The Bratva's Bride (Wicked Doms 2)

“No whipping this morning,” he says with a wicked glimmer of a smile.

“What is this?” I gasp.

“A Sybian,” he says, as if that explains anything to me. “It’s a device made to help you orgasm.”

“You’re just full of all sorts of filthy little tricks, aren’t you?” I manage to eke out when he pushes a button on a device in his hand, and vibrations shudder through me. I’m full and aroused, and I can’t control any of this. It seems this device is particularly designed to guide me to orgasm.

“Demyan,” I groan, helpless to stop the powerful orgasm that rips through me. I close my eyes and give way to the delicious torture. I’ve barely come down from one orgasm when another rides through me. I come so many times I lose track, until he comes back to me and pushes a button. Reaching down, he brushes my hair back from my forehead.

“How defiant do you feel now, little kisa?”

I couldn’t swat a fly. I mumble something incoherent. I can’t even lift my arms for him to carry me, but there’s no need. He lifts me and dresses me, speaking something in Russian I can’t quite grasp, but I like it. When I’m dressed, he lies me in bed while he gets dressed himself.

“And now, malyshka?” he asks. “Rate your level of defiance.”

“Negative zero,” I mumble. I don’t even understand why he laughs, but my lips curl up in a smile at the sound.

“I like your voice,” I say, my eyes closing.

“No sleeping,” he says, and I open my eyes. “Our breakfast is here. Perhaps a cup of coffee will perk you up.”

“Perhaps make it espresso,” I say with a yawn. I’m comfortable here.

Too comfortable.

Somewhere far back in the recesses my mind, I’m warning myself not to let myself go where my mind flirts. He isn’t hot. I don’t like his chuckle or his Russian endearments. I don’t like the feel of his arms on me or the way his eyes grow dark with lust when I climax. I don’t like any of this.

But I’ll obey him. Just for today. Because if his idea of training me means wrenching climax after climax out of my body, there are worse things to do with my time.

“Breakfast, Calina,” he says, and that quickly, snaps me to attention.

Calina.

My sister.

I am not Calina.

Is she okay? How has she fared?

I sit up with considerable effort, and let him lift me up and sit me on his lap for breakfast. I’m exhausted but feign to be even more tired than I am.

Today I will use his phone to check on Calina. I know his password, and perhaps if he thinks he’s thoroughly mastered me, I can take advantage of the situation. I let him feed me and thank him in low tones, like a kitten purring on her master’s lap.

“That’s delicious, sir,” I tell him. “I hope I please you today.”

“You do, little kitten,” he says, kissing my cheek. “So much. Today you’ll be fitted for your wedding gown and we prepare for the ceremony.”

Oh God oh God oh God. Wedding. Gown. Ceremony. This is a big deal.

I came here prepared to lay down my life for my sister, and I’ve gone along with everything because I agreed to. To pay off this debt and clear both of us. But now that the reality of this is sinking in, I can’t help but freak out.

I’m going to be his wife.

His wife.

Like, married by law to a man who commands the Russian mafia. Vows and rings and legal documents.

I may be freaking out just a little.

I nod my head, trying to wrap my brain around this.

“But I will keep you apart from my men. After last night, I want you all to myself.”

“Will you only take conference calls then?” I ask. He nods, and my heart sinks. How am I to use his phone if he’s here all day?

I’ll find a way. I only need a few minutes. There has to be a way.Chapter 13She thinks somehow I don’t know that she’s plotting. Plotting what? I have no idea. But even though she’s momentarily sated and quiet, her mind is elsewhere. I’ve seen the way she glances at my phone, and I haven’t forgotten how she tried to make that call.

But I like the little girl who’s with me now, weakened by pleasure, her tummy filled with food. I allow the people who work for me to prepare our wedding, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind.

Early in the morning, they come and have me try on my tux. It fits fine, and I stare with dispassionate interest at my reflection.

“It’ll do,” I tell them, quickly undressing so I can get to my work. So when they come to fit Calina’s dress, I sit in the overstuffed chair in the living room working on my phone. Her gaze comes to the phone in my hands, and she can’t hide the eagerness. She wants to use this. There’s someone she wants to call, and it makes me angry.