by Renee Rose
She’s completely naked and right beside me.
Every part of me wants to roll her over and fuck her until the bed breaks, but somehow I manage to keep a leash on my lust.
I settle instead for spooning my glorious, naughty bratva princess and cupping her dripping wet pussy possessively.
“This pussy is mine,” I growl into her ear, even though she’s mostly asleep. I stroke her swollen, slick sex. “It gets wet for me, doesn’t it? Only for me.”
Her breath catches a bit, and she stirs, pushing her backside against my straining cock.
“I’m the only man who will ever know how fucking sweet it is. How it feels when you’re swollen and needy. How it tastes when you’re trembling against my mouth.”
She lets out a whimper-sigh.
“You were a good girl to save yourself for me.”
Her breathing stops.
After a moment of holding it, she rolls over to face me, her hands finding my chest in the darkness. “How did you know?”
I gather her against my body, ignoring the powerful need to consummate our marriage. To pound between those milky thighs until she screams herself hoarse. “Am I right?”
She whimpers and tucks her face into my shoulder after a few moments, her breathing evens out again, and I realize she’s fallen back to sleep.
It’s answer enough. My bride is innocent.
Not for long, though.
I will pop that cherry before we return to Chicago.
Chapter 10
Sasha
I wake naked in a room in Chateau Marmont with Maxim’s longer body spooned behind mine, his hand palming my breast, his cock twitching against my ass.
Gospodi.
My face heats as the memories from last night flood in. How much of my true self I revealed—my hurt over his rejection. My virginity.
Ack!
Was that why he didn’t have sex with me last night? Was he being a gentleman?
I realize with a squirmy feeling in my belly that I think that was exactly it.
And I don’t like to think of Maxim as a gentleman. I want to keep believing he’s the bad guy.
It makes things much easier.
Navigating a new forced marriage to a guy I actually want? A guy whose love I crave like my next breath?
That’s a different story. One I could slip into so easily.
I don’t want to become that needy, pathetic, desperate-for-attention teenager again. I fucking hate her.
So I flip the script. I can’t wait in this bed, trembling like a flower to feel what it’s like to have my virginity plucked by the husband my father forced on me. I’m not going to be the medieval princess! I turn in bed, pushing Maxim to his back with a hand on his inked chest.
His eyes snap open and lock onto mine, curiosity glinting there.
I’m used to him making the first move. He’s the aggressor. I dodge and retreat. So for one second, out of habit, I wait for his reaction. I expect him to say or do something. To tell me to stop or go on. But his lids droop as he waits, and just like that, all the power flows to me.
To keep it, I have to pretend he’s someone else—one of the college guys I plucked from a bar or one of my father’s dumber soldiers. Some guy who lets me call all the shots. I trail my fingernail down his chest as I straddle him. I flick his nipple with my fingernail until it peaks while I crawl backward, taking the sheets with me.
His cock springs up in greeting. I grasp the base firmly and lower my mouth, watching his eyes darken. I flick the head of his cock with the tip of my tongue—just a tease.
A muscle ticks near Maxim’s nose—like the start of a snarl, but then it quickly smooths. The sight of it makes my heart beat faster.
It’s not Maxim. It’s some boy-toy. Someone easy to play.
I squeeze the base of his dick and lick all around his mushroom head. A drop of pre-cum leaks from his slit, and I lick it off. I sense his impatience. He doesn’t like the tease. Or maybe he does—I can’t tell. Maybe I’m just nervous. But I stop delaying and engulf as much of his cock as I can get into my mouth all at once.
He groans, fisting the sheets by his side.
Encouraged, I bob my head up and down over his straining member, listening to his breath grow ragged.
“That’s it, sugar,” he rumbles, gripping the back of my head and encouraging me to take him deeper.
He’s back in command, but I keep showing off, suddenly rather desperate to show him I know what I’m doing. I give him my very best blow-job—and sucking men off is a skill I’ve developed well.
I massage his balls and his prostate with one hand while the other fist glides up and down over his cock to make up for the length I can’t fit in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around, I suck hard. I alternate quick, short bobs over the head with taking him long and deep, into the pocket of my cheek and sometimes into the back of my throat.
His thighs flex beneath me, his groans of my name grow more frequent. His fist tangles in my hair, pulling at my scalp.
It’s disrespectful—no man’s ever done it to me before, and I half-hate it. But I half-love it, too. It’s so Maxim—everything he is. Aggressive, bossy, confident. I’m turned on by it—more turned on than I’ve ever been giving a man pleasure before. Way more.
I work his cock like I want to please. I don’t know if I’m trying to prove something or if I really do need to please the man. All I know is I suck so hard my jaw aches, and I don’t stop, even when my eyes water from him hitting the back of my throat.
“Fuck, Sasha, fuck,” he growls. “I’m going to come.”
I don’t pop off. I swallow like a good girl. I lick him clean, and then I sit back on his thighs and wipe my mouth, watching him watching me.
“Sugar.” He reaches for me, but I dismount from the bed and walk to the bathroom, letting my hips sway to show off my bare ass. I shut the door and start the shower, my heart pounding.
Shit. I’m so in over my head. My body is all hot and needy. I’ve never wanted to have sex so badly in my life. Part of me wishes I’d let Maxim pull me down beside him and do whatever it is he wanted to with me.
But there’s another part of me freaking out.
Freaking the fuck out.
I don’t even know what I’m freaking out about. I step into the shower and wash everywhere, like the soap and shampoo will somehow cleanse me of this gnawing anxiety.
And that’s when it hits me: I can’t do this with Maxim.
It’s way too scary. Because if he doesn’t hate me, if I stop refusing to sleep with him…
Then we’re something else. We’re my parents—the bratva boss and his woman.
I’m his wife not his mistress, but it’s no different. Maxim is just like my father. And me? The very heart of me?
I fear I could be just as pathetic as my mother.
What if I’m as needy as she was? Waiting around for her man to throw her the scraps of his attention. Being at the ready to perform for him, to please him, from the moment he walked in the door until the moment he walked right back out. Her job was to look beautiful, satisfy him in bed and obey his orders.
She played the role to perfection, and he still didn’t leave her with a dime. He literally gave her to his right-hand man, like she was a possession to be handed down.
Just like he gave me to Maxim.
So I’m not going to be like her. End of story. I’m not going to fall for Maxim and throw myself at his feet and wait for his scraps of attention. I will figure out how to live with him without losing my heart.
I turn the water off and climb out of the shower, taking my time drying off. I don’t want to open the door and come out of the bathroom. I don’t know if I’m ready to see Maxim—I’m not sure if I’ve steeled my heart enough. I hold the knob and lean my head against the door, heart thumping. But when I finally brace myself and open it, I find him asleep. The orgasm must’ve relaxed him back into slumber.
I tiptoe through the room and put on my t
ravel clothes from yesterday and gather up my things. I know I can’t run far. I know he’ll find me immediately, whether it’s a matter of minutes or hours. But I have to run.
I pick up my purse and open the door.
“One more step, and I’ll turn your ass purple.”
Chapter 11
Maxim
Sasha freezes in place at my threat then closes the door.
She fucking played me.
Women. You can’t trust them. They lie and manipulate. She just gave me the hottest blowjob in the history of all blowjobs, and I stupidly thought it meant we were getting somewhere.
But no. It was all a manipulation.
Damn her.
I sit up in the bed and swing my legs over the side. “Come here.”
She lifts her chin. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
My lips twitch, but I suppress my smile. I shouldn’t be amused by her fear. Except it makes my cock lengthen, thoughts of elaborate sex-filled punishments floating into my brain and smoothing out my temper.
I pat the bed beside me. “Come here, caxapok,” I coax. “I don’t bite hard.” I smirk. “Not you, anyway.”
Her jaw flexes, but she drops her large purse and walks over to the bed like I asked.
She’s a good girl at her core, I remind myself.
Or maybe not. I’d interpreted her virginity that way, but perhaps that’s just another part of her feminine manipulations. She’s never given herself to anyone because she doesn’t share. She uses blowjobs to ensnare men into her web, but they never get the prize.
I grind my teeth.
“Where were you going?”
Her haughty spoiled girl expression comes into place as she opens her mouth, and I snap, “Don’t fucking lie” before she gets a word out.
She closes her mouth again, flickers of fear and vulnerability in her expression.
“The truth,” I insist. “Or maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe the right one is, why were you leaving?”
She blinks rapidly, looking away. Her full lips shape a pout, and I find I want to kiss the fuck out of them, remembering how they looked stretched around my cock. “I...I just needed some space,” she admits with a sigh.
I’m torn between irritation and understanding.
“Space is a luxury neither of us have right now,” I snap then rein in my impatience. “Listen to me. Your father just died. There’s instability in the organization—massive instability. You inherited the biggest part of his wealth. I imagine there are dozens of men scheming about how to make a grab for that right now before the dust settles. Your father bound you to me for a number of reasons. One, marriage to me takes you out of the country, which makes it significantly harder to plot to kill you. Two, I know how to keep you safe. Many men in Moscow will remember my reputation.” I draw a finger across the ink on my knuckles, a mark for every kill.
She sits unmoving, those pouting lips taunting me.
“I have Dima working on tracking everyone who comes into the country from Russia and cross-referencing them with known members of the brotherhood. He’s writing a program for it now, but until that’s in place and until we see how things shake out in Moscow, I need to keep eyes on you at all times. I’m sorry, sugar. I’m not thrilled with it, either.”
Her gaze drops, and I sense her concession.
“Come here.” I loop an arm around her waist and drag her to sit on my lap. She sits stiffly at first. I pick up her leg and open it wide, so it sits on the outside of my knee and trace my fingertips lightly up her inner thigh. She shivers, her buttocks tensing over my cock.
She’s in another one of her body-hugging dresses—not the one she wore last night. This one is more casual, made of a soft, charcoal t-shirt material. It rolls up her thighs when I nudge it.
“I don’t know if you’re punishing me or you want to be punished, sugar, but you have to find another game. This one is too dangerous, da?”
She draws in a shaky breath. I do have an affect on her—that much I know. Last night, despite her very bold and in my face move of taking off for Los Angeles, she was nervous when I showed up. I sensed her trembling when she launched herself at me on the dance floor.
I continue to lightly tickle the inside of her thigh, tracing my fingers up and down, getting a little higher each time.
“Where were you going, Sasha?”
“I’m not ready to leave L.A.,” she says. I feel the thrum of her wild heartbeat through her back.
“No?” I nuzzle her neck, brushing my lips against her skin. “Then all you had to do was ask to stay. You think I could deny you anything after that life-altering blowjob you just gave me?”
“I shouldn’t have to ask,” she mumbles.
Before my temper flares, I remember how free and happy she looked last night with her friends. It’s true. She should be out living her life the way she wants. Finding her own joy. “You shouldn’t,” I agree. “But that’s not our reality. When things settle, I’ll let the leash off—I promise. Until then, you’ll work with me on this.”
She squirms on my lap.
“We can stay another day.” I let my finger brush the gusset of her panties, and her belly shudders in. “What did you want to do while we’re here?”
“I want to see my friends again.”
“Of course.”
“And go to the beach. And shopping.”
I slide my finger under her panties to brush over her soft flesh there. “I have a few items to shop for.” I use a musing tone. “Things I need for your punishment. Implements to spank you with.” Her ass tightens on my lap. “Things to put in your virgin ass. Some lube, so you can take my cock nice and deep. Rope to tie you up with.”
I seem to have rendered her speechless. I’m not even sure she’s breathing.
“Now turn around and give me one of those apologies you offered me last night.”
She doesn’t move for a few beats. Then her head turns slowly. She stands and rotates, straddles my lap. “Was it this?” There’s a purr in her voice—but also enough vulnerability to keep me from annoyance with her act. Afterall, I asked her to perform it. She brings her lips to mine in what is a very sweet kiss. Not timid, but not aggressive. Almost… innocent.
I know she’s not that innocent, but I suddenly wonder if she’s held her kisses back from other men, as well.
Many people who hate intimacy engage in sex without kissing. My suitemate, Pavel, for example.
I kiss her back, holding her jaw to deepen it. She squirms on my lap. I grab her ass with my other hand and yank her hips over mine, so her core rubs over my hardening cock. She rocks her pelvis, riding me.
When I ease back, she blinks at me, eyes dilated.
“It’s time for your punishment.”
Her gaze is a mixture of wariness and arousal.
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. “I’ll make it brief,” I promise. “And there will be a reward for your surrender.”
My words have the opposite effect intended. Now she really appears unsure. I imagine her pride makes surrender less appealing than pain. I lower my head and bite her breast through her dress. “This comes off.” I’m already tugging the dress over her head as I finish speaking.
She doesn’t fight me. She still straddles my lap, slightly sullen, slightly submissive.
Very sexy.
It sort of hits me for the first time.
This fuck-hot woman is my wife. She is the full package in the looks department—blessed with a brick house body, a movie star face, and gorgeous, thick natural auburn hair. She could make it as an actress. Of course, her marriage to me keeps her from that career.
She’s full of life and vitality—sassy as hell. A total handful.
But most importantly—all mine.
This hot-tease woman is mine.
I nip at her breast through her bra as I unfasten it in the back. She rocks over my cock again in her tiny g-string. I kiss the front of her shoulder and then urge her to
stand.
I pivot and plop a couple pillows in the center of the bed. “Panties off. Lie over the pillows.”
Alarm flares in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
I honestly haven’t decided yet. I’m improvising. I walk around the room, noting my belt, which looks too thin and whippy. There’s one of those plastic rods hanging from the curtains—the kind used to pull them open and closed. I detach it and smack it into my hand. It bites. It would make an impression.
She still hasn’t climbed into position. I suspect she’s ready to punch me in the nose and run if she doesn’t like my answer.
“I’m going to give you three strokes with this rod. And then I’m going to fuck the living daylights out of you.”
Her chest heaves with a breath, making her gorgeous tits shift.
I step in close—seductive, not stern. I brush her hair back and kiss her in the place where shoulder meets neck. “You saved yourself for me,” I murmur, appreciatively.
She takes a half-step back. “Not for you.”
“For me,” I insist. “We both wanted each other then, and we both had to wait.”
She inches closer to me, that same wary lust flickering in her eyes. “I didn’t say I would have sex with you.” She sounds breathless.
I step so close, her nipples contact my chest. My mouth hovers over hers. “I won’t force you.”
Her gaze searches mine.
I allow my lips to tilt upward. “I will punish you, though. The fucking is the reward.” I let my hand lightly cup her ass.
She shivers and brings her hands to my chest like she’s going to push me away, only she doesn’t. “You’re crass.”
“Apologies.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“Are you?” I cock a brow.
