Chapter 21
EMBER
“Well, that escalated quickly.” The calm tone of my voice doesn’t match the energy of the rapid beating of my heart or the way my brain short circuits at the word marriage.
Rodion snorts. This is probably going to be our downfall, not gonna lie. Never taking things seriously enough. Honestly? That’s why we’re in this situation to begin with.
I swallow hard and try to talk, but I don’t know what to say or how to proceed.
Why does it make me fearful to hear the word “marriage” but want to cry when he follows that up with “temporary”?
I never thought I wanted to be… married.
Most especially to an actual man of the Bratva.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “To get married on a temporary basis like we’re two drunk, horny bastards at an Elvis chapel in Vegas?”
“Of course not.” His voice is husky. I can’t tell if he’s angry or emotional or what. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I don’t care that we haven’t known each other for long. I feel alive when I’m with you. And for the first time in my whole life, I… feel like I can actually imagine a future with someone. But I can’t force you to love me.”
Could anyone? And does love have anything to do with this?
Because I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust the way my heart beats faster, imagining a life with Rodion, while at the same time, my brain is trying desperately to find a way out of this situation.
What he doesn’t know is… I’m halfway there. I have reservations, yes, but I love being around him. Marrying into that family though? I saw those ruthless men. One of them was holding a gun.
I know what Rodion is capable of, and the thought of—of spending the rest of my life with a man like Rodion makes me melt like ice on a frying pan.
“You said it’s only temporary? Until this blows over?”
My throat tightens, the reality of the situation crashing in on me.
“Yeah.” But he doesn’t meet my eyes when he says it, and I can feel the tension in his body.
Rodion doesn’t want temporary.
And I’m starting to fear that…neither do I.
“Do I have a choice?”
When his gaze snaps back to mine, my heart stutters. I see the raw, ruthless man who’s willing to burn the entire world down if it means keeping me safe.
His eyes darken with something I can’t quite name.
“ No. ”
I look away from him. I was the one who fell for a man I knew to be dangerous, a full-fledged man of the Bratva. I let fantasy color my judgment, and now…
There’s no turning back.
“I know I’m not a good man, Ember,” he says quietly, but there’s no softness or regret in his tone. Nothing but sheer, brutal honesty.
And isn’t that one of the things I love best about him? “I’ve ended lives and ruined others, more than you’ll ever know. I’m Bratva. I will always be Bratva. And that doesn’t change because I love you.”
I blink. My breath catches. I try to drag air into my lungs. The word hangs between us like a fallen star, brilliant and unexpected.
Love.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper, even as a part of me leans into him, leans into us , and I wonder…
Did I?
“I didn’t either.” He cups the side of my neck in his large, rough palm, his thumb brushing the spot where my pulse races as if reassuring himself that I’m still here. “But here we are. And I’m not letting you go.”
His words are a vow, said with finality and surety. I know what he’s offering me isn’t hearts and flowers, but something deeper, weightier, undeniably bloodstained and dangerous… and bigger than both of us.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper, my words choked.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “Maybe we learn together.”
I wrap my hand around his shoulder. Bracing myself. “Are you sure we have no other choice? None?”
“No.” One word that falls like a gavel.
There is no other choice.
I close my eyes, but he lifts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “You want the truth?”
I swallow. “Always.”
His gaze hardens, something lethal flickering in the depths of his eyes. “If another man ever tried to touch you, I’d break his hands. And if he tried to take you from me, I’d tie him to a chair, making him watch me ruin you—slow and raw, before I cut out his eyes and left him to bleed out, knowing the last thing he ever saw was me owning you.”
Oh dear god.
There’s no hesitation. No apology.
“I’d bury his body and sleep like a fucking baby, Ember.”
His soft touch, a thumb brushing over my bottom lip, belies the utter violence of his words. “You understand me, little queen? Do you know what you give me? I don’t share my wife. ”
It’s so very different hearing those words in real life, hearing the sincerity and devotion and knowing he means every word of his declaration.
His promise.
There is no choice, but he’s telling me what I’m getting into.
“One more thing.”
I don’t know if I can take another. I swallow and nod.
“You have to delete your account,” he says in a rush of heated words. “ Now. ”
My heart sinks. I close my eyes, fighting the rush of tears. I poured so much into that account. My identity as a romance lover is part of who I am. For the first time in my entire life, swooning over a shared love of all things romance makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger, a community of people who haven’t yet given up on dreaming and who still believe that everyone deserves to be loved passionately. That everyone deserves a happy ending.
When I open my eyes, he’s still staring at me.
Can I give up this part of who I am for what could be the real thing?
“I know,” I whisper. “I figured as much.” But when I pull up my account and see my friends, the notifications, the videos waiting to be watched, my heart aches. I feel like I’m losing an actual part of myself.
But I got in too deep. I took things too far. And now, I’m facing the consequences.
With trembling hands, I click the big red button and confirm the next step. I blink. A hot, fat tear rolls down my cheek.
“It’s done,” I whisper. My head falls to his shoulder. “And yours?”
He exhales. “It’s already gone. I should’ve known better. It was too risky.” My heart swells when he kisses the top of my head. “But I know it was harder for you than me, little queen.”
And then I’m crying. A part of me feels like it’s silly for me to react like this, but it isn’t just the account or the followers or even romance. I’ve severed a part of who I am and what I love, something I forged with my own two hands. I faced imposter syndrome and took risks. But I worked so hard, hours upon hours crafting the perfect videos and photos, reading thousands of books, distilling feelings, hopes, and dreams…
I’m still pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. I drop my head to his shoulder and cry. It’s not just the account, it’s everything.
Shawn coming back into town and knowing he’ll be there when I go back home.
Meeting Rodion’s family and knowing what they think about me.
My choices going up in flames and being forced to make a life-changing decision.
Losing so much of what I’ve fought for, built…
His hand slides slowly up and down my back. Steady. Grounding.
And despite everything, I melt a little. The thoughts and fears begin to quiet. I didn’t know it could be like this.
“You didn’t lose it all,” he whispers into my hair, his voice low and rough. “You built it once, and you can build it again.”
I sniffle as he continues. “And you kept what mattered most.”
I look up to him. For the first time since we got here, his eyes are dancing with that familiar heat-laced humor that drew me to him to begin with. Rodion will never take life too seriously, and it’s the hottest damn thing I never expected to need.
“Oh?” I ask, my own voice lilting with humor. “What’s that?”
He snorts. “Me, obviously.”
I open my mouth to protest when his mouth crushes mine. He tastes like victory and danger, and I’m fucking here for it. He swallows my moan as his hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise. I straddle him, gasping against his mouth, but he doesn’t let me go.
I don’t want him to. “Don’t hold back,” he growls, dragging his lips like a brand down the side of my neck before he bites hard enough to make me jolt. “We’re alone now. Let yourself go.” He traps my hands in one of his much bigger ones and whispers in my ear. “ Let go , little queen. Give yourself to your king. Tell me you’re mine. I want to hear you say it.”
I look up into his eyes. I want him to claim me. I want him in me.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
I watch as something snaps in him. I feel it.
With effortless ease, his muscles bunching, he lifts me and carries me to the huge bed in the corner of the room. He drops me, his movements hurried, almost feral, as he reaches for my clothes and tears them off me. Fabric rips and pulls. In a hurried frenzy, I rush to help him. I’ve never wanted a man inside me so bad in my life.
His shirt hits the floor before I can blink, and I take a moment to touch his beautiful, perfect body. None of those videos did him justice. They didn’t capture the raw power and strength or the way he holds himself back so he doesn’t completely annihilate me. My mouth dries at the sight of him before me—all muscles, scars, and lethal, heartbreaking beauty.
“You’re staring.” That smirk makes my ovaries cry. But there’s a darkness in his gaze that half dares me to look away.
“Maybe I like what I see.”
He’s on me in seconds, grasping my wrists and pinning them down before he drags his teeth down the column of my neck. His tongue lashes out, and I arch into him with a moan I can’t stifle. “You’re mine,” he whispers against my ear. “Every heartbeat. Every breath. Mine , my sweet, beautiful little queen. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I say with a moan.
I lean into him, my legs tangled with his as he shoves his knee between my thighs, parting them. Heat coils in my stomach, pressure builds a desperate ache between my thighs. I lift my hips, wordlessly begging for him to take me.
And then he slows as if savoring me. The hurried kisses grow softer. More passionate. He takes his time, his rough palm running the length of my body as if memorizing me, as he brushes his lips to mine. His hands explore me as if it’s the first time we’ve ever touched. His cock swells, pressed up against me, and I whimper.
“Don’t moan like that,” he grates. “I won’t be able to hold myself back, Ember. I’ll fucking break you.”
I arch into him and release a low, desperate moan, deliberately pressing into the hard length straining against his jeans, my hips rolling. “Maybe I want you to.”
Rodion’s grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear, his breath ragged.
“Ty khoche?’, shtoby ya tebya rastyanul na etikh prostynyakh i zastroil tebia krikami, da?”
I don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but it makes me shiver. The words sound hot and sinful, and I love it.
I have way underestimated how hot his Russian is. Way underestimated. I’m going to make him record his voice so I can play it on repeat while I?—
His hand is on my neck. Pressing.
I told him to break me. I wanted this.
Do I?
I drag in a shuddering breath. I can still breathe.
Yes.
Heat floods my core at the feel of his heavy hand on my neck, the possessive look of his straining muscles, with the knowledge he could break me but won’t.
“What did you say?” I ask in a whisper, relishing the slow, wicked smirk that’s all Rodion. “The Russian.”
“I asked if you want me to stretch you out on those sheets and fill the room with the sound of your screaming.”
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming beneath his palm. I nod.
“It’s easy in Russian,” he rasps. Say, “ Da, Rodion. ”
I lick my lips, barely able to form the words. “ Da, Rodion .”
His responding groan is music to my ears. “ Khoroshaya devochka .” He kisses my cheek. “Good girl. Show me what a good girl you are.”
His hand tightens in my hair, my scalp aching deliciously, until my neck arches under his touch, baring my neck to him. His breath is hot and ragged against my skin, and I love the way his teeth scrape along the curve of my jaw.
His lips trail down my neck, but he doesn’t kiss—he bites, sharp enough to make me scream.
“That’s what I want to hear, little queen.” He kisses where he bit before he bends his mouth to my breasts. They’re full and aching for him, so when he tugs a hardened nipple between his teeth, I let myself go and scream out loud. My need for him becomes wet heat between my legs, aching for him.
He suckles my breast and flicks the other, then nips and grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin. “You’re trembling. Is it fear, little queen? Or something else?”
“Uh. Both? Can I say both?”
He grins. “You can say anything you want.”
I can’t hide the way my hips shift beneath him, chasing friction. He chuckles darkly, his free hand slipping under my ass and squeezing the sore place he spanked with the leather camera strap before sliding between my legs, his fingers grazing over the heat pooling between my thighs.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers. “ Vot eto moya devochka .”
I moan as he strokes me, slow and deliberately teasing, just enough to drive me mad. When he pulls his hand back, he leaves me writhing and desperate. Aching.
“Soaked,” he says with mock disapproval. “You think I’ll let this slide? You think I won’t punish you for being such a bad, wicked little slut?”
I tilt my head back in silent surrender. “What are you gonna do?” I barely recognize my own voice. “Punish me? Ohhh. I’m so scared. ”
I should be. I very much should be. I’m well aware of the fact that the spanking he gave me on that elevator was nowhere near what he was capable of, and if he even begins to think of orgasm denial...
“You really want to play that game?” he asks, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to be my good girl?”
I give him a silent pout and turn away.
“Look at you, so fucking beautiful.”
He pushes away, and I whimper at the loss of his heat. “Rodion!”
I stare as his hands nimbly unfasten his belt. Dear god, he’s a thirst trap in human form as he tugs the belt free and loops it. He just spanked me. He’s not going to?—
In seconds, he rearranges me on the bed so I’m facing away from him, my wrists in his hand. “You said you like competency, didn’t you? What was it you said, competency porn?”
“Well, I didn’t—I mean— Rodion ,” I protest, as he loops the belt around my wrist and tugs, securing them.
“Let’s see how competent I am at making you come.”
Oh my fucking god. Why does that fill me with dread and delicious expectation at the same time?
“You can’t—you—well, I?—”
“Quiet, little queen. One more word, and I’ll gag you. You want to surrender to me? Do it. ”
I open my mouth to protest when I feel him beneath me. What is he—oh god.
Rodion lies on the bed beneath me and arranges my thighs on either side of his face. “Sit on my face,” he growls, his breath hot against my thighs. I have enough room to move my hands up and down, even though I can’t get away.
Grabbing my thighs, he tugs me down. I’m shaking at the feel of his mouth between my legs. My eyes flutter closed. I can still feel the throb where he spanked me, his hand at my throat, the brand of his mouth on me, as his tongue lazily laps my clit.
I gasp. “Rodion!”
His palm slams against my ass. I hiss in a breath.
“Take it,” he orders, his voice muffled between my thighs. “No talking without permission. And if you come without permission, I’ll show you exactly what I can do with that belt, beautiful.”
I clamp my lips together and shudder at the feel of his lips closing around my swollen clit. My back arches, and my body tightens. I’m so damn close already. But he… he said… I can’t think anymore.
My hips arch as I desperately try to remember. I can’t talk except to ask him to come. If I come without permission, I’m toast. And that might sound hot, but I definitely think it’s one of those things I’m not quite ready for.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers just before he plunges his fingers into my core. “Good girl. Are you ready to come, gorgeous?”
I nod wordlessly. “Please,” I whisper. “May I?”
“Come, baby. Come on my tongue.” His voice is a low growl, vibrating against me as his mouth works me mercilessly. His hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me open, denying me any escape. I arch, straining against the belt. The leather bites into my flesh, grounding me.
“Give it to me, baby. I want to taste you. Come,” he orders with a harsh slap to my thigh.
That’s all it takes. I shatter beneath him, a raw scream ripping from my throat as pleasure floods my limbs, violent and overwhelming ecstasy.
He groans beneath me like a man starved, lapping up the aftershocks as I’m helpless.
His tongue slows, teasing me through every pulse until my breath is ragged and uneven.
“Fuck, look at you,” he whispers, dragging his mouth up my body as he gently pulls me away from him, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my stomach and underside of my breasts. “So fucking beautiful when you break for me.”
I’m still gasping when he frees my wrists, but before I can catch my breath, his hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangled in my hair. He tilts my head back and forces me to meet his gaze.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
I stifle a little squeal.
“I’ll make you come until you forget your own name.”
I’m boneless and pliable as he arranges me beneath him, on my knees, my hands planted in front of me. I feel his hardened length at my ass. “Rodion,” I manage to protest when I feel him moving, and the next thing I know, warm lube drips down my ass. I gasp as his thick fingers press into my ass. A second orgasm takes me by surprise and eclipses the first. “Oh god. Oh my god .” I moan, coming on his hand just before the head of his cock presses to my entrance.
I arch into him, so eager for his heat to fill me. To be connected even more than we’ve ever been. I’m still coming as he pushes into me, stretching me inch by inch until I’m gasping, my fingers digging into the mussed sheets. I didn’t know I could be this full, this stretched, this turned on even after I’ve come.
“You take all of me so fucking well, baby. Such a good girl.” His voice is strained as if he’s holding himself back.
He doesn’t move for a moment, just holds me there, with him buried to the hilt, my pussy tight and stretched, his cock pulsing inside me. I feel every inch of him, every pulse, every beat of his heart.
This man is going to be my husband. My husband. He promised to violently end anyone who threatened to take us apart. Being with him will mean surrendering in ways I never imagined. Yet right now? I want nothing more than him. Him in all his power and brutality, danger and darkness, all of him.
“Take me.” I breathe. “I want you to take me.”
With a low growl, he fists my hair, tugs my head back, and slams into me. I cry out, nails digging into the bed once more, but it only makes him drive into me harder, deeper, building a rhythm that’s ratcheting me up to another climax. He curses in Russian, the words rough and desperate.
“ Krichi dlya menya, Ember. Scream for me, baby.”
His hands grip my hips as he thrusts again and again, and I do exactly what he says. I scream as he makes me come again.
And again.
And again.
When he pulls out of me, still hard as fuck, I moan. “Rodion, what are you?—”
And then he’s dragging me to the edge of the bed and falling on his knees before me as if to worship. “I can’t, Rodion, I?—”
A punishing spank silences me. “You can and you will. Open your legs for me.”
He pries my legs apart, and his tongue dives between them again. My back arches. My god, I’m so wet, so slick, so tender I bite back tears as he licks my clit again. I’m impossibly aroused as need builds again, this time faster. I can’t think beyond the need to climax again when he laps my swollen clit and orders in a harsh growl, “ Come .”
I shatter into another climax, this one more intense than the last. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Stars blind my vision as I gasp for enough breath to scream. I’m still coming, still wrapped in ecstasy and all loss of control when he’s on me again, and he’s filling me again.
My legs wrap around his torso. He holds me beneath him, his gaze searing as he thrusts. I’m pliant and softened beneath him as he wraps his hand around my throat.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispers.
It feels like surrender and victory when I whisper, “I’m yours.” His hands on me tighten, and I dig my fingers into his back hard enough to leave marks, pulling him closer as his forehead touches mine, and he grinds out a stream of Russian. His head drops to my neck, and he growls, softer than before, “ Mine .”
I come again, softer this time, sweeter, meeting his thrusts and ecstasy with mine.
He nuzzles my neck. It tickles, and I squirm and smile. “I’m proud of you, baby,” he whispers. “Shhh.”
I can’t move. I’m immobile. I can’t think. I’m half-asleep, blissed out, as he arranges me on the bed. A warm cloth comes between my legs a moment later, followed by a soft towel and silky sheets.
A pillow under my cheek.
The weight of a blanket over my shoulders.
Rodion curled up beside me.
Sleep.