Chapter 7 Getting Ready
ROSIE
Months go by, and my life as a Bratva wife turns into a routine of helping Liza with the dog rescue during the day and my husband teaching me unimagined pleasures during the nights.
After our first night together, Alexei moves into the main bedroom, and I fall asleep, exhausted but deeply satisfied in his arms every night.
I still want a life of my own, a purpose that’s more than being a wife. My own passion.
Liza has her rescue organization. And Rurik’s wife, Perla, is a mover and shaker in the city’s political circles.
The two women are my only social life, other than a few coffee dates with Louise.
But she’s still working evening and nights at the Tankard, so daytime dates are hard for her.
And those are the only ones I can do, for now, until I can convince Alexei that it’s safe to let me out at night, even if I have to take a guard or two.
But he refuses to let me leave with any security detail that doesn’t include him. And his job requires him to be out most evenings.
We’re working on it.
This evening, though, I’ll be with him as he works, kind of. We’re going to a fundraising event for Liza’s organization. A swanky gala that I’m super excited to attend, but also a little nervous. Most of the brotherhood will be there, and this is Alexei's and my first official event together.
Perla and Liza helped me shop for my outfit, and both women assure me everything will be fine, but I can’t help worrying. The Bratva might be patriarchal, but the women married to the leaders wield a lot of power, and their reputation reflects on their husbands.
I’m from a very low rung on the social ladder, and my dad’s actions are not helping matters. I’d never want to do or say something that will make Alexei’s men think less of him for being married to me.
And that’s why it’s taking me all day to prepare for this event.
I’ve been to the hair salon, the wax salon, the nail salon and now I stand in front of the massive marble vanity in our penthouse bathroom, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me.
The dress I’m wearing tonight is strapless, so I bought a black satin and lace bustier to wear under it.
The garment cinches tight under my breasts, pushing them up into soft, overflowing mounds that strain against the cups.
Below it, the matching lacy panties are barely there, just a scrap of delicate fabric that sits high on my hips and leaves most of my ass exposed.
But that’s the price you pay for no panty lines.
I’m finishing my eyeliner, leaning across the sink to get closer to the mirror, when I hear the elevator arrive and soon Alexei fills the bathroom doorway.
He stops dead when sees me.
His dark eyes lock on mine in the mirror’s reflection, and the air in the room shifts instantly into something thick and electric.
He’s still in his black dress shirt from this morning, sleeves rolled up to expose those powerful forearms covered in Bratva ink, but his jaw is clenched tight and his chest rises and falls like he’s been running.
His gaze drags over me slowly. “Roza,” he growls, voice low and rough as gravel. “What are you wearing?”
I swallow hard, the liner pencil still hovering near my eye. Heat floods my cheeks and pools low in my belly. “It’s for the gala. My dress is strapless so I needed functional underwear. I’m almost ready…”
He doesn’t let me finish.
In three long strides he’s behind me, his big body crowding mine against the counter.
One large hand lands heavy on my hip, fingers digging in possessively, while the other slides up my spine and fists in my loose hair.
He yanks my head back just enough that I’m forced to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Look at you,” he rasps, breath hot against my ear.
“Dressed like a fucking wet dream for me. The top pushing those perfect tits up so high I can see your nipples begging to be sucked. And these little lacy panties?” His fingers hook under the thin strap at my hip and snap it like it’s nothing.
The fabric rips with a sharp sound, and cool air hits my bare pussy.
“You won’t be needing these tonight, wife. ”
I gasp as the ruined lace flutters to the floor. My heart hammers against my ribs. “Alexei, the gala…”
“Fuck the gala.” His voice is dark and velvet-rough.
He shoves the bustier down roughly with both hands, yanking the cups below my breasts until they spill free, heavy and aching, nipples already tight and flushed.
He groans at the sight, palming one roughly, pinching the nipple until I whimper.
“You stand here looking like this and expect me to let you leave? No, Roza. This body is mine. This pussy is mine. I’m going to remind you right now. ”
Without letting go of my hair, he undoes his belt.
I hear the zipper, the rustle of fabric, and then his thick cock is out, already rock-hard, the heavy length slapping against my ass cheek.
He kicks my feet wider apart, spreading my legs until I’m bent slightly over the counter, palms flat on the cool marble, breasts pressed against the edge.
“Alexei…” My voice breaks as he releases my hair and grips my neck from behind, his large hand wrapping around my throat and squeezing just enough to make my pulse thunder under his fingers.
Not choking, not yet, not just holding me there, owning me, forcing my eyes to stay locked on his in the mirror.
My pussy floods and my breath hitches.
“Eyes on me, Roza,” he snarls, voice dripping with dominance. “Watch your husband fuck you. Your tight little pussy will take every inch of my cock while you’re supposed to be getting pretty for some boring fucking event.”
He drags the thick head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in the slick arousal that’s dripping down my thighs. I’m soaked, have been since he first looked at me and stepped up to claim me.
“Fuck, feel that?” He presses forward, the fat head of his cock breaching me in one slow, relentless push. “Already creaming for me. My greedy wife. You put on this sexy lingerie thinking you’d tease me all night? Bad girl.”
I’m panting so hard I can’t answer.
He slams the rest of the way in, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that forces a broken cry from my throat.
The stretch burns so good, his thick cock forcing my walls brutally open.
His grip on my neck tightens as he pulls back and drives in again, setting a punishing rhythm right away.
The wet slap of his hips against my ass echoes off the marble walls.
“Alexei,” I moan, eyes fluttering, but he squeezes my throat in warning and growls right against my ear.
“Don’t you dare close those eyes. Look at yourself getting fucked.
Look how your tits bounce every time I bury my cock in this perfect cunt.
” His free hand reaches around to slap one breast lightly, then pinches the nipple hard.
“These are mine. This pussy is mine. Say it, Roza. Tell me who owns this dripping cunt.”
“You,” I gasp, the word punched out of me on his next savage thrust. “You own it, fuck.” The truth is, he owns me. As much as I protested and snarled when I had to sign the contract, this man owns all of me.
My body. My heart. My soul.
“That’s right, baby.” His voice is wrecked with lust, but still so dominant, so in control.
He pounds into me harder, the heavy drag of his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
“My wife. My Roza. Walking around with my cum still inside you from this morning and thinking you could wear pretty panties to cover up what belongs to me? No. I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll feel me leaking down your thighs the entire gala.
Every time you sit down, you’ll remember who ruined this pussy right before you left. ”
His hand on my neck slides up slightly, tilting my head to the side so he can bite down on the junction of my shoulder, sucking my skin while he keeps slamming into me.
The mirror shows everything. My flushed face. My breasts jiggling with every brutal thrust, his powerful body behind me, muscles flexing as he claims me completely.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, voice dropping into that thick Russian accent that always undoes me. “Even after I’ve fucked you so many times, this cunt still grips me like it’s trying to keep me inside forever. My virgin wife’s greedy pussy who learned to take my cock so well.”
I whimper at the reminder, at the filthy pride in his voice. My walls flutter around him, and he laughs darkly, low and satisfied.
“You like when I talk dirty, don’t you, Roza?
Like when your husband tells you he’s going to wreck this pussy before you go smile for strangers.
” His one hand tightens the grip on my neck, the other sliding down to rub tight, merciless circles over my swollen clit.
“Come on my cock, wife. Come while I’m balls-deep inside you.
I want to feel this cunt milk me before I fill you up. ”
I can’t hold back. The pressure builds fast, with the sensations overpowering me.
His cock stretching me open, his fingers on my clit, his dirty words pouring into my ear, the possessive grip on my wrists.
My orgasm crashes over me like a wave, ripping a loud, broken scream from my throat as my pussy clamps down around him in pulsing waves.
“Fuck, yes,” he snarls, slamming into me even harder through my climax, chasing his own release. “Good girl. Such a good fucking girl coming so hard for me. Going to fill this married cunt now. Going to pump you so full of my cum you’ll be dripping when I escort you into that ballroom.”
He buries himself to the hilt one last time and comes with a guttural roar, hips jerking as thick, hot spurts flood deep inside me. I feel every pulse, every rope of his cum marking me, claiming me. His hand stays on my neck the whole time, holding me in place while he empties himself.
We stay like that for a long moment. His cock still buried inside me, twitching with aftershocks, his chest pressed to my back, both of us breathing hard.
He finally eases his grip on my neck and turns my face to the side so he can kiss me, deep and filthy, tongue stroking mine like he’s still fucking me with it.
When he pulls out, I feel the immediate rush of his cum leaking down my thighs. He watches it in the mirror with dark satisfaction, then reaches down, swiping the moisture up my thigh and pushes two thick fingers back inside me, forcing it deeper.
“Don’t clean up, Roza,” he murmurs, voice rough but tender now beneath the dominance. “I want you walking around tonight knowing exactly who you belong to. My wife. My beautiful, well-fucked wife.”
He kisses my shoulder, and then helps me stand on shaky legs, turning me to face him.
His eyes are softer now, but the possessiveness is still there, burning bright.
“Fix your makeup, baby,” he says, thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip.
“We’ve got a gala to attend. But later tonight?
” He leans in, lips against my ear. “I’m claiming that greedy pussy again, reminding you it is mine.
Only mine, no other has or ever will touch it. ”
I nod, breathless, already aching for more.