Own The Moment
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- Votes 11
- Parts 10
"I'm Jonathan Toews," he stated.
"I know," I replied. He put his arm around me, letting my head fall slowly onto his chest.
"Then why does it matter if I'm a hockey player?" He asked suddenly raising his eyebrows,
"It doesn't," I muttered, going back inside.
"Danielle Francis Roberts, you come back here!" He ran after me, grabbing my arm and pulling me into a gentle, but strong hug.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"Nothing." I walked over to the couch and sat on it. "Well, there is something." He came over to the couch, but wasn't bothered to sit down.
"Well, what is it?" He questioned, turning on the TV.
"I'm pregnant."
Who woulda thought a hockey player like Jonathan would impregnate me?! But he did and I'm not proud of that fact.
"I'm going to be a father." He sat down, dumbfounded.
"No. Well, yes... in a sense you are. But I won't take bullshit about my kid." He stopped me.
"Our kid you mean? And yeah, I get it. I promise I'll be a good dad." He kissed the top of my head.
"Promise?" I looked up.
"I promise."
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The Mafia Queen
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The Billionaire's Pregnant Ex Wife | +18|
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His Mafia Queen|✔️
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"What are you?" the older man questioned, his voice a chilling blend of authority and amusement, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Your wife," I replied softly, my tone laced with the submission he seemed to crave. "No," he murmured, his lips brushing mine, the words a dark caress that sent shivers through me. "You are my doll, milaya." He towered over me, his intimidating presence both suffocating and intoxicating. The nickname, spoken in that deep, accented voice, wrapped around me like a chain I couldn't help but love. "You are the only woman who is allowed to warm my bed at night," he said, his voice a dark melody, smooth but unnerving. "The only woman who's allowed to step into my office and bend over my desk, waiting for me to come home so I can fuck you." A cold, low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound as sinister as it was intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. ♡ Dimitri Mikhailov, the russian mobster. His presence filled the room like a storm. He didn't have to move or speak to dominate the room. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his scarred face told a thousand stories that he'd never waste words on. He was my husband and I was his precious doll.
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