Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Harper
I froze as Kirill's thick cock pressed against my entrance, the head barely breaching me, stretching that tight ring of muscle with a burn that was equal parts pain and intoxicating promise.
His words hung in the air, that humiliating edge slicing through the haze of my arousal, making my cheeks burn even hotter.
But fuck, it only made me wetter—his dominance, the way he claimed me like property. I was his now, bought and paid for, and the twisted thrill of it had my pussy clenching around nothing, begging for more.
He didn't wait for a response. With a low growl, he thrust forward, burying himself inside me in one brutal stroke.
I cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming—his cock was huge, splitting me open, filling every inch until I felt like I might break.
The stretch burned, sharp and unrelenting, and I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as my body tried to adjust.
Kirill stilled, buried to the hilt, his breath ragged against my neck. "Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at me, surprise flickering in those cold eyes.
There was a smear of blood on his shaft when he glanced down, confirming what he'd just felt—the resistance, the tear.
"You're a virgin?" His voice was rough, laced with disbelief, but not disgust. If anything, his cock twitched inside me, growing even harder. He traced a hand down my side, fingers splaying over my hip, like he was appreciating the body beneath him anew.
"This beautiful body... untouched? Shit, that's a surprise. You feel incredible—tight, perfect. Like you were made for this."
I blinked up at him, my own shock mirroring his, but for different reasons. Beautiful? Me? The word hit like a punch, stirring up all the insecurities I'd buried under baggy clothes for years.
"Y-you think it's... beautiful?" I whispered, voice trembling as the initial pain ebbed into a throbbing ache that begged for movement.
My curves, the softness I'd always hated—the extra weight on my hips, the fullness of my breasts that made me feel frumpy and undesirable. Guys had never looked twice, and here he was, this god of a man, buried inside me and calling it perfect.
"I-I always thought... I mean, I'm not skinny like those models. I figured no one would want—hmm..." My words trailed off into a moan as he shifted slightly, the friction sending sparks through me.
He chuckled low, almost tender, but his eyes darkened with hunger.
"Beautiful? Hell yes. These curves..." He gripped my breast, kneading the soft flesh, thumb flicking over my nipple until it pebbled.
"They're fucking gorgeous. Soft, real—made for a man's hands.
And this pussy? Gripping me like it never wants to let go.
I'm your husband now, Harper. That means I get to enjoy every inch of you. "
His hips rocked experimentally, a shallow thrust that made me gasp, the pain mixing with pleasure as my body adapted, walls fluttering around his length.
I nodded, biting my lip, tears pricking my eyes—not from hurt, but from the overwhelming rush of emotions. He thought I was beautiful. This powerful, untouchable man, who could have anyone, was looking at me like I was a prize.
"O-okay... husband," I breathed, testing the word, feeling a shiver run through me as I said it. It felt right, even if this marriage was a sham. Right now, with him filling me so completely, it felt real.
Kirill groaned at the title, like it flipped a switch. He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, letting me feel every ridge and vein dragging along my sensitive walls, then slammed back in, deeper this time.
I arched, a cry escaping as pleasure exploded outward, drowning the remnants of pain.
He set a rhythm—steady, powerful thrusts that had the bed creaking, his balls slapping against my ass with each drive.
One hand pinned my hip, holding me in place, while the other roamed, squeezing my thigh, tracing up to pinch my nipple, sending jolts straight to my core.
"Fuck, you take me so well," he rasped, voice husky with approval. "Look at you, spreading for your husband like a good girl." He angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind my eyes.
I moaned louder, hands clutching his back, nails raking down his skin as the pressure built, coiling tight in my belly.
He was relentless, pounding into me, the wet sounds of our bodies joining, obscene and hot.
Sweat slicked our skin, his chest pressing against mine, the friction of his body hair against my sensitive nipples adding to the overload.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with desperate rolls of my hips.
"Kirill... please," I begged, not even sure what for—more, harder, everything. He obliged, speeding up, his control fraying as he chased his own release. One hand slipped between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing firm circles that had me teetering on the edge.
"Come for your husband again," he commanded, lips brushing mine in a messy kiss, tongue delving in to mimic his cock's rhythm.
The orgasm hit like a tidal wave, ripping through me, my pussy clenching hard around him, milking his length with violent, rhythmic spasms. I screamed his name—then the pleasure surged too sharp, too bright, too much.
My vision bleached white, ears filled with roaring static, every muscle locking in one endless, shattering convulsion.
I came so hard the world simply switched off.
Everything went dark.
Sunlight stabbed through the curtain gaps, yanking me from my sore, aching body.
I turned my head slowly.
The spot beside me was empty, but the pillow dent proved someone had been there.
My heart squeezed tight, fear crashing in.
Had Kirill bailed? Regretted hooking up with a girl like me, so he split fast?
A soft metal snap shattered the silence.
I bolted up, ignoring the twinges.
Kirill was still there, standing by the huge floor mirror, back to me.
God.
Aside from Aiden's heart attack rush to the ER, this was the hottest sight of my life.
Fresh from the shower, his dark curls damp and slicked back perfectly, showing off that chiseled profile. White shirt hugged him, back muscles flexing under the fabric as he moved.
He was fastening cufflinks.
He looked untouchable, elite—like the drunk, wild guy growling Russian in my ear last night was a dream.
But seeing him filled that hollow in my chest with something soft and warm.
He'd called himself my husband.
The thought exploded in my head like pink fireworks.
Sure, it was a messed-up accident, and he only married me to placate Olga.
But last night.
It wasn't just sex, at least not for me. His breath in my ear, the way he held me tight, even his frantic need at the end—it screamed obsession with my body.
Even Kirill Orlov wouldn't get hard for a woman who repulsed him, right? If he hated me, no way.
Lame logic, I knew. Rihanna would jab my forehead, call me pathetic for using that to prove he didn't despise me.
But it was a start, yeah?
I sucked in a breath, steadying the dream-come-true jitters.
But unease crept up, too.
He thought I married for cash. Partly true—without Aiden's surgery money, no signature.
How to spill the real feelings now?
I was terrified. Admit it, and he'd laugh. A girl who took his money claiming love? Sounded like a con artist's excuse.
But if I wanted honesty, this was prime time.
My eyes hit the nightstand.
My old bag sat there. Tucked in the pocket, that pink card.
Do it now, Harper, or you might never get a better shot.
I gritted my teeth, wrapped the sheet, and slid off the bed despite the aches. No embarrassing groans—he might get turned off.
I grabbed the bag, fingers shaking as I pulled the envelope.
"Um... Kirill?"
He paused, turned.
"Awake?" His voice rumbled, that magnetic pull making me melt.
"Yeah." I nodded, face heating. "Morning."
"Morning." He adjusted his tie, casual.
I swallowed, stepped closer. My toes curled into the carpet awkwardly.
"I got something for you."
I held out the pink card, hands trembling bad. Embarrassing. I stared at his suit button, avoiding his eyes.
"What's this?" He eyed it, didn't take it.
I mustered courage, glanced up.
"Words I wanted to say to you."
Done. My heart pounded like it might burst. First confession ever—after giving him my virginity. Order felt off?
Silence dragged. Felt like an eternity for me. I looked up.
Kirill stared at the envelope, brow twitching faintly, like it didn't belong.
My heart sank, but he took it.
Okay, maybe he was just startled.
I held my breath, waiting for him to open it, see inside, maybe crack a smile.
He didn't.
"I'll look at it."
He tucked it in his jacket pocket.
"Okay." I dropped my head, hiding disappointment.
Kirill turned and pulled a card from the nightstand drawer.
"This month's allowance."
His tone stayed flat, matter-of-fact. "Password's six zeros. I added extra. For Aiden's surgery. Rehab too. Take it."
I stood, blinking at the card.
"Thanks, Kirill." My voice cracked, choked without realizing. "Really."
"No need." He was unmoved. "Just doing my duty."
I couldn't help smiling.
Duty, deal, whatever—he helped. And we felt closer.
"So... Aiden's surgery, when?" I pushed, testing. "I'm thinking the sooner the better?"
After the payment was cleared, Aiden had been on the waiting list ever since. Although the doctor Kirill had introduced had already taken over his case, the surgery never seemed to make it onto the schedule—probably because Kirill had other arrangements.
"I've been reaching out to top specialists in cardiology. The soonest is next month," Kirill said, pausing for a moment before adding, "No need to be so formal. We're married now. Taking care of family is part of the deal."
Married. Family. Part of the deal.
My heart gave a hard, sudden thud.
God, am I dreaming?
Last night's tenderness, this morning's concern, and now the casual way he said "married"—all these pieces fit together and sent my mind spinning in wild directions.
If I just try hard enough to be a good wife, if I can make him see how much I care, maybe one day he'll actually fall in love with me.
I nodded vigorously, unable to hide the joy bubbling up in my voice. "Then I'll head to the hospital and tell Aiden the good news. He's going to be over the moon."
Kirill gave a small nod, picked up his suit jacket, and strode out of the room. The door closed softly behind him, leaving the space quiet except for the faint lingering scent of his cedarwood cologne.
I flopped on the bed, card to my chest, then fell back into the pillows.
His warmth clung to the sheets.
I grinned like an idiot, kicking air.
Harper Evans, chill—you're twenty-four, not fourteen.
I exhaled long, energy surging. All the aches vanished.
Things were turning.
Right, tell Aiden about the specialist appointment.
I dashed to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a mess—red eyes, wild hair, neck hickeys from last night.
I eyed the marks, blushed, but smiled.
I started washing up, moving as quickly as I could.
What should I wear to the hospital?
I opened the closet. Inside hung rows of new clothes Olga had sent over—expensive silks, lace, high-end outfits.
My fingertips brushed over the delicate fabrics, but they finally stopped in the corner—where my own old clothes were piled. A baggy gray hoodie, jeans faded almost white from too many washes, familiar down to the last thread.
I hesitated for a second.
Kirill had said these loose clothes didn't suit me. But I was used to dressing this way. Putting on one of those tight dresses from the closet would only make me feel awkward and exposed.
"Forget it."
I muttered to myself and reached for the familiar gray hoodie.
It was old, the cuffs a little frayed, but it gave me a sense of safety. It hid the softness around my waist, let me tuck away the insecurities.
I changed into the clothes and carefully slipped the black card into the very bottom of my wallet.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Still the same ordinary Harper with freckles across my nose, but there was light in my eyes now.
I had a husband. I had money to save my brother.
Things were finally getting better.