started cooing at me in Russian.
“Ne plach', dorogaya,” he said softly, wiping away my tears.
Don’t cry, my dear.
By now I had grown accustomed to and understood the random Russian phrases he used. Feeling his comforting words and the warmth of his touch, I couldn't help myself. I kissed him passionately, feeling that familiar heat between my legs instantly.
As we pulled away, I whispered shyly in his ear, “I want you.”
However, my husband, being the protective man he was, firmly shook his head, “No. The doctor said you shouldn't stress yourself so much, especially in this last month.”
I whimpered as he rose from the bed, my voice tinged with frustration and longing. “Don't you want me anymore? Don't you find me beautiful anymore??”
I knew the answer, of course. But I wanted what I wanted. And I would stop at nothing to get it.
Nik paused, his eyes met mine and in a deep, sultry tone that sent shivers down my spine, he replied, “If it were up to me, I'd take you here and now.”
His words warmed my heart then he continued, “But I must hold myself back. I'm not happy about it, but we have to consider our child in your belly.”
I considered pestering him to fulfill my desires, but I knew that would only irritate him more. I glanced down and noticed the bulge in his pants, a clear sign of his own frustration.
“Now, milaya [darling], get those indecent thoughts out of your head, I’ve told you, nothing is going to happen tonight.”
Nik's voice commanded, a smirk on his face, “Stop dwelling on those dirty feelings and focus on the ice creams I bought for you, instead, okay?”
I pouted and grumbled, my words laced with playful annoyance, “Fine, but just know that I'm only doing this because of the baby.”
His stern look made it clear that he expected obedience, so I reluctantly began to eat the ice cream he had brought. Somehow, each spoonful only increased my craving. It raised a longing for something even sweeter.
I couldn't help but glance at Nik, my eyes outlining his perfect physique, his presence magnetic and irresistible. Groaning inwardly, I closed my eyes. Despite the raging desire, the knowledge that Nik's actions were driven by his love and concern for our unborn child gave me the strength to keep my hands to myself and shut my mouth.
His face, however, told of a different emotion than mine. I raised a brow in confusion.
“You seem grumpier than usual,” I remarked, registering the odd look of impatience on his face. “Do you really hate having to eat ice cream with me right now?”
