Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

Aurora shook her head.

With my hand covering hers, I made her work up and down my length. She nibbled on her lip as if this was the strangest thing she’d ever encountered but she didn’t stop and I liked that. I liked that she kept on going. The tip already leaked pre-cum, and I groaned. I closed my eyes for a split second, basking in the pleasure she evoked within me.

My balls were so fucking tight.

Letting go of her hand, I pressed mine against the wall, caging her in.

“Faster,” I said.

I was so close.

She worked my dick faster, and I stared into her eyes.

Her brown ones stared back at me with wonder as well as hunger. That’s right, baby. This is what you’re doing to me.

I couldn’t hold back my release, and as she continued to stroke me, my release spilled out, coating her stomach.

Even before my orgasm ebbed away, I gripped the back of her neck, slamming my lips down on hers as I finished my orgasm.

I wanted to be inside her, but this was second best.

Any anger I had slowly fell away.

I wouldn’t hurt Aurora.

She was my wife, and regardless of what she thought, I was going to protect her.

Chapter Eight

Aurora

In a matter of days, I’d gone from spending my time being bored, reading one book after another, to being escorted around by Slavik.

He’d killed my guard, and rather than hire another one, he kept me to himself.

I had no choice in the matter.

He had so many businesses. When we arrived at some, he kept me in the car. The doors locked. He even kept the windows down when it was really warm as if I was some kind of dog.

Each day, the anger kept on simmering inside me, waiting to explode.

The work never stopped. He was everywhere and nowhere. We ended up taking a private jet to travel to different cities. All of them under his rule. He kept watch over it all. He worked during the day and at night; there was no space.

After three weeks, taking our marriage over the seven-month mark, I stood in one of his nightclubs. This time, he’d allowed me to change. The first time I came to this nightclub, which was simply called The Club, so very cute, I’d been in sweatpants and a shirt. This time, I wore a tight dress.

It was the only one he’d allow me to wear. It was tight against my body, and I couldn’t stop wriggling in it. I was worried I looked fat and frumpy.

The women on the dance floor were goddesses.

Each one looked so happy and free. Like they held all the power within their lives and I had nothing. My husband controlled me. I wasn’t given a single reprieve.

Even when some men, business associates, dared to comment on my presence, Slavik told them to mind their own business or they’d see his very bad side.

How many other men like Slavik escorted their wives around to everything?

With my palm on the private window overlooking the dance floor, envy flooded me. It was an emotion I didn’t like.

The music vibrated the room, but I couldn’t hear it.

Slavik spoke on the phone. He spoke in Russian, which was so hard to think about as his accent rarely came through.

I kept on glancing back at him, and each time I did, I found his gaze was already on me.

We hadn’t done anything else since he made me work his penis in the shower. Who am I kidding? I knew it was a cock. Thinking about it, I got aroused. He’d been so hard and as I played with him, I’d worked him into a fever where he had no choice but to come. I’d never felt that kind of power over a man, and the truth was I wanted it again.

Slavik put the phone down. “I’ve got to go and handle something downstairs. Stay here.”

I wanted to argue with him, but he was already out the door.

We were back to him treating me like I didn’t exist. Actually, scrap that, he treated me like a dog. I was surprised he hadn’t put a little bed in the corner and didn’t have treats in his pocket.

I hated him.

Folding my arms beneath my breasts, I spun back to the window and glared out at the dance floor. Anger rushed through me with no place to go.

I’d seen how violent he’d gotten with Sergei.

I pushed some hair back from my face, breathing in and out, hoping to calm my nerves, but nothing seemed to want to stick.

I felt angry at him.

Thinking back to that day, I recalled Bethany’s words. She’d tried to call, to set up another dinner date, but I declined. Slavik even tried to arrange for me to go and see her, but I refused.

There was no way I was going to force my company on others.