The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

Not Sadie, though. I can tell by the way she takes everything in she misses nothing. This girl isn’t impetuous and foolish. Not like the others. She knows if she runs from me, I’ll catch her. She knows if by chance she got away from me, I have so many men surrounding this estate she wouldn’t get far. And she knows an act of defiance would earn her punishment.

So I don’t have to watch her the way I’ve watched the others. My observance of her involves more intricate methods. The way she shifts—uncomfortable with the metal between her ass cheeks, or the clothing she wears. The way she darts looks at me as if she doesn’t want me to see. The way she nervously fidgets and crosses her arms over her chest. Cold, or uncomfortable with the exposure?

This is no simplistic task, though. Training her will have to be a complicated, well-orchestrated project. We will marry, and after we’ve settled legal details, I’ll pay the tribute I owe Dimitri.

“How many floors?” she asks.

“The only one you need to concern yourself with is my floor,” I tell her. “You will not leave unless escorted by me.”

Pursing her lips, she doesn’t reply.

The doors to the elevator slide open, bringing us to the large entry hall. Huge, crystal chandeliers hang from the ceilings so high above our heads they’re like stars in a night sky. Attendants stand waiting by the exit to the elevator, uniformed servants and armed guards. Sadie trembles when I take her hand and place it on my arm. When she steps foot off the elevator, she wobbles.

“Do you not know how to walk in heels?” I ask her. Of course she doesn’t. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Kazimir, you saw the way I dressed. Do you think I’ve ever dressed like this before?”

I groan. She’s such a klutz in the heels, I’m growing impatient. I’m half-tempted to carry her, but when I catch sight of a nearby servant, I get another idea.

Snapping my fingers at a young woman standing to my left, I point to the floor in front of me. She rushes forward. “Yes, sir?”

“What size shoe do you wear?” I ask her in Russian.

“Thirty-five, sir.” Equivalent to an American size five, it’s too small.

I shake my head and point my finger back to the line of her peers, then beckon a second woman to me. “Shoe size?”

“Thirty-seven, sir.”

I nod. “That will do. Trade shoes with my woman.” In English, I order Sadie. “Take off your shoes.”

I wait for the two of them to obey me. Sadie looks at me in consternation, but the woman who works for me hastily bends and removes her shoes, handing them to Sadie.

“Did you just tell her to take her shoes off?” she asks me incredulously.

“No,” I reply, “I told both of you to. Do it or I will.”

Her pretty lips cast down in a scowl, but she obeys, stepping out of the heels and pushing them to the side, before she slides into the flats the woman hands her. I hand her heels to the servant.

“Bring these to Nikita, and tell Nikita to order you new shoes. You have the night off.”

I dismiss her when she nods, then take Sadie by the arm. Leaning in to whisper in her ear, I hold her arm firmly in my grasp. “You never question me. But if you do so in front of Dimitri or my brothers, I promise you, you will never do so again.” My dinner this evening will be of secondary importance. Her training will be the first. I give her a firm smack on the ass, feeling the satisfying metal beneath the thin fabric on my palm. I enjoy watching her cringe and clench her teeth. Her defiance simmers under the surface like molten lava, boiling and bubbling.

“Yes, sir,” she says, but her teeth are gritted. She’s giving me the mere show of obedience. I decide to take another tactic.

With a flourish, I spin her out and pull her to my chest, placing my hand on the back of her neck. The wide-eyed look she gives me makes my cock lengthen. Without her heels, she’s a full head shorter than I am, so diminutive I could overpower her with one arm. My hand at her neck, I feel her rapid pulse against her soft, silky skin. I pull her so tightly against me, my hard cock presses into her.

Parted lips. Rounded eyes. Quickened pulse. Labored breathing.

I squeeze the back of her neck while I whisper in her ear. “If you behave at dinner, I’ll reward you tonight with pleasure. I’ll work my way up and down your body. Mark every inch of you with my mouth. Touch and lap your sweet pussy until you climax so hard you’ll forget your name.” I squeeze tighter, making her wince, then release her and whisper again. “And if you disobey, you’ll get my lash before I cage you.”