Conquered Bride (Belaya Bratva 1)

CHAPTER 6

Naomi

There had been times I was scared in my life. Times that I thought I had watched my life flash before my eyes and knew that I was going to die.

Feeling that knife pressed up against my throat, though, I knew I had been close to death, too close. One misstep, one wrong move, and that knife would have slipped through my skin like butter.

When Gavril had slid the knife down to my breast, I hadn’t been as scared as I thought I would.

When he pressed its sharp tip against my clit, I was shamefully turned on by the thought of danger before me. It was disturbing to think that I wasn’t disgusted by the threat.

But it also warned me how dangerous the man before me was.

I wasn’t dealing with assholes from a club or even overzealous actors that were looking to have a quickie with what they perceived as an eager actress looking for her big break. Or with—and I fought back the shudder at the very thought of the name—Jon.

No, Gavril was different.

I would bet my life on the fact that he killed men with his bare hands, that he had held a gun more times than I could count, and did horrific, unspeakable things in his struggles against the other organized crime groups of LA.

I was on my knees in front of not only a power-hungry man but one that would be my husband.

Now, I stared as his angry cock pointed at me from its small thatch of dark hair, the head engorged with need. My stomach dropped when I saw how big he was, something deep inside of me wound tight.

It wasn’t hard to see the deep V of Gavril’s body through the gap in his trousers, how his muscles flexed as he moved his hand over his cock. I swallowed hard. Even without touching him, I knew he was all muscle and power, the epitome of a fine specimen.

“Open your mouth,” Gavril murmured above me, his hand stroking the velvet flesh. Despite the panic that was setting in, I felt a bead of wetness slowly roll down my thighs, hating that every moment in front of him was turning me on in the worst possible way.

Every part of me wanted to fight back. Instead, my traitorous mouth dropped open, and I felt him rest the throbbing head against my lips. His musky odor—intoxicatingly masculine—overwhelmed my senses. And a small pearl drop rolled down the tip into my open mouth.

His finger curled under my chin, tilting me closer to him so that there would be no escape. The searingly hot head pushed its way past my lips and slowly into my mouth.

“Don’t you dare look away.”

Without warning, he filled my mouth. I struggled to keep my mouth open and breathe through my nose, but he was so large that he was stretching my jaw even wider, the head bumping the roof of my mouth.

He tasted of salt and something darker, something that I was sure was unique to him alone.

I didn’t have time to even get adjusted to the feel of him in my mouth as Gavril thrust forward, and I nearly choked. But I didn’t dare look away. Something told me that if I did, he would do something far, far worse.

Tears welled up from my eyes as he fucked my mouth. This was too much. Too soon. If he wanted me to actually pleasure him, he was doing it wrong. I reached up, trying to push him away from my face. The hot, salty head rammed against my throat.

“No,” he grunted, grabbed my hands and held them above my head so that he controlled the rhythm. “You don’t get a say in this.”

My jaw ached, and my head was spinning from the lack of air. Spit and precum leaked out of the corner of my mouth. The floor started to bite into my knees. A tear rolled out of my eye and I felt it rolling down my face, beading at my chin for a precarious second and finally falling silently to the floor.

I wondered if there was any other way of feeling as humiliated as I did right now.

I couldn’t do anything. Gavril owned every part of this encounter between us, and I knew this was how it was going to be in our marriage.

Our sham of a marriage that I didn’t want, and he didn’t know was going to be the biggest sham of all.

Gavril set the pace, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth and somehow avoiding my teeth. There was a moment where I thought about what would happen if I bit down. But the way he held my hands over my head told me that he could hurt me far more than I could hurt him.

So, I let him abuse my mouth and throat. I let the tears fall down my cheeks, knowing that Vera was watching my humiliation.

This man will be my husband tomorrow, I thought, and my heart shattered.

I was wrong. He wasn’t just a monster.

He was the devil.

But as the humiliating thoughts crossed my mind and tears rolled down my cheeks, another thought intruded into my head.

I wanted to take his cock in my hand, to show him that I could stroke him near completion until he was begging me to stop.

I wanted him to pick me up, bend me over the nearby chair, and push his thick cock past my dripping sex me until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. Warmth spread from the depth of a pit in my stomach. A twisted form of pleasure was bubbling up inside of me.

My lower half quivered with need, and I was well aware of the shameful wetness between my thighs. I shouldn’t like this. I kept repeating. But another voice in my head screamed, MORE!

I kept my gaze locked with his as he continued to punish my mouth however he wanted to. Please, I begged him with my eyes. Please just cum and let this be over. Please.

I also could tell that he was getting close; his other hand found its way to my hair and held me in place as his hips thrust in and out of my sore mouth. Panic gripped my heart and for a moment, I thought he was about to drown me.

To my relief, Gavril pulled out and with a roar, he aimed his release at my face. The warm spurt of his seed covered my face, neck, and hair, rolling down in thick, sticky drops over my breasts. I didn’t dare move, my mind still shocked and numb at what just happened.

My humiliation was complete.

It didn’t help my own aching need, but I wasn’t going to dare mention that to him or to anyone in the room.

Gavril’s hand found a handful of my hair and yanked up until I was forced to stand, my legs weak from being in one position for so long. His rough fingers gripped my chin and forced me to look at Vera, who stood in the corner, an unreadable expression on her pinched face.

“Apologize to her,” he growled, his fingers digging into my skin.

“I’m sorry, Vera,” I breathed, wondering what she thought about seeing me like this. Was she happy that he did this to me? Did she feel bad? Did she even care?

“I accept her apology, master,” Vera finally said.

Gavril let my chin go and stepped back, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Pick out a dress, and I will see you at the church tomorrow.”

Reality came crash back down. Tomorrow…I would be wed to him tomorrow. I opened my mouth to speak, but Gavril was already moving toward the door at a clipped pace, disappearing before I could even utter my first word.

For a moment I stared at the doorway, half wondering if he would make an appearance again. My hands, trembling, slowly rose up, and I slowly felt his sticky essence on my face, my lips, and my hair. My breath quickened, and suddenly I found my vision blurred with tears.

My chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps as tears fell from my eyes. Did that really just happen?

“Here.”

Vera’s single utterance broke through the silence, and I turned to find her holding a towel toward me, her mouth tightened.

“Thank you,” I sniffled.

Her eyes widened, and it was only then that I realized I’d replied in English.

Vera didn’t respond as I toweled myself off, knowing that I still had some in my hair. My hands trembled as I did so, waiting for her to say anything to me. Now that my cover was blown, anything could happen.

“You still need a dress,” Vera finally said, sticking to Russian.

I turned, my cheeks aflame for what she saw. “I truly am sorry,” I answered her in Russian. “For what I did.”

She inhaled deeply and exhaled before she bent down to pick up the ripped dresses I had thrown on the floor.

“You must choose one, devushka,” she said softly.

This time I wrapped the towel around myself and walked over to the rack, looking for any dress that caught my eye.

“This one,” I said softly, pulling a dress off the rack. It was lovely, one that I would have picked myself if this wedding was one that I wanted.

Vera took the dress from my hands, motioning to the towel and tutting with her lips. “Off,” she stated. “You need to try it on.”