The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

Champagne is served amidst cheers and slaps on the back, but I quickly escort her away. I tuck her close to my side and whisk her to the elevator, denying any assistance from the servants who offer. And when I get her alone—when it’s just the two of us, and we’ve shown our faces and played our parts like we were meant to—I really kiss her. I unpin her hair and let it cascade down her back in beautiful waves, weave my fingers through her hair, and tug her head back so her mouth parts open. Her eyes are shuttered. She’s closing herself off to me. But I’m learning how to break through that exterior.

I push her up against the elevator wall and pin her there, one hand at the delicate base of her throat, the other holding her hair, and without a word I plunder her mouth with mine. My lips meet hers. At first, she’s hardened to me, only going through the motions, but when I flex my hand at her neck, she moans into my mouth. I capture her lips between my teeth and push her more firmly against the wall.

When the elevator cruises to a stop at my floor, I finally release her mouth, enjoying the look of bewilderment in her beautiful eyes.

“What was that?” she whispers.

“Our first kiss as husband and wife,” I tell her. The door to the elevator opens, and she follows me silently.

Evidence of the earlier struggle is now gone, the carpet vacuumed so recently the lines still show from the machine. There is no blood, nothing at all to indicate a man was murdered here today. I can tell she’s looking for evidence as well, but she won’t find any. My men did their job well.

When I open the door, I notice a large bouquet of flowers beside a silver tray with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. A message in English.

To the happily married couple, here are two flutes for you to perform our tradition. We wish you many years of happiness.

Dimitri and Yana

This must have been Yana’s doing. Dimitri has no such wish.

“Your tradition?” Sadie asks.

I take her flute, open the champagne, and pour her a glass. “Drink,” I order.

I watch her take the flute in hand and empty her glass in one large gulp, and follow suit. The liquid is sweet and bubbly.

“Good,” I tell her. “Now throw your flute at the fireplace.”

I feel my lips twitch when her eyes go wide. “Throw it?” she asks.

“Throw it.”

“It’ll break.”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Well that seems a terrible waste, but okay…”

Her voice trails off, but I don’t let her deliberate for long. I take my empty glass and whip it at the fireplace. I watch with satisfaction as it smashes into brilliant shards. It feels good to break the glass, satisfying to watch it destroyed.

“Okay,” she says warily, then with a little savage whoop, she throws her glass so hard, it practically breaks into dust.

“Hmm,” she murmurs to herself. “I’d do that again.”

“Once is enough,” I tell her. “Come with me, Sadie. Wife.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses. I can’t help but frown at her instruction.

“Excuse me?”

“Wife,” she says with disgust.

“That’s what you are,” I say, tugging her hair so hard tears fill her eyes, but I stop myself from hurting her. I’ve already decided what I want from her is worth so much more than what I can get by brute force. So instead, I take another tact.

I decide not to respond. Instead, I take her to the room and stand her in front of me. I curse the row of buttons that lay between me and her, but revel in every inch of her creamy skin that’s revealed when the buttons open. Finally, after I’ve unfastened every damn button, I lay her on the bed, so I can finish undressing her slowly. When I remove her dress, she doesn’t even move, lifting her arms and legs obediently for me to slide things off when necessary. She doesn’t smile when I look at her. Doesn’t flinch when I pinch her nipple to prime her body. She’s so passive and reserved, I lose all desire to make her mine. I pull away from her when she’s undressed, and help her under the blankets.

“Get some sleep, Sadie,” I instruct.

To my surprise, she blinks then. “Get some sleep?” she repeats. “Just like that? You’ll strip me and send me to bed?”

“Am I supposed to do something else?”

“What about…” her cheeks flush. “Fucking your wife?”

I shrug. “I changed my mind. Sleep. This was a long day for you.”

A flicker of the softness I long for returns to her eyes for a split second. “For both of us,” she says, before her eyes shutter again. “I’d like to take my makeup off first. Please, sir?”

“Go,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Come right back and get some rest.”