The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

He cleans every inch of my body, drawing a fragrant bubbly washcloth between my legs and over my breasts. A gentle shove of his hand on my shoulder spins me toward him as he slowly, carefully lathers my entire body before he rinses me under the stream of water. Kazimir is so deliberate, he takes his time like this is a ritual of sorts, something that has to cleanse me of my past and bring me here, to my present. My future, even.

When he speaks, I can hear how much it costs him to have this conversation.

“Sadie, tonight I’ll require you to do something you will not like.”

“Oh?” The thought of him handing me around to his brothers… to Dimitri. I shudder and prepare myself for the worst.

“Yes,” he says. “Tonight, in the presence of many world leaders and dignitaries, you will…” his voice trails off.

In front of whom? My breath catches at the thought of being near so many people. I can barely stand how little time I have alone as it is.

With a savage shake of his head, he plows on. “I dislike it. It’s too early. But we have no choice.”

“You do,” I say. Even though I have no idea what he’s talking about, it’s a lie if he believes he has no choice in any of this.

“I don’t,” he says, “no more than you do.”

“Are you going to tell me what I’m expected to do? What it is that you don’t want to?”

Is this why he’s given me hours of pleasure? Why he’s given me alcohol to drink, and he’s taking such good care of me right now?

His eyes meet mine, smoldering, when he finally gives me the truth. “You will marry me,” he says. “We will say our vows in front of witnesses, and you will be my wife.”

It’s as if he’s expecting me to react in horror, but I can’t. I merely shrug. I’m not surprised or horrified.

“I’m already your prisoner. You already command everything. This was a natural and inevitable turn of events.” His eyes register surprise as I continue. “You know, in some cultures what you’ve already done to me would mean we were married already.”

I don’t care what they put on paper. If he slides a ring that’s a lie on my finger. I’m here against my will in the most barbaric way, it doesn’t bother me that he or Dimitri or someone wants to make me Kazimir’s legal bride. I don’t really understand it, but I see no need to fight it, either. Would I even win?

“I don’t understand you,” he says, frowning as if he’s angry, but I know by now his anger isn’t directed at me. “You should be furious.”

“Should I?” I ask. The hot water runs down my back, and I’m struck with the intimacy of the moment. “Because you didn’t ask me? Well, you know, you could remedy that.”

“What? Excuse me?”

It’s the flush of water that makes my cheeks flame. It has to be. “Asking me.”

I watch his whole body tense in the shower, before he reaches for my hand. “Marry me,” he says, not a question, but a command. “Tonight, I slide a ring on this finger. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him. It’s the least romantic proposal in the world. Honestly, it isn’t even a proposal but a command. There is no actual consent here, and I wonder if the lack of outrage I’m feeling is because he’s clouded my judgment with pleasure. Am I that easily swayed, that countless orgasms makes me so compliant?

But at the same time, I’m not quite sure why my instincts still tell me to fight him. He hasn’t raped me, and the punishments he’s given me have been… well, not pleasurable. I can’t dwell on this right now. He’s leading me to a wedding for reasons I don’t understand. I’m not sure what his endgame is, and at this stage I’m not even sure what mine is other than to find an eventual way to freedom.

When he shuts off the water, I blink in confusion. What is he doing? Why? Are we cleaned up already? Did he give me something to make me comply with him? Have I been hypnotized?

But the next thing I know, a plush towel’s shoved in my hand before he steps out of the shower himself. He dries off, then takes me by the hand and dries me off as well.

“What are you going to do with me after you marry me?” I ask him.

For the first time since I’ve met him, he shoots me a roguish grin. “Fuck my wife.”

“Kazimir,” I whisper. “Really.”

He leaves the bathroom with the towel wrapped around his waist, a picture of god-like perfection, and I wonder what my problem is with him. He’s a dominant with a heavy sadistic streak, but he hasn’t really done anything terrible to me… has he?