Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“That woman is older, uglier, and boring as hell,” the Swedish beauty derided.
Heads turned, gazes swinging from the TV monitor to said older, uglier, and boring-as-hell woman – a.k.a. me.
“I am terribly sure,” the woman continued in her thickly accented English, “it was a shotgun marriage. We had such a lovely thing, Sergei and I, and I am confident he is only a beast with me—-”
There was a sudden change in channels, and then the receptionist was rushing to me, red-faced in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Grachyov!”
The noise inside the waiting room dramatically increased, all eyes averted from my direction.
“It’s okay, Carla,” I reassured her with a forced smile. Claiming the last vacant seat in the room, I quickly took a magazine and pretended to be engrossed in it even as I cursed the model in my mind. Damn her for being so beautiful and thin just when I was feeling as big as a house.
I was now in my last trimester, and before I knew it, my tummy had ballooned into this huge, hard ball that seemed to weigh a ton. Almost every part of my body hurt, and the only time I felt good was when I was sleeping, in the bath, or when I was having sex—-
The last thought had me flushing, and I hurriedly lifted the magazine to cover my face. Pregnancy had made me incredibly sensitive and horny, and these days the billionaire only had to look at me and I swear to God, but it was enough to have me wanting to jump his bones.
Wanting being the operative word since I couldn’t actually jump now.
I couldn’t even tiptoe, and all these limitations were just driving me crazy with paranoia and jealousy.
How could the Russian billionaire still love me when I looked like this? How could he still want to fuck me when I looked like this? I could feel my throat tightening, and I had a horribly sinking feeling that I was going to burst into tears any second.
My phone suddenly rang, and I quickly fumbled for it inside my bag, thankful for the distraction. “Hello?”
“I’m on my way, pchelka.”
I sniffed. “Don’t bother. By the time you arrive, it will be too late.”
“I love it when you’re overdramatic,” the billionaire murmured huskily. “It’s strangely hot.”
“Pervert.” But I couldn’t help laughing a little all the same.
“I’ll see you in a bit, pchelka. I love you.”
“Ditto, lyubov maya.”
He chuckled. “Too shy to say ‘I love you’ with people around?”
I ended the call without answering, never mind if it was childish. He was used to it anyway, and besides, I was pregnant. Everyone knew pregnant women were always right.
When my doctor stepped out to personally greet me, she was visibly surprised to find me alone. “Won’t your husband be accompanying you?”
“He’s running a little late, that’s all,” I said cheerfully. I could feel the other patients looking at me again, and I could practically feel pity dripping from their thoughts.
I took my usual seat inside the clinic while my doctor excused herself to take a call. When she returned, she was smiling widely, saying, “I’ll take you to the X-Ray room, if that’s alright, Mrs. Grachyov?”
“Oh.” I was bemused. “Why do I suddenly need one?”
“Standard operating procedure,” she assured me. “It’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about, I promise.”
“We’ll need to switch the lights off,” the doctor said after I had changed into a hospital gown. “Again, that’s SOP, so please don’t worry.” She helped me to the bed, saying, “Just lie down and relax. The procedure will be quick and painless.”
When the doctor left, an indefinite amount of time passed, causing me to fall asleep and waking up only at the sound of the door opening. I opened my eyes groggily to see who it was and closed them as soon as I caught sight of someone in scrubs with a surgical mask entering the room.
A pair of strong hands suddenly took hold of my ankles, and I froze.
Was this part of the procedure?
The hands moved up on my legs, placing one on each elevated clamp. It left me uncomfortably wide open, and I fought back a blush as I realized how much the X-Ray technician could see of me. A part of me wanted to demand if this was truly necessary, but then I thought about what kind of headlines it would produce—-
Fredericka Spears acting like a diva just because she’s a billionaire’s wife—-
I forced myself to stay calm. This is SOP.
The man reached for me between my legs, and I tried not to tense. Once in a while, his hands, covered with surgical gloves, would brush against the insides of my thighs, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the way my pussy involuntarily quivered at the contact.
The man parted my folds open, and my fingers curled into fists.