The Bratva's Bride (Wicked Doms 2)

Who was she trying to call? Where was she trying to go?

Doesn’t she know what befalls her if she escapes? She’ll leave me no choice, because betrayal and escape would mean her certain death. Anything else would lose respect from my men.

Tonight, I bring her with me on public display, outwardly my woman. Tonight is a political power move that could solidify our political connections for years to come. Tonight matters. As I think about what needs to happen, she stirs.

At first, she blinks slowly and stays right as she is, but within a few seconds, she realizes her body is pressed up against mine.

“Oh!” she says, startled, immediately pulling away, but I’m prepared for this and don’t let her. I tighten my grip on her to make her stay right where she is.

“No need to go anywhere,” I tell her. “I quite like you using me like a body pillow.”

Her cheeks flush pink but she stays right there and says nothing.

“How’s your ass?” I ask, reaching to give her bottom a firm pinch that makes her hiss in breath.

“Painful,” she whimpers.

“Remember that when we go tonight,” I tell her. I expect her to obey. “Remember what happens if you don’t behave when we leave this room.”

She only nods quietly.

With her hand pressed up on my chest, she nods again, almost as if she likes being here with me. I don’t touch women like this. I don’t hold them to me and offer any type of comfort, and I tell myself that getting her obedience for this evening is the most important goal. Punishing her into obedience isn’t the only method of making sure she does as she’s told. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or if it’s truth.

I order breakfast, and she eats like a good girl, being fed by my hand. She doesn’t ask questions or speak out of turn, simply allowing me to feed her. Subdued.

When we’re finished with breakfast, I get the call I’ve been waiting for.

“She’s clear,” Maksym says.

She’s still sitting where I left her at the table and her eyes find me.

I speak in Russian, though my eyes are on hers. We’re talking of her, and I want her to know that.

I hang up the phone and slip it onto the side table, eyes still on her.

“Come here.”

Tentatively, she rises and makes her way to me. When she reaches me, her head comes to my shoulder and her eyes lift to mine. Curious.

“That call was to tell me your tests came back negative,” I tell her.

Comprehension dawns on her. She knows I’ve only refrained from sex because I wanted full clearance.

“Oh.” One simple syllable laden with meaning.

I sit on the edge of the bed and draw her to me, loving the way she fits right here, feminine curves and innocence, ready for the taking.

And take her I will.

But first, an exploration.

I trace a finger down the slope of one shoulder, gliding over the satiny skin. Goosebumps prickle along her naked skin. I bend my mouth to her shoulder and lick the salty, sweet skin. Though she shivers, she doesn’t move, even when I move my mouth lower and touch the very tip of my tongue to her nipple. I cup her ass with my hand and draw her closer to me, pulling her between my legs as I continue the slow, deliberate teasing.

When I take her nipple between my teeth, she whimpers. I stroke the insides of her thighs with the backs of my hands, parting her legs and barely grazing the very edge of her bare pussy. I don’t speak a word to her, allowing my unencumbered touch to tell her that she’s mine. That it’s futile attempting to push me away or disallow what will happen between us. That if she obeys like a good little girl, I may eventually allow her own pleasure.

Cupping her ass, I torture her nipples for long minutes, alternating between one then the other until they’re puckered and taut with arousal. Without a word, she draws closer to me. If I drew my fingers between her legs, I’d find her sopping wet and eager to be stroked to completion, but she isn’t here for her pleasure.

She’s here to repay her fucking debt.

I bite down on one nipple and smack my palm against her ass.

With a shocked gasp she pulls away but I’m holding her tight. I glide the heel of my palm against her pussy. “This pussy’s mine,” I tell her. “Mine. Do not touch yourself without my permission. I will take your sweet cunt how, when, and where I want to.” I bite her nipple again, enjoying the way she cries out in pain. “Am I clear?”

Though I demand her gaze on me, her steely gaze lacks even the faintest glimmer of submission, though beneath her stony exterior I believe I read betrayal. And then I remember her curled up on my chest in slumber. Though she shields herself from me, a part of her longs for my comfort.