by Jane Henry
Yakov steps aside so that we can enter ahead of them. The anteroom to the ballroom is filled with guests just arriving, and a hush goes over the crowd when we enter. I want to leave this room. Just like before, I want to pick her up and whisk her away, away from the eyes of men who do wicked things. Away from the eyes of women who help them. To my private suite where no one can touch us.
“Tomas,” Yakov says in my ear to my left. “Did you invite her brother to join us?”
“Of course not,” I say tightly, smiling at our guests despite wanting to punch someone. What the hell is he asking me this for? “Why?”
“Just asking,” he responds, then moves to the side before I can ask him any questions. He isn’t just asking. For Christ’s sake, you don’t plant an idea like this and leave. Is her brother here? I’ll fucking kill him for showing his face. But Yakov is already gone, and that quickly, people fill in his place. Well-wishers and the like swarm around us so heavily, I feel her tense beside me, her breathing heavy and labored. I will not do this again with her.
Why the fuck did Yakov ask me that?
I need to anchor Caroline to me, so we don’t get separated. I look to my guards and snap my fingers, and instantly they part the crowds. Caroline breathes more easily as we finally enter the main room, but only for a second. I beckon one of the guards over. “Get Yakov back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cheers erupt all around us. Our guests are on their feet, clapping to welcome us, the sound of the applause deafening. So many people have arrived, I don’t recognize them all. I snap my fingers to Lev, who’s standing to the side watching us all.
“I want a detailed list of how many guests we have,” I tell him. “This is far more than I was expecting.”
“I think we had more show up than we planned for,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Who the hell was in charge of this? Heads will fucking roll for the haphazard way this has been put together. I don’t like the way she looks at me, pale and trembling. It takes me a second to realize she’s too still. She isn’t breathing.
“Breathe,” I whisper in her ear, and she gasps for breath, clutching my arm. She moves so easily from one feeling to the next, but her anxiety gives me pause. I don’t think she’s as defiant as she initially appeared. Her disobedience masks something else. Something hidden. It will be my job to unearth the reason for her anxiety, and I suspect her scar is my first clue.
A waiter offers me champagne. I take two flutes from the tray and hand one to Caroline. She downs it in one big gulp, then hands me the empty flute. I feel a corner of my lips quirk up. I order a second and hand it to her. “Drink.”
She drinks champagne while music plays and guests mingle. I allow it because the flutes are small, and I reason it will help her relax. I lead us to our seats, a small table at the far end of the room adorned with a large vase of red roses.
“Sit.” She sort of wobbles when she takes her seat, but she obeys.
“Good girl,” I praise. “Just follow my lead.”
“You make it sound so easy,” she says through pursed lips. She sways a little.
Is she more of a lightweight than I expected?
“Then don’t follow my lead. Disobey and earn a punishment.”
Her eyes narrow.
I shrug. “You know what’s on the table.”
“Looks like a bottle of wine,” she quips, pretending I’m speaking literally. I suddenly realize that she’s slurring her words. Is she that sensitive that three small flutes of champagne have her tipsy?
I smirk, open the bottle, and pour her a small glass.
“My dear sir,” she says through thick lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to get me drunk.”
Drunk, no. Relaxed and in good humor? Yes.
“Just be sure you drink a glass of water in between each glass of champagne,” I tell her.
“Then looks like I need a six-pack of water,” she mutters.
“Are you serious? You drank that much already? Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”
She bites her lip and puts her fingers out, counting clumsily. “Maybe,” she mutters. “I can’t exactly remember.” She frowns. “I never drink much. I promise. I just didn’t know it would taste that good and help me feel so nice. Did I drink too much?”
I reach for her wine glass, because it’s time I cut her off, but someone comes to say hello, and after we’ve spoken, I see her polishing off yet another drink.
“Caroline!” I say in surprise.
She tips her head to the side, like a little curious puppy. Her hair falls in her eyes. So fetching and innocent. “What? You have your angry face on.”
I grunt. She’ll end up earning good spanking if she doesn’t stop.
“You shouldn’t have had so much to drink. You’ll give yourself a hangover.”
“What I’ll do is give myself courage,” she says. “Courage, said the lion!” She pitches off in a sing-song voice, “If I were king of the forr-ressst…”
I blink in surprise. She’s quoting something but I don’t know what.
Excellent. My new wife is accidentally drunk. I should have been more careful.
At that moment, Lev comes over to us. Caroline greets everyone readily. She’s damn near sociable. Lev whispers something in my ear about a rumor involving a party crasher. He says someone assumed it was her brother, or someone in his group, but there are more guests than we’ve accounted for.
The local governor is here, and other major power players. I don’t want to cause a scene, but this concerns me.
“I don’t fucking care what you need to do. Find out,” I tell him. We get the guest list and I look it over, but everything looks kosher, and there are too many people mingling for us to track down who’s here unexpectedly.
“What is it, husband?” she asks in her tipsy voice. “You seem… pler-plexed. No. Perplexed.”
I have to admit, I like the tipsy Caroline. She smiles more easily, cracks jokes, and isn’t anywhere near as self-conscious as before.
“I’m not happy with my wife, because she’s had too much to drink,” I tell her, raising a stern brow in her direction.
“Oh,” she says with mock repentance. “Will that earn me…” she drops her voice and bites her lip before she continues, her finger delicately tracing her collarbone. “A spanking?”
I swallow hard. “It does,” I tell her sternly. “A bad girl spanking. The kind that hurts.”
Sticking her lower lip out in mock repentance, she looks at me from beneath lowered lashes. “Over your knee, sir?”
Jesus, I like drunk Caroline. My dick’s already hard at the thought.
“Over my lap.” I brush her hair off her forehead and bring my mouth to her ear. “I’ll strip you first. Then your ass feels my palm tonight.”
She fairly purrs in my ear. I have absolutely no control over my wife, but I’m enjoying this, because she forces my hand. She gives me reason to exert my dominance over her and coquettishly bows to meet my demands.
“Let’s go,” she whispers in my ear. “I’ve been a very bad little girl who needs to be punished.” It surprises me that she’s flirting from this angle, but I’m not going to miss my opportunity.
Lev nods to me and gives me a thumbs up. He’s done a head count, and all is well. No one’s come here who shouldn’t. We’re safe.
“Back to the room,” I growl. Now that we’ve talked about what will happen, I need to have her alone. The clock is ticking on my need to consummate our marriage, and the more intimate we grow, the easier that will be.
“The groom has to cut the cake!” Someone shouts out. I squint at the crowd but don’t see who it is. I wave them off, but Caroline takes me by the hand.
“I’ve always wanted to do this!” she says. “And oh, Tomas, it’s chocolate.”
“Is that good?” I’m not a cake eater.
“I love chocolate. Oh my God, I need some.”
<
br /> I definitely need to get Caroline drunk more often.
They’re playing some kind of crazy song as we approach the table, and Caroline’s laughing her head off. I shake my head and make her wait while I cut a large wedge of cake, then hand her the knife to do the same. She cuts a large slice and swipes her finger through the chocolate center.
“Mmm,” she says. “Oh God this is the best.”
“Would you like a whole piece?” I ask.
She nods eagerly, so I hold the cake in front of her until she opens her mouth, then I shove a large portion in. She giggles, her mouth spraying crumbs everywhere, before she swallows the rest of the large slice. Laughing out loud, she picks up the piece she cut for me and shoves it in my mouth. Crumbs scatter and icing smears my upper lip, but it’s worth it to see her eyes light up and hear that musical giggle. The crowd laughs at our antics, but when I turn to take Caroline with me back to our table, or preferably my room, I see Lev raise his hand and signal to me. I look up at him. Four fingers are raised in the air, his thumb tucked beneath them.
It’s our sign for danger.
Fuck.
He’s telling me she’s in danger but doesn’t want to risk rousing suspicion from the crowd.
It’s then that I realize my guards are on the move, and several have weapons drawn. Lev reaches me first.
“Get her back to your room,” he says, “Go!”
A few people around us notice the tension and whispers begin hushing through the crowd. When he reaches me he comes straight to me. “One of our guards is missing,” he says.
“Impossible. We’ve just counted them not a minute ago.”
“Very possible,” he says. “Think about it. But we don’t want to be overheard.” He looks at me and shakes his head.
“Who?”
“Ilya.”
I don’t know each man by name, but I know Ilya is young and fairly new to the brotherhood.
I’m not going to fuck around with this. He’s right, I need to get her out of here, though I hate leaving my men unprotected.
“Time to go,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the exit. Immediately, a dozen uniformed guards flank my side, but it doesn’t bring me the security it once did. If one of our guards may have been killed, one of them could be an infiltrator.
I march her quickly to my room, my gun already drawn. I’m prepared. Whoever it is, I’m ready to defend my wife. I’m ready to fucking kill.
Is she the reason they’re even here?
I imagine I hear someone in the hall, and I swivel around with my gun drawn. Caroline shrieks and sobers when she sees me holding my gun, prepared to fight.
“You do what I tell you,” I say.
“You’ve mentioned that once or twice,” she quips. “It’s kind of like your motto.”
“I’ll give you motto,” I mutter, tugging her into the bedroom. “Go sit on the bed.”
“Oh, wow, this is weird,” she says, walking toward the bed but wobbling around the room as if we’re at sea.
“It’s what happens when you drink too much,” I tell her.
“Right,” she says, before she faceplants on the bed. “That’s better,” she mumbles into the blanket, still face down. “Am I getting my spanking now?”
I’ll give her a spanking alright. She might regret taking this so lightly.
Kneeling on the bed beside her, I unfasten the buttons on her beautiful dress. She shivers when I lift her out of the dress, one arm at a time.
“Cold?” I ask her, my mind elsewhere, on what is happening with my men.
“No,” she says. “You’re sexy.”
I place my gun on the bedside table, and she doesn’t even flinch this time but opens her arms. Welcoming me.
“Come here, husband,” she whispers. “Was I a good girl tonight?”
I shake my head. “No, detka. You were very, very naughty.”
“Oh, right,” she says with a pout. “And I earned a spanking?” Biting her lip, she’s absolutely adorable.
“Yes,” I say, my voice husky. “Now lie over my lap.”
She captures her lip between her teeth and sashays over to me, holding my gaze the whole time.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pat my lap.
“Naughty little girl,” I say, dragging this out. I like watching the way her eyes go half-lidded and she moans when I run my hand over the fullest curve of her ass. “Such a naughty little girl.”
Without warning, I slam my palm against her full, beautiful backside. She gasps and moans, and I’m already hard as a rock. I give her a second smack, then a third, before I start fingering her between strokes.
“Oh, God,” she moans, squirming over my knee. “Does alcohol turn you on?”
“It can,” I say, slapping the underside of her curvy ass.
“You’ve earned this,” I tell her. “Haven’t you?”
“I think so,” she groans. With slow, deliberate strokes of my palm, I take her just to the edge of climax, until she’s panting and squirming over my knee. I part her legs and gently stroke her swollen, slick folds.
“You need to come, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Mmmmm,” she moans, pushing herself on my hand.
“On the bed,” I tell her, lifting her off my knee and placing her on her back. “Stroke yourself,” I order. Her eyes are half-lidded when she parts her knees and gingerly places her fingers on her pussy. She bites her lip but doesn’t look away. I watch her stroke harder and faster, until she’s right on the cusp of release.
“Stop,” I order.
She freezes, whimpering, and meets my eyes. I climb on the bed and part her knees, inhaling the seductive scent of her arousal, before I lower my face to her bare pussy and lazily drag my tongue between her folds.
“Oh my God,” she moans, squirming beneath the onslaught of my tongue, but just as she’s on the cusp, I pull away.
“Jesus, Tomas,” she whispers. “Oh, God, that’s so good. Why did you stop?”
I hold her gaze before I order. “Beg.”
Swallowing, she nods. I’m an asshole for taking advantage of her. She’s on the verge of climax and plastered, but it’s broken down walls that nothing else would. But the look she gives me is completely sober.
“Please.”
I look at her in surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought she’d fight me.
I don’t want to make her ask twice. I need to do this. I need to do this now.
I roll on a condom while I brace myself above her and my conscience plagues me. She’ll be sober in the morning, and I don’t want her anger and regret.
I line the head of my cock at her entrance and hold her eyes with mine.
“Are you sure?”
Taking in a deep breath, she nods. “I’m sure.”
“Hands above your head,” I command quietly, holding her gaze as she moves to obey.
“Yes, sir.” She knows I need this now, her submission empowering me to claim her the way I need to.
“Good girl. Keep them there,” I order. “Do not move them.”
She only nods, swallowing and licking her lips. If eyes are a window to the soul, hers are a veritable well of passion I want to explore and study, until I know the meaning of the very tempo of her heart.
“You said you’ve done this before,” I say. I want to know everything. I need to know.
“Please don’t talk of that now,” she begs, her flirty eyes so serious something in me hurts for her. My natural instinct to protect rises.
“I won’t,” I promise, because she needs to know she can trust me. But I’ll also give her honesty, so I amend, “For now.”
I bend down to her and take her mouth with mine, tasting the sweet, tangy champagne, while I trap her wrists with my left hand and keep them pinned above her head. I move my mouth above hers, swallowing her gasp as I glide into her. Her whole body tenses beneath me and she whimpers, but I push through. I’m not hurting her. She feels so damn tight and perfect
wrapped around me I need to hold myself back.
“Relax,” I tell her.
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I won’t hurt you.” Not this way, anyway, not when she’s lying beneath me, vulnerable and trembling.
She shakes her head, still pinned beneath me, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you promise?”
I nod once. “I promise.”
And it’s all she needs. Sighing, she sinks into this, melting into my touch, welcoming the rocking of my hips and the friction I build with firm, steady strokes.
“Mmm,” she groans, her eyes fluttering, hips swaying, breath growing ragged and eager. My own pleasure is building to a crescendo, and when she throws her head back in utter bliss, her sweet moans of pleasure echoing in the room, I chase my own bliss right behind her.
It’s finished.
She’s mine.
For one brief moment, I rest my forehead on hers. Our breath mingles, our bodies clasped in a lovers’ irrevocable bond. She’s my wife, now, fully.
Too soon, I roll over off of her and pull her onto my chest. The room is still save our steady breath, and I run my hand through her hair once, twice, three times. It’s soft, silky, fragrant, this moment so intimate I want to savor it. I’m not a sentimental man, but I know this moment is sacred.
It isn’t until I realize my chest is wet that I notice she’s crying.
“Caroline!” I say in surprise. “What is it? Are you okay?”
Christ, I hurt her. Did she lie to me? Was she a virgin?
She’s trying hard to keep back her tears, but she can’t seem to help it.
I wrap my arms around her and don’t say anything for a minute, but it kills me not to demand the truth. My patience quickly evaporates, though. I have to know. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head and cries harder.
“I hate it,” she says. This woman is an enigma.
I take in a deep breath to give me much-needed patience.
“Tell me,” I press. “What do you hate? You need to give me the truth.”
She surprises me by doing just that, as if being wholly bared to me makes it easier to be honest.
“My brother’s friend,” she whispers. “The one who sent someone to take a picture? I hate sex because of him. Hate it. He… took advantage of me.”
