by Alexa Riley
When I’m pulled into Sasha’s arms some time later, a blessed, comfortable blackness is already creeping in to claim me. “I love you, Sasha,” I murmur, turning my face into his mighty chest. “I love you so much that I have to fight until we get our life exactly right.”
“I love you more than should be humanly possible, Anya.” He stands and lays a lingering kiss on my forehead. “But do not fight me, for we are already exactly right.”
Ignoring my sense of apprehension, I drift into a deep sleep as he carries me to the house. Our house.
Chapter Eight
Sasha
What is the level above obsession?
Whatever its name, that is my affliction.
Power and need pump through my veins as I watch Anya sleep, her slight body swallowed up by our enormous bed. I have not bothered to dress for two reasons. One, I would need to stop staring at my beauty in order to do so. Two, I am enjoying the sight of her virgin blood on my cock far too much. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I realize I haven’t taken a deep breath in a full minute, and inhale through my nose, easing the pressure on my lungs. Already my seed is taking root inside her. I am not God and yet this is something I can sense. She glows among the bedsheets, her little pink nipples beckoning me closer. Perhaps I will wake her with my tongue between her legs. Yes. When I told Anya her pain would be rewarded, there was no greater truth. I have the stamina of two bulls and an eager tongue. When I drown the angel in pleasure, drape her in silk and feed her tonight, she will cease this talk of fighting and battles.
We will only be interrupted a short while by the priest, who waits downstairs in the living room to pronounce us man and wife. After that, she will be made to forget her arguments with me and accept the happiness I’m driven to provide her. And I can provide for her every need. For a very long time. My profession might be considered unpleasant to some, but being the best at what I do made it very lucrative. Which is why the priest doesn’t mind waiting for Anya to wake from her nap. I have paid him very well.
Only the promise that Anya will be my wife tonight forces me to tear my gaze off her sleeping form and take a shower. When I emerge from the en - suite bathroom, Anya rouses among the sheets, blinking at me sleepily. “Hi.” Her eyes are drawn to my stiff cock, which I haven’t bothered covering with a towel. “Wow,” she breathes. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
Fuck, her mouth looks soft. All of her appears so soft. Touchable. “Trust me, I would get you used to it now, but we have a guest waiting downstairs.”
“We do?” She sucks in a breath. “Is it m - my father?”
“Nyet.” My blood pressure goes haywire for a moment at the reminder that another male has a claim to her. Even fatherhood is unacceptable. Mine. Mine. “A priest. Within the hour, you will be Anya Mikhailov.”
“Oh, really?” Her spine straightens. “I don’t remember you asking me to marry you.”
My muscles threaten to snap. “You would allow me to breed you on the back lawn — fill you with my child — but you will not take my last name?”
A tense standoff begins between us, but I’m almost brought to my knees when her lower lip trembles and her body sags. “I know we don’t exactly have a conventional relationship, but you could at least give me a nice proposal.”
“I will try, angel. I will try to do this,” I say without hesitation, intensity resonating in my throat. “Please, do not cry. I am only impatient to call you mine. In every sense.”
She uses the sheet to wipe her damp cheeks. “Cut me some slack, all right? I didn’t even know you were into me until this morning.”
“Into you? Your name is tattooed on my body once for every year you’ve been alive.”
“You’re going to run out of room by the time I’m forty.”
“And that will be my honor.” I kneel on the bed and walk toward Anya, cupping her face in my hands. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved or lusted for. The only person I’ve ever called friend.” I brush my thumbs across her eyebrows. “Become my wife. Give me a far richer life than I deserve.”
With a gusty sigh, she tucks her face into the crook of my neck. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Relief is a cool balm inside my chest. “That was good, yes?”
Her smile blooms against my skin. “Da. Very good.” When she pulls back, there’s a pink flush on her cheeks. I suspect it has something to do with my hard dick prodding her between the legs, looking for its home. “Should we go get married?”
I nod and allow the anticipation to take hold once more. “The suitcase with your clothing is in the closet. You might want to shower before facing a man of God. You look as if you’ve been plowed by an uptight Russian.”
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands. On her way to the bathroom, she sends me a saucy wink over her shoulder. “I have.”
My entire being aches with love as I watch her vanish behind the closed door.
Note to self: sometimes it’s easier to ask for things. Asking gets me winked at by Anya.
This gives me much to consider.
* * *
Anya
Oh snap.
I almost fall down the stairs when I see Sasha waiting for me, a young priest at his elbow. My Russian is wearing a tight white dress shirt and black pants. Through the material of his shirt, I can see the outline of his tattoos. They creep out through the cuffs onto his hands, his knuckles. Grow through the collar onto his neck. And the expression on his face…
He likes me in the white nightie. He just doesn’t want me in it right this second.
See, I didn’t get the dress code memo. Nor have I ever had to follow a dress code.
Sasha and I spend most of our time at home, since my father’s business dealings put my life in danger. So I don’t go beyond casual very often. Heck, I’m usually in yoga pants or a bathing suit, while Sasha lives in his signature overcoat. Maybe I should have realized a wedding meant putting on a dress, but hey, this is taking place in our living room. As soon as the priest leaves, I have a feeling we’re heading back to bed, anyway. At least I hope so. Ever since I woke up to find him devouring me with hot, gray eyes, my body has been humming. Wanting him.
Did I wear it thanks to some subconscious wishful thinking?
When the priest averts his eyes and Sasha’s jaw tightens, I look down and notice the hem brushes high on my thighs, just beneath my underwear. Oh boy. It’s even shorter than I realized. “Should I go get a robe, or — ”
“Nyet,” Sasha says, visibly trying to keep his cool. “We do this now.”
Electricity straightens my spine. Sasha has always been high - handed with me, but I was a child. Not his soon - to - be wife. Tomorrow is orientation at college and I’m going to be there. That’s the war I’m prepared to fight. But apparently there are going to be several little battles along the way to making him a fair husband. To that end, Sasha dictating every detail of our wedding day really isn’t working for me.
Being indignant toward Sasha while wanting him this bad?
The combination makes me a powder keg.
I face Sasha and smile. When he bares his teeth in response, I notice the hard outline of his erection, pushing behind the fly of his trousers. I’m not sure if the priest has noticed, too, or if he’s still scandalized by my paper - thin nightie, but he’s furiously clearing his throat, the Bible trembling in his hand. I can’t take my attention off Sasha, though, and I grow increasingly wet between my thighs as his gaze slides down to my nipples, stiffening them. After years of trying to tempt Sasha to no avail, the rush of power is heady. Hot and overwhelming.
“We are here to celebrate the joining of two hearts…” begins the priest. His shaky delivery fades into the background almost immediately, though. I’m pretty sure Sasha isn’t hearing a single word, either, because he’s running a hand over his open mouth, his chest starting to heave. Violently. And that thick rod behind his zipper is so large and st
iff now, his agony is palpable.
So much moisture has gathered between my thighs, it’s soaking the edges of my panties. I can’t stand here for long, this close, without touching him. Nor do I want to. Sasha planned my veritable abduction, our wedding, thinks he’s going to decide my future. But right now, the control seems to be in my hands. When I’ve had so little throughout my life. I can’t stop myself from embracing it.
Ignoring the hitch in the priest’s voice, I sidle closer to Sasha. Closer and closer, until I’m cradling his hard - on with my belly. His eyes glitter dangerously as I lift up on my toes, letting me mouth hover beside his ear. “You’re so hot. Have I ever told you that?”
A harsh sound comes from his throat. “If you did, I would recall.”
There’s an ever - so - slight pout to his hard mouth, and oh my God, it makes me so hot. I can fix his pout. I can be what this incredible man needs. I always have been, without knowing it.
“You are. So, so hot.”
He swallows loudly. “I do not mind you thinking so.”
Love him. Love him. “I almost fell down the stairs, your body looks so insanely sexy in that tight shirt,” I whisper. “I’d like to rip it off and lick every one of your tattoos.”
His hands fly to my hips, yanking me closer with a growl. The sudden movement causes the priest to stop talking, but without taking his attention off me, Sasha rasps at him, “Keep going. Do not stop again until she is my wife.”
The priest gives a stilted nod and the ceremony continues. Only now, Sasha is grinding me up and down on his erection, sweat forming on his upper lip. Shouldn’t I be mortified? Or put a stop to this? There is a priest less than two feet away. Too bad there’s excitement and need wrapping around me, making me want to push more. To make this stoic Russian lose his shit. I might adore him with my very soul, but I still want to ruin the carefully laid plans he made without consulting me. Maybe I really do have a hot, Russian temper.
With anticipation turning my blood to quicksilver, I press my mouth to Sasha’s ear and let my tongue trace his lobe. Using my body to block the priest’s view, I stroke that heavy, hungry part of him through his pants. “Do you have more cum for me, Daddy?”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams what happens next. My feet leave the ground, and with a squeal still trapped in my throat, I find myself face down on the leather couch, a muscle - bound Russian unzipping his pants behind me.
“Sasha — ”
My exclamation is cut off when Sasha snakes an arm beneath my hips, jerking me up onto my knees and flipping the nightgown hem up to reveal my backside. In front of me, the priest stands gaping, eyes wide as cylinders. Sasha rips my panties down my legs and enters me with a hissed curse, sending the priest stumbling back a step.
“Take your eyes off what’s mine and turn around, priest,” Sasha growls, taking his first savage thrust into my body. “And keep going.”
* * *
Sasha
“The little angel finally understands her power, does she?”
Anya whimpers. “Yes. Yes.”
Do you have more cum for me, Daddy?
Those echoing words have me dropping forward so I can sink my teeth into her shoulder while I drive deep, deep, deep. Fuck. I can see her cunt in my mind’s eye. Hairless, pink lips guarding the tightest fuck hole on the planet. Mine. I’ve got to guard it against predators. Already I’ll spend my life discouraging men who are attracted by her beauty, her sweetness and intelligence. If word got out that her cunt is almost too small to take a man, there would be a riot on our doorstep. Every man would want to steal what’s mine.
Just another reason I must put my child in her womb. Now. I need it to be known by all that the angel is claimed. Provided for. That another man owns the place between her thighs. When she appeared on the staircase in that tease of white fabric, my pulse began rapping against the inside of my skull. Fuck her. Breed her. The impulse only grows louder, more persistent, every second she’s mine. It will never end. Never. My obsession is permanent.
The squelching sounds of my cock battering her pussy fill the room, almost drowning out the priest as he speeds through the ceremony. This is not how I pictured our wedding ceremony, but when she gripped my pulsing dick and asked for cum in that innocent voice, animal instinct took over. Even now, my love for Anya is demanding I marry her in the manner she deserves. But I’m addicted to her. Every pump of my cock is like entering heaven, her taut ass cheeks vibrating with each thrust against my belly.
“You’re going to be like fucking a virgin every time, aren’t you?” I burrow my mouth in her hair, breathing her scent, wishing I could bathe in it. In her. “Except you’re a horny little virgin who likes to challenge her man. Do you like where it gets you?”
“I l - like you inside me,” she murmurs brokenly. “It feels so good.”
“Nyet, Anya. You love it.” I wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze, noting when her pussy responds in kind. “None of this ‘like’ bullshit.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Her back arches, lifting her ass. “I love it.”
A growl of triumph passes my lips. Need is a monster inside me, and there’s only one name, one person who can soothe it. Anya. Anya. My cock pounds in her soft flesh, demanding ownership. And she gives it, spreading her legs as wide as the couch will allow. Good, little girl. Her high, pointed tits have bounced free of the white nightgown and jiggle on either side of her, slender fingers clutching at the couch cushions. Shit. How many nights did I stroke off to the image of fucking Anya doggy - style? Still didn’t know she’d be this sweet, this tight, this everything. My everything.
Except my wife. Not yet.
“Read faster, priest,” I grit out, checking to make sure his back is still turned. It would be a pity to murder a man of God. “Make her my wife while I make her a mother.”
The other man’s pitch increases, along with his speed. Slapping flesh mingles with Anya’s whimpers, scripture. My own grunts of desperation join the chorus as I near my own end. Sin swims through the room, colliding with salvation. But I’m only concerned with giving that salvation to Anya, so I release her throat to reach between our bodies, rubbing the pad of my middle finger on her clit.
“Oh!” she cries out, her cunt spasming around me. “Yes, please.”
“Repeat after me,” breathes the priest. “I, Sasha Mikhailov, take you, Anya Orlov, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Rolling her clit gentle between my thumb and middle finger, I groan the words in her ear, trying to stave off the hot cum that rises in my flesh. “Now you, Anya.”
“I, Anya Orlov, take y - you, Sasha Mikhailov…oh God…to be m - my husband…”
That’s it. Anya calling me her husband sends release rippling through me, robbing me of sight, of every vestige of control. Needing to get as close to her as possible, I drop my weight on her trembling body, pinning her to the couch and continuing to stroke her delicate clit as I pump, pump, pump my seed into her dripping wet cunt. “Finish the vows, little angel,” I growl. “Take Daddy as your husband.”
“…my partner in life and m - my one true love. Sasha. Please. I - I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Anya screams the final words and begins quaking with a full - body orgasm, bucking beneath me, just before the priest interjects with, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
A roar sounds in my head. One of triumph. Possession.
My middle finger is relentless on her nub of swollen flesh, the beast inside me savoring the way her ass squirms, her legs kicking out as if trying to unseat me. Not in this lifetime. When she’s finished whining and struggling, nothing but a limp pile of limbs on the couch, I flip my beloved wife over on the couch, tugging the nightgown back down to hide her pussy. She watches me through drowsy eyes, attempting to
catch her breath, bite marks decorating her bottom lip. Zipping my pants back up, I reach into my pocket and retrieve two gold bands, sliding one onto each of our fingers. “Mine,” I say, through my teeth.
“Yours,” the angel whispers back, her newly decorated hand dropping to her side, the gold winking up at me.
Still, the beat drums in my head. Claim. Claim. “Priest, come here.”
A few feet away, the man begins to turn and stops. “A - are you sure?”
“Come.” I stand to join the hesitant man, my heart pounding over the streaks of my semen trailing down her beautiful legs. “Say a blessing over my wife’s belly while she’s full of my fresh seed. Ask Him to make her fertile.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Mikhailov.”
Opening his Bible back up with unsteady hands, the priests recites a short passage. My blood rushes along with the words, images of Anya holding our child filling me with such happiness, I can’t stop myself from joining her on the couch when the priest departs. Trapping her in my arms and whispering over and over in her hair that I’ll never, ever let her go.
I watch her as she dozes off, her head tucked against my bicep, those gorgeous lips slightly parted. Love makes me heavy, makes me light. Everything in between.
Best of all, it appears Anya has forgotten all about her other plans. College. Orientation. Strangers. A life away from me. She must realize by now she belongs here. Where I can cherish and protect her. Give her everything.
In the middle of the night, though, when I carry her to bed, I notice her watching me in silent contemplation. And I wonder if I am underestimating the angel. But as we slip into bed, she sighs my name and opens her thighs for me…and I’m aware of nothing but her love.
