Betrothed to the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Tell me what you want, devochka,” he rasps. I feel his breath against my skin as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of my center. He plucks and tugs on my hardened nipple at the same time, causing me to shiver.

  “You,” I whisper as my face heats with embarrassment.

  “What do you want from me?” he chuckles as he pulls out of my center and smears some of my excitement on my clit. I feel his fingers start to gently touch me there, it feels so good. His fingers glide over my clit in a whispered touch, leaving me wanting, no craving so much more.

  “Please, Fei,” I beg.

  His hand leaves my breast. My eyes flutter closed, and I pant as he continues to gently caress my nub. His fingertips move down to graze my slit, before they return to my clit, over and over again. I want more, but this glorious torture I could endure for as long as he wishes, it is almost relaxing.

  I shiver in his arms, allowing him to play with me however he wishes. Lifting one of my arms, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck. He gently pinches my clit, causing me to moan.

  “Bend over and brace your hands on the edge of the bed, devochka,” he almost growls in my ear.

  I stand frozen, unsure of what to do and what he’s going to do to me. I let out a yelp when I feel a stinging sensation on my ass as a loud slap fills the room. “Bend over,” he growls. Closing my eyes tightly, I nervously do as he’s instructed.

  I hear a whooshing sound, and then I feel the head of his dick pressed against my entrance from behind. His hands wrap around my hips as he slowly sinks inside of me, stretching me. It feels so different in this position that it almost hurts. I hold my breath, pinching my eyes closed and waiting for whatever he’s going to do.

  Timofei slowly slides out of me and then sinks back inside with a long moan. I expected something fast and hard, but it’s the exact opposite. The third time he sinks completely inside of me, I let out a long groan as I fist the comforter in my hands.

  “Your ass is so fucking sexy with my handprint on it,” he murmurs. He starts to thrust a little faster and harder, causing my breath to hitch with each stroke.

  I can feel myself climbing, but I know that I won’t find my release. It’s on the edge, but without more, I won’t be able to come. I want it, no I need it. My body is curled up, wound so tightly that I feel like if I don’t come I’ll be in excruciating pain for the entire flight to Paris.

  As if he knows exactly what I need, one of Timofei’s hands slips from my hip to my clit and he starts to stroke me. “Oh, god, Fei. I’m so close,” I whimper. When he pinches my clit, my head flies back, and I come on a cry.

  “Fuck, yes, squeeze my cock, devochka,” he roars as he stills inside of me. I feel his release fill me in quick spurts as he twitches inside of me.

  I’m completely limp as he continues to slowly glide in and out of me, my cheek resting on the mattress. I’m only standing because he’s holding onto my hips and keeping me still to use for his pleasure. I feel the loss of him when he completely pulls out, and it makes me frown. I realize that just him being inside of me makes me feel—whole.

  “We leave in a little over and hour, Devvy. You should clean up and pack your shit,” he murmurs as I hear rustling behind me, signaling that he’s probably just pulled his pants back up. He doesn’t attempt to even touch me as I stand on shaky legs and turn to face him.

  He’s back to looking at his phone, and it leaves me feeling used. I hate it. My sister warned me that this would be my fate, as was hers. A warm body to use when they decide they want it from you. I had hoped, after he was so wonderful last night, that Timofei would be different.

  Turning away from him, I quickly make my way to the bathroom, locking myself inside to clean up and then pack up my makeup and toiletries. I try not to cry. I try really, really hard not to, but I fail. Tears sting my eyes as I finish up packing.

  Once my bathroom stuff is handled, I try to blot my eyes dry so that they don’t get puffy. While I’m successful with that, I can’t hide the fact that they’re bloodshot and I’ve definitely been crying.

  I let out a puff of air and gather my things as I open the door. Thankfully, I’m alone in the bedroom. Spotting my panties on the floor, I hurry over to them and pull them back on before I finish putting my things in my large suitcase.

  I stand and yank the handle out before I begin to walk into the living area of our suite, just in time to see Timofei handing my dress over to someone at the door. I can’t see who it is, and I’m frozen solid to my spot as the exchange takes place. He’s giving my dress away, even after I said I wanted to keep it and why. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from crying and take a few deep breaths.

  Timofei turns to face me and gives me a grin as he closes the distance between us. “We leave in just a few minutes. I went ahead and ordered room service while you were in the bathroom. I didn’t know what you’d want, but I ordered a turkey sandwich and a bowl of fruit,” he shrugs.

  “We just ate,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

  “Yes, well, I don’t know when they’ll feed us again. The plane is private chartered, and I didn’t get a chance to go over the menu with the company,” he explains.

  “Okay,” I nod as I make my way over to the small table and chairs where the food cart is waiting.

  I sit down, and we eat in silence. I choke down half of my sandwich and my entire fruit cup before Timofei announces that it’s time to leave for the airport. I nod and walk over to my suitcase, but he’s already got it in hand with a grin tipping his lips, as if he hasn’t just given my wedding gown away; as if he doesn’t care how important it was to me.

  With a heavy sigh, I follow behind him. I let myself hope, and this is all my fault—feeling disappointed and upset. If I would have just listened to my sisters advice and not allowed myself to have hopes and dreams with this man, even if they only lasted for a day, then I wouldn’t be as sad as I currently am—as heartbroken as I am.

  DEVYN IS QUIET THE entire ride to the airport and all through takeoff. The flight attendant I hired offers her some champagne, but she declines. My eyebrows pull together, perplexed by her silence. She seemed fine just a few hours ago, and I don’t understand what she could be upset about.

  I had a currier pick up her dress and deliver it to the front desk of my building, where it will stay until we arrive back home, safe and sound for her to use later. I like that she wants to use it for our children, that she seems to have accepted the fact that we’ll be having one sooner rather than later.

  “Is there anything you need, sir?” the flight attendant asks after an hour in the air.

  She’s bent over and I have a clear view of her cleavage. She bats her eyelashes and pouts her brightly red painted lips in an obvious invitation. It’s an invitation I would have taken a few months ago with zero hesitation.

  The moment I kissed Devyn at our engagement party, everything changed. There’s something about her, something that draws me to her, and something that calls to me to protect her and not hurt her. She’s fragile, and the last thing I ever want is to see her cry because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.

  I refuse to turn into my father.

  I want to do better.

  I want to be better.

  “Vodka,” I grunt and take ahold of Devyn’s hand, lacing her fingers with mine. She jumps at my touch, and I turn away from the flight attendant to give my wife my attention.

  A few minutes later, a cold vodka is handed to me. I take a sip before I decide to end this silence shit between us. “What’s your problem?” I bark, causing her to jump again.

  “Nothing,” she lies as her eyes look up at my face, focusing somewhere around my nose instead of my eyes.

  “I should spank your ass right here for lying to me,” I grunt, watching her eyes widen and her mouth gape slightly.

  Leaning forward, I slip my tongue inside of her mouth, tasting her as I grip the back of her neck firmly. She moans as she tries to push closer to
ward me, and my fingers flex against her neck as I pull away from her, nipping her bottom lip before releasing her and sitting back in my chair.

  “Tell me what’s the matter, Devvy,” I murmur, my head turned to the side and my eyes searching her face. Her nose scrunches up and I see tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill. She quickly turns her head to look out of the window before they fall.

  I wait for her. I won’t be letting this go, and she can’t hide from me anywhere. Not for at least seven hours. I’m not a patient man, but I’ll wait for her to tell me what’s bothering her. I hear her suck in a ragged breath before she exhales and then finally speaks. It’s just above a whisper.

  “You gave my dress away. I’ll get over it and be fine.”

  I can’t help myself, I throw my head back in laughter. The silly woman. Her head snaps around at the sound of my laugh, and her eyes narrow as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m glad that you find that funny. My hurt feelings make you laugh, great,” she snarls.

  Reaching for her hand, I grip her fingers with mine. She tries to pull away from me, and I smile at her, which causes her to become more irritated with me. I like the fire she’s throwing my way. I’d rather have her unfiltered attitude then the quiet, blank girl that was sitting next to me just a few moments ago.

  “You think I am so callous that I gave your dress away after you asked me not to?” I ask. She doesn’t speak, her eyes staying narrowed to small slits. “You think after you told me and I couldn’t help but fuck you, excited because you were thinking about our children. Ecstatic at the fact that you wanted to pass something from our wedding day off to them. You think that I would just throw your gown away?” I ask on a growl.

  “What?” she gasps.

  “You heard me,” I grunt as her body completely relaxes and her eyes widen in disbelief. “I had your dress couriered to my apartment, where it will wait until we arrive home, and then you can hang it up in your closet until our baby’s christening.”

  “Fei,” she whispers as her mouth opens in a gorgeous O shape.

  I lift my free hand and trace her full lips with my thumb before I slip it between her lips. “Suck, devochka,” I demand, my voice husky.

  Her tongue touches the pad of my thumb before she sucks, her eyes on mine. I imagine it’s my cock she’s sucking on instead of my thumb, her eyes glassy, her full lips wrapped around me, her on her knees, taking what I give her without complaint. Removing my thumb, I paint her lips with her own saliva before I lean over and kiss her mouth, licking her taste from them.

  “I don’t know what you think about me, but trust me, devochka, I will not purposely hurt you. Not like that,” I murmur against her lips. I move back and she grins slightly with a nod.

  “I… I saw you giving it to someone. My sister, she told me what to expect, and I’m just… confused,” she whispers. I frown, wondering what in the fuck her sister said to her about me, about what to expect. I’ve never even met the suka.

  “Your sister doesn’t know me. Whatever she told you, you need to erase from your mind,” I grunt.

  “She married one of my father’s men. She was just trying to help me,” she murmurs as her teeth rake across her bottom lip.

  I snort. “Devyn, I am not one of your father’s men. I’m not even one of my father’s men, as much as he would like me to believe it to be true. I’m Timofei Vetrov, and what we have when we’re alone in our bedroom, in our household, it is ours and nobody else’s. Nobody will ever know what happens behind our closed doors, devochka,” I explain, cupping her cheek with my palm.

  “They won’t?” she asks on a breath.

  “Nyet, Devvy. You’re devochka moya—mine. To the world, I’m Timofei Vetrov; but to you, I’m your Fei. You’re Devyn Vetrova; but to me, you’re Devvy. That is ours, and no matter what that looks like, nobody will see that side of us. To the world, I have to be heartless, strong, and possibly cruel, but I will try my damnedest not to let that leak into our lives, into our marriage, devochka,” I explain. She nods as her eyes search mine.

  “I think my sister’s husband lets the outside world leak,” she whispers.

  “A lot of men in our line of work do, devochka. Luckily, the men you met at brunch, they don’t. I’ve observed them and the way they are. I have good people to look up to.”

  Her mouth curves up into a small smile, and it takes my breath away—her beauty, and her obvious trust in me. I vow not to let her down, to be the best that I can be for her, and to keep her safe. The latter may be my toughest challenge of all, but I’ll try to shield her from horrors of life, to keep her innocent and pure, soft and sweet.

  “Now sleep,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead as I settle back in my chair.

  She sits back in hers, and it doesn’t take long before her head is on my shoulder and her soft breathing fills my ears. She sleeps the rest of the flight, and I’m glad for it. It gives me time to think about my plan going forward. It gives me time to think about, my father and taking over his position as Pakhan of Brighton Beach.

  “Wake up,” Timofei’s voice murmurs against my ear. My eyes flutter open as I look around. I glance out of the window and realize that the plane isn’t moving. We’ve landed, and I slept through the entire thing. “Come,” he grunts as he stands in the center aisle.

  I take his offered hand as I stand. He squeezes my fingers as he gently tugs me after him. I carefully walk down the narrow steps of the plane onto the tarmac and am surprised that it’s cool and the sun is just rising.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Almost six in the morning,” Timofei chuckles. “We’ll go to the hotel and you can rest all day. I’m sure you’re still exhausted from the wedding. We’ll start our sightseeing tomorrow, when your jetlag is better,” he states, moving his hand to the small of my back while he walks us toward a fancy looking car.

  Once I’m inside of the vehicle, we wait for a few moments as our luggage is loaded. Then a driver asks Timofei something in French. To my surprise, he answers him back—in French.

  “We’re staying on the Champs-Elysees, which you’ll enjoy. It’s beautiful, and we’ll be near most of the tourist things you’ll want to see,” he explains. I nod as my eyes drift to the window at his side.

  We drive quickly through the city, and my eyes try to take everything in, but I can’t. Timofei wraps his hand around my upper thigh, just underneath the hem of my dress. I’m unable to hide my goosebumps that appear on my flesh at his simple touch. His fingers gently stroke the inside of my thigh as the driver navigates through the crowded city traffic.

  “There’s the Arc de Triomphe,” he says, pointing off into the distance at a gigantic arched building. “We have reservations tomorrow night to dine in the Eiffel Tower, and then we’ll catch a show at the Moulin Rouge.”

  “Seriously?” I breathe in shock and awe. Timofei grins and winks as he squeezes my leg and then pulls his phone out.

  He starts punching buttons, and I decide to turn from him to look at the city. We’re getting deeper into the heart of Paris, and I can’t contain my excitement. I love it all. It’s so green and beautiful; the trees are full, and everything looks brighter than in New York. It’s probably just my imagination, but it all feels almost magical.

  The driver stops in front of our hotel, and I’m speechless at its grandeur. Timofei squeezes my leg before he slides out and waits for me, his hand palm up. I slip my hand in his waiting palm and try to slide out of the car as gracefully as possible.

  Timofei releases me and walks over to the driver, shaking his hand as he talks to him. Then he’s back at my side as a bell boy hurries toward us.

  I listen as Timofei speaks to him in beautiful French before he places his hand at the small of my back and applies pressure to push me forward. I’m so completely mesmerized by the fact that he can speak French that I move my feet without thinking, my head turned and my eyes shamelessly focused on his profile.

  I let out a sigh as h
e continues in French to the front desk clerk, giving her a sexy merci as he takes the key from her and then walks us over to the elevator.

  Once we’re inside, I realize I didn’t even look at the lobby. I was too busy lusting, listening, and being completely enamored with my new husband.

  “I have a meeting in an hour,” he announces as he steps off of the elevator and walks to our room.

  I follow closely behind him and am surprised to see our luggage has already been dropped off before I respond. “You’re leaving?”

  He nods once, “Yeah, it shouldn’t take too long. Maybe a couple hours. You go ahead and get some sleep. If you’re hungry, order some room service,” he murmurs. “I’ll call up to the room if I’m going to be too late.”

  I can’t help my surprise, my complete and utter shock that he’s leaving me here alone. We’ve just arrived and there’s some sort of unexplained meeting?

  If he realizes my shock, he doesn’t respond to it as he starts to rifle through his bag, grabbing his toiletries before walking toward the bathroom.

  “Oh, unpack my bags while I’m gone. I don’t want my suits to get wrinkled, yeah?” he calls out before he shuts the door.

  The sound of the door closing makes me jerk my head, taking me out of my stupor. It makes me wonder if what he said in the plane on the way over was all bullshit.

  Ignoring his luggage, I walk over to the all glass French doors and open them before stepping out onto the balcony.

  I can see the Arc de Triomphe, and a tree lined street that looks like it would be awesome to take a walk through. Though there aren’t hundreds of people walking around, there are a few dozen. They all look like they’re walking with purpose, probably to work.

  I hate the mixed signals Timofei gives me. Even more, I hate that it’s not really my place to question anything he does or says. He may think that most of my sister’s advice was crap, but this is one piece she gave me that I already knew just from being my father’s daughter. You never question a man, his schedule, or his demands—not ever. What he says is law. Whether you like it or not.