Dark Christmas: A Bratva Next Door Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

I sit in my chambers, torn, my thoughts swirling like a storm I can’t control.

The vomiting, the queasiness, it can only mean one thing—I’m pregnant. How did I end up here? Never in a million years did I imagine getting pregnant, especially by a man like him. Yet here I am, carrying the duke’s child.

My hand drifts to my stomach, and I can feel the weight of it all settling in. And as if being pregnant wasn’t enough, he’s away at war, fighting Lord Alistair Blackwood, his greatest rival. Blackwood’s been a thorn in his side for years, and now it’s erupted into a full-blown war.

What am I to do? I’m stuck here alone in this vast, empty estate, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I feel lost, completely adrift in this new reality.

And to make things worse, I think I might be in love. No, that can’t be right. I can’t love him. He’s a killer, a monster who commands fear and respect in equal measure.

He’s the last person I would fall for.

But I can’t deny it—the way my heart races when he’s near, the way I feel both safe and completely undone in his presence.

I walk to the window, staring out over the moonlit landscape. The world outside may look peaceful, but there’s a battle raging inside me.

What do I do? What can I do? He owns my heart and now, my future.

I make a decision—I’m going to tell him, lay it all out. Maybe the duke will prove to be the rogue I suspect he is, the kind of man who wants nothing to do with a bastard child. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll do the right thing.

Images of a royal marriage flash through my mind, unbidden but persistent. I hate that I’m fantasizing about a life with him. But I can’t help myself.

I imagine our wedding night, the way he’d look at me when we’re finally alone. His hands on my skin, his mouth whispering promises he’s never made to anyone else. I picture him over me, in front of a roaring fireplace, his body pressing against mine, his manhood pushing inside, claiming me as his wife in every sense of the word.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. This isn’t the time for idle fantasies.

I sit down at my desk, pulling out a quill and a sheet of parchment. I’ll write to him. Tell him about the child. I’ll have the letter sent to the front lines, where he’s undoubtedly in the middle of battle.

I stare at the parchment in front of me, quill poised in my trembling hand. My heart pounds as I dip it into the ink, the first words spilling onto the page.

My heart pounds as I begin writing. What will he do when he finds out? Only time will tell. But one thing is certain—there’s no turning back now.

Duke,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. I am with child, your child. The very thought of it frightens me, but there is something else I must confess. I love you. I love you more than I can understand or explain. And though my love story did not begin as I had imagined it would, my feelings for you are exactly what I always dreamed love to be.

Tears blur my vision, falling onto the paper as I write. My hand is shaking but I press on, the words coming from the deepest part of me.

You are out there, fighting battles I cannot imagine, and I won’t distract you with long letters or ask for anything more than what you can give. But know this: There is a woman back home who loves you, who carries your child, and who prays for your safe return every day.

With trembling fingers, I fold the letter, sealing it with wax. As the seal hardens, I let out a shaky breath. He will soon know the truth.

Letter in hand, I step out of my room. The days of being confined to my quarters ended when things between the duke and me became what they are now. I roam the halls freely, but tonight, my heart is heavy as I make my way down the dimly lit corridor. Candlelight flickers along the stone walls, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly.

I clutch the letter tightly, heading toward the master of the house, Lord Wainright, who will make sure it’s sent to the front lines in the morning. From there, I’ll have nothing to do but wait. Waiting has never been my strong suit, but I’ll have to make do.

As I descend the massive spiral stone staircase, the murmur of voices reaches my ears. They’re coming from the main parlor. I hesitate before moving closer, drawn by the low, serious tone. Pressing my ear to the door, I catch snippets of the conversation—the duke is mentioned.

My heart races. Something is wrong.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

Without thinking, I push the heavy door open, interrupting the discussion. The fire in the hearth crackles, illuminating the faces of those inside. Lord Wainright stands at the head of the room, along with a trio of soldiers. Leading them is General Castor, one of the duke’s most trusted men.

Their faces are grave. The air is thick with tension.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lord Wainright steps forward, his expression somber. “We’ve just received word that the duke was slain in battle.”

I gasp, the letter slipping from my hand, falling to the floor like a forgotten hope.

I push back from my laptop, and before I know it, tears are streaming down my face. I quickly wipe them away, chalking it up to hormones.

Still, deep down, I know why this entry hit me so hard. I’m pulling from my fears for Melor. He’s in danger, just like the duke in my story. And the thought of losing him is too much.

A knock at the door snaps me out of it. “Come in,” I say, trying to compose myself.

The door opens and Melor steps into the room. He looks amazing; the moonlight spilling through the window casts him in silver, making him appear supernatural.

He looks at me, concern flickering in his eyes. “What’s wrong? You were asleep when I left.”

I wave a hand at my laptop, still trying to pull it together. “Oh, nothing. The muse strikes when she strikes.”

His expression softens. He knows there’s more behind my mood, but he doesn’t push.

He walks over and drops onto the couch next to my desk. “I’d love to read it eventually.”

I give him a teasing smile. “Maybe I’ll hook you up with an advance copy if you’re lucky.”

He grins, and for a second, it’s easy to forget everything else. But then reality seeps back in as it always does. I can’t stop myself from asking, “So, where were you?” adding quickly, “I was worried.”

He leans over and kisses me, his lips warm and reassuring. “I had to meet a friend,” he says. “Everything’s fine.”

I return the kiss but pull back quickly, narrowing my eyes. “In the middle of the night? Why’d you have to meet him so late?”

For a moment, he looks away like he’s unsure how to answer. His jaw tightens, and that familiar wall goes up. I know he’s trying to protect me, but damn, it’s frustrating when he shuts down like this.

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing away like he’s weighing every word he’s about to say. “I had to meet with an old friend from my Bratva days. For information.”

I blink, my stomach tightening. “What kind of information?”

Instead of answering, he shifts the conversation, his eyes locking on mine. “Do you want a life together?”

I freeze. Did I hear him right?

“Do I… want a life together?” I repeat dumbly, as if saying the words aloud will help me process them. “With you?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”

I sit there stunned, trying to catch up.

“If that’s what you want, Amelia, then it can happen. But there are things from my past, things I need to take care of. I hate that they’ve resurfaced but they have, and they need to be dealt with. I want to keep you as far away from all of it as possible.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I don’t know what to say, and for a second, I feel completely out of my depth. A life together? With him? And everything that comes with it?

He holds out his hand, a silent offer. Without thinking, I take it, letting him pull me over to the couch. The moment I’m close to him, his warmth and his presence instantly make me feel better.

I’m absolutely stunned by this new revelation. My brain is doing backflips, and I have no idea what to say. So, I blurt out the only thing that comes to mind. “Do you want a life with me?”

He grins that sexy little grin that drives me crazy, and without a word, he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. His kiss is his answer, and it’s all the answer I need.

He pulls back, that damn grin still on his face. “I hope that answered your question.”

I smirk, my heart racing. “Oh, it sure did. But I’ve got some follow-ups.”

I’m on him in an instant, our lips crashing together. His hands grip my waist as mine slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my mouth.

This is the kind of moment where everything else fades. Just me and him, no past, no Bratva, no danger—just us.

We start on the couch, lips locked, hands roaming, but it’s not enough. Without a word, we shift toward the window, where the moonlight spills in, casting a soft, silvery glow over everything. It’s the kind of lighting that makes it feel unreal, too perfect to be happening.

He’s behind me before I can catch my breath, his body heat melting into mine. I feel his hands on my hips, strong, commanding. Before I know it, he’s slipping into me, his cock filling me up, that delicious stretch I can never get enough of. I let out a shaky moan, pushing back against him, needing more.

He tugs my hair, hard enough to make me gasp, but just enough to keep it on that perfect edge between pleasure and pain.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and rough, sending a wave of heat through me. “You love how I make you feel.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I brace myself against the window frame, staring out at the city glowing in the moonlight. But all I can focus on is him, his body pressed tight against mine, the way he fills me so completely.

He drives into me harder, his grip tightening on my hips. “Look at you,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “Your pussy’s so perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

My breath catches in my throat as the pleasure builds. “Melor…” I manage to whisper, half lost in the feeling, my body trembling as he moves against me, each thrust more intense than the last.

“You love how I fuck you, don’t you?” he asks, his one hand pulling my hair just enough to make me arch. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“So much,” I gasp, completely lost to him. “I love the way you fuck me, the way you fill me up.” His cock drives into me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Then beg for it,” his voice a rough command against my skin.

And I do, my voice breathless. “Please, Melor… please.”

He keeps going, his rhythm relentless, his dirty talk only fueling the fire. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he growls, his voice thick with need. “I can feel it. Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

I crash into the orgasm, my body tightening around him as waves of pleasure wash over me. My moans fill the room, and I can’t help but beg him to come with me, but he’s not done yet.

I turn around and we kiss again, deep and hungry, before I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Take off your clothes and go sit on the couch,” I whisper.

I smile at him mischievously as his own grin widens, as he slips out of his clothes, moving to the couch like I told him to.

I watch him, my eyes lingering on his gorgeous, hard cock, standing tall and ready for me.

“Ask nicely,” I tease, my smile turning playful.

He chuckles. “Pretty please? With sugar on top.”

With that, I lower myself down, his cock sliding inside me, splitting me in two in the best possible way.