Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
MARINA
“ I ’m not going to marry you.” My voice was sharp, my chin lifted high in defiance as I glared down at Kostya.
He barely acknowledged me, lounging on the edge of the large whirlpool tub, his fingers idly tracing one of the cut crystal bottles lined up along the marble ledge. Steam curled from the filling bath, misting the mirrors, the heat making the air thick, heavy.
“Do you like bubbles in your bath?” he asked, still not looking up.
I clenched my fists. “Did you hear me? I said I’m not going to marry you.”
Kostya hummed as if I hadn’t spoken at all, nodding to himself as he selected one of the bottles. “Yeah. You’re the type of girl who likes bubbles in her bath.”
He uncorked the glass, pouring a ribbon of rich liquid into the steaming water. Instantly, the scent of vanilla and jasmine unfurled into the air, sweet and intoxicating .
I hated that he was right. I did like bubbles. I loved sinking into a bath that smelled like heaven, letting the warmth soothe away aches and tension. And my body was sore, every muscle worn from the night before. It would feel like bliss.
But I wasn’t about to let him use that against me.
I wasn’t about to let him distract me with softness while he stole my freedom.
“Kostya,” I snapped, stomping my foot against the freezing tile floor. The sharp contrast between the warmth of the bath and the cold seeping into my skin had me shivering. “You may have taken most of my choices away, but this is one decision you will not make for me. I will not marry you.”
He turned off the tap, unhurried, unbothered. “It’s not up for discussion, babygirl.”
His voice was smooth, utterly calm, but there was something final in it, something that made my stomach drop. “The arrangements are already being made. We will get married tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
I swayed as my vision blurred. The air felt too thick, the steam suffocating instead of comforting. My chest tightened, my heart pounded against my ribs in a wild, panicked rhythm.
He hadn’t even looked at me.
Hadn’t given me the dignity of facing me while he stripped away my choices.
“Over my dead body,” I snarled, my teeth clenched so tightly my jaw ached.
That finally got his attention .
Kostya stood in one smooth motion, reaching down to turn off the water.
The sudden silence rang in my ears.
His movements were measured, controlled, but the way his jaw flexed, a sharp tick of muscle beneath his skin, told me what his calm exterior didn’t.
He was pissed .
None of the Ivanov men were used to hearing the word no.
I took a step back, my bare feet slipping slightly on the slick tile, but he followed. Heat radiated from his body, hotter than the steam, hotter than the bath, chasing me back, forcing me to retreat until I hit the wall.
The cool marble bit into my skin, sending a shock through my body and before I could move, before I could slip away, Kostya was there.
His hands pressed against the wall beside my head, caging me in. His body loomed over mine, all tattooed muscle and dominance, his bare chest damp from the mist curling in the air, his pupils blown wide.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
The sharp scent of vanilla and jasmine filled my nose, cloying now, overpowering. The steam clung to my skin, and I was too warm, too aware of the heat pulsing between us. My pulse roared in my ears, every survival instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something.
But I was trapped.
And the worst part?
Beneath the panic, beneath the sharp, animal terror flooding my veins .
There was something else.
Something that had my stomach twisting, my breath coming faster, my thighs pressing together involuntarily.
I was afraid of him.
But I was afraid of myself more.
“That is precisely what I am trying to avoid,” Kostya growled as he ripped the sheet from my body, his strength effortless, his movements merciless.
I barely had time to gasp before he lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing.
Rage burned through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I fought him with everything I had.
My fists pounded against his shoulders. My legs kicked out, desperate to break free. I twisted, thrashed, anything to loosen his grip, but his arms were steel vices around my thighs and ribs.
I couldn’t move.
He didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t grunt. Didn’t acknowledge my fight.
He simply walked into the steaming bath and sank us both into the water, dragging me down with him. The heat licked at my skin, not quite scalding. I latched onto the sides of the tub, my fingers clawing against the wet porcelain as I tried to pull myself free.
His hand shot out, tangling in my hair, yanking me back down.
A strangled gasp escaped me as he wrenched my body against his, my back flush to his broad, unyielding chest.
His other hand gripped my hip, keeping me pinned between his legs, his skin burning against mine, his strength inescapable .
I sucked in a breath, about to scream, but he jerked my head back and crushed his lips to mine.
A punishment. A claiming. A warning.
I tried to turn away, but his grip only tightened.
The more I fought, the more water sloshed over the edge, spilling onto the floor in waves, a physical echo of my panic.
His fingers fisted my hair, pulling tight enough to make me whimper.
He took advantage of the sound, his tongue slipping past my lips, invading, dominating, owning, until my struggles weakened.
I hated my body for responding.
Hated the way my pulse thundered, not just in fear, but from something darker.
Finally, he pulled back, his breath hot against my swollen lips.
“If you don’t stop arguing with me, I’ll be forced to punish you,” he said, voice low, dangerous.
My stomach dropped.
My eyes widened, shock slamming into me with an almost physical force.
How could he not see that I would not marry him?
That this was wrong?
It didn’t matter how much my body craved him, how much I enjoyed our time together when he wasn’t being a brute.
Even if some shameful, buried part of me liked it when he was a brute.
Marrying him was impossible .
"See, that right there," I said, grasping for logic, for reason. "I can’t marry you. You’re my brother.”
“Brother-in-law,” he corrected smoothly, as if that changed anything.
And I hated that it did.
He wasn’t my blood. There was no shared DNA, no biological tie. But it was still morally wrong.
“You’re married to my sister.”
“Was married.” His voice was steady, without remorse. “I owe your sister nothing. Neither do you. You will be my wife.”
A chill ran down my spine despite the heat of the water.
“Not that you bothered asking,” I spat, shoving against his chest. “But no. I won’t.”
I twisted in his grip, fighting like hell, managing to pull myself up a few inches.
Before his fingers wrapped around my wrist and wrenched me back down.
My breath hitched.
He was done playing.
“I am warning you, moy zaichonok .”
His voice was pure steel, a razor’s edge pressed against my throat.
A shiver ran through me.
This wasn’t a fight I could win.
Not like this.
I hated when he called me that.
That stupid, possessive term of endearment. I hated how it made something deep inside me clench, how it made me want to run to him, let him hold me, let him claim me.
“Warning me?” I laughed, though my voice shook. “What are you going to do if I don’t marry you?”
“You will marry me.” He said it with a casual shrug, like it had already been decided, like my protests were nothing more than background noise. “But if you don’t start behaving, I’ll show you what happens to little brats who don’t do as they’re told.”
“Fuck you.” I spat the words, jerking away from him, my body coiled with resistance.
A flicker of something dark crossed his face. Annoyance. Hunger. And beneath it all, something that almost looked like respect. As if he wanted this fight. As if he liked that I didn’t make it easy.
“Just remember,” he murmured, “you asked for this.”
His hand shot out, gripping my hair, twisting it in his fist as he rose to his knees. A sharp gasp ripped from my throat when he wrenched me forward, bending me over the smooth, damp edge of the tub.
I clawed at the marble lip, trying to push myself up, trying to crawl away, but he was already there, his hands branding my skin, keeping me locked in place. The cold porcelain bit into my stomach, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water still swirling around my thighs.
“I already spanked you once before,” he said, his voice rich with cruel amusement as his palm caressed the curve of my ass. “You fought me then too. I thought you’d learned your lesson.”
His fingers trailed lower, slow, teasing. Threatening. “Clearly, a more intense punishment is needed. ”
A shudder ran through me, part fear, part something I couldn’t name.
“Let me go,” I gasped, twisting beneath him, my wet skin slick against his.
He didn’t.
Instead, his hand slid between my cheeks, his fingers pressing against the sensitive skin of my untouched hole.
“What are you doing?” My voice wavered, raw with panic, but there was something else underneath. A traitorous curiosity. A dark, forbidden thrill that sent heat curling through my stomach.
He didn’t answer.
The pop of a cork sent a new wave of panic through me, and then warm, viscous liquid drizzled over my skin, seeping between my cheeks, coating me.
His fingers returned, spreading the oil, circling, teasing, pushing just slightly, just enough that I tightened my muscles in protest.
I trembled. “Kostya. Wait. I’ll be good.”
“We are well beyond that,” he murmured.
I twisted, trying to get away, but the movement only sent more water sloshing over the edge of the tub, sparkling bubbles spilling across the floor in scattered pools. My body rigid, braced for his painful touch.
His palm cracked down on my ass, the sharp sting stealing the breath from my lips.
I gasped, the shock of it stunning me just long enough for him to shift behind me, his body pressing closer, his grip unyielding.
“You will learn, moy zaichonok .” His voice was dark, deep, curling around me like a velvet snare .
I was shaking. From the heat, from the humiliation, from the unbearable pull of something I didn’t want to name.
Behind me, thick and hard, the blunt head of his cock pressed between my cheeks, insistent. Claiming.
“Kostya, no,” I whimpered, my body tightening even more. “Not there… you won’t fit.”
His fingers dug into my hips as his lips brushed my ear. “With you, babygirl, I will always fit.”
And then, with one slow, relentless push, he buried himself inside my ass.