Taken by the Russian

“Yours,” the angel whispers back, her newly decorated hand dropping to her side, the gold winking up at me.

Still, the beat drums in my head. Claim. Claim. “Priest, come here.”

A few feet away, the man begins to turn and stops. “A – are you sure?”

“Come.” I stand to join the hesitant man, my heart pounding over the streaks of my semen trailing down her beautiful legs. “Say a blessing over my wife’s belly while she’s full of my fresh seed. Ask Him to make her fertile.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Mikhailov.”

Opening his Bible back up with unsteady hands, the priests recites a short passage. My blood rushes along with the words, images of Anya holding our child filling me with such happiness, I can’t stop myself from joining her on the couch when the priest departs. Trapping her in my arms and whispering over and over in her hair that I’ll never, ever let her go.

I watch her as she dozes off, her head tucked against my bicep, those gorgeous lips slightly parted. Love makes me heavy, makes me light. Everything in between.

Best of all, it appears Anya has forgotten all about her other plans. College. Orientation. Strangers. A life away from me. She must realize by now she belongs here. Where I can cherish and protect her. Give her everything.

In the middle of the night, though, when I carry her to bed, I notice her watching me in silent contemplation. And I wonder if I am underestimating the angel. But as we slip into bed, she sighs my name and opens her thighs for me…and I’m aware of nothing but her love.

Chapter Nine

Anya

I don’t want to leave heaven. But I have no choice.

And it really is heaven.

I wake up wrapped in the inked arms of my Russian, his tongue tracing patterns on the back of my neck. My lower half wakes up with a vengeance, eager to please. To be pleased. The tightening of those delicate muscles hurts, though, from having Sasha inside me so many times since yesterday. A flush moves over my cheeks remembering the things he said to me in the darkness last night. When we see your father someday in the future, you will call me Daddy, Anya. He will know I’ve claimed his little girl in every way imaginable, and his responsibility to you is gone. If he needs convincing, he’ll take the place of the priest next time.

My agreement, my screams echo in my ears, and wetness trickles onto the material of my panties. Sasha’s chest rumbles at my back, but his mouth makes a reluctant noise.

“I want nothing more than to watch you ride my cock for the first time, angel, but you will recover for a while first.” He laughs into my hair, a wickedly decadent sound. “Plus, I know what happens when you don’t eat breakfast on time.”

Wrinkling my nose, I roll over and shove at his big shoulder. “What happens?”

“You pout at Sasha. You stomp around and cannot focus on your reading.”

This is the first I’m hearing of this. “I do not.”

His indulgent smile sends my pulse racing. “Da, angel. You never stop being cute, but I prefer a happy Anya.” A coarse hand roams over my bare hip. “I prefer when you’re smiling because it means I’ve done my job and pleased you.”

As sweet as this sounds, this is the crux of our problem. Do I love that Sasha has made my happiness his life’s work? Of course. He’s my husband now, and his happiness is very important to me, too. But…sometimes I want to be responsible for my own happiness. I want to figure out my own meals. Plans. Bathing suits. I want to have an individual goal as a woman, as well as goals as a couple. Making him understand this is going to take more than words, though. If I’ve learned one thing about Sasha, it’s that he’s stubborn and tunes me out when I’m saying words he doesn’t want to hear.

Which is why I’ve formed a plan.

Some of my apprehension must be showing on my face, because Sasha frowns. “What is the matter? Tell me so I can fix.”

“Nothing is the matter,” I say, mimicking his accent and earning a lip twitch. “What are our plans for the day?”

He sighs, massaging my hip now with a lazy thumb. “I must spend some time in my office downstairs making phone calls.”

“To whom?”

For a few quiet moments, he seems to be cataloguing my features. “I am not a man who is accustomed to working behind a desk, Anya, but when I met you and decided to build the house, it became obvious I would need to pursue a more…practical line of work.” Humor twists his mouth. “I will be checking on my investments.”

A giggle climbs my throat. “My hit man has been making investments.”