Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
KOSTYA
W hen my cock sank deep into her, I had to fight every primal instinct in my body not to spill inside her with the first thrust.
Fuck. She was tight. Hot.
The way her virgin ass clenched around me, the way her body took me, swallowed me whole, was going to haunt me. Every time I closed my eyes, I would see this. Feel this.
This woman was going to be the death of me.
And I would die a happy man.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to pull back. This was supposed to be a lesson, a punishment, but fuck, the way my cock swelled, the way my balls ached to claim her, we were both learning something tonight.
The fight was slipping from her.
She still gripped the edge of the tub as if it were the only thing anchoring her, but she didn’t twist away, didn’t try to run. Her ass stayed in the air, her body trembling, submission curling around the edges of her defiance .
Good girl.
I gripped her hips, angling her just how I wanted her, and slammed back inside.
Again. And again.
My gaze locked onto the way her perfect ass bounced with every thrust, the bright red mark from my palm branding her pale skin. Something savage unfurled in my chest at the sight.
God, I could get used to this.
Seeing my marks on her body, knowing she belonged to me. Soon, she would bear my love bites, my handprints, every inch of her covered in proof that she was mine.
She would not be taken from me.
Ever.
One hand locked on her hip, holding her still while I fucked her, while I owned her, while I seared my claim into every nerve of her body. The other traced the curve of her spine, starting at the small dimple just above her ass, gliding upward, featherlight.
She shivered.
I curled my fingers into the damp strands of her hair, fisting it, and pulled.
A gasp ripped from her throat as I wrenched her upright, arching her back until she had no choice but to look forward.
At the mirror.
At us.
“Look,” I growled against her ear. “Watch yourself. Watch how fucking perfect you are under me.”
Her body trembled against mine, her breath sharp and ragged .
And fuck, she was beautiful.
Her usual pink lips were swollen and kiss-bruised, her pupils blown wide with pleasure and defiance, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
Tears spilled down her face, silent, shining streaks catching the dim, misty glow of the bathroom lights.
She was overwhelmed.
Conflicted.
Desperate to hate what I was doing to her, but her body…her body was betraying her.
I felt it in the way she pulsed around me, the way she held me inside her, the way her hips twitched in tiny, unconscious movements, as if seeking more, even as her mind told her to fight.
Poor little rabbit.
She didn’t understand yet.
She thought she wanted to escape me.
She thought she could deny what was between us.
But I would break that resistance. I would teach her. "It doesn't have to be like this. Every night, I can worship your body or punish you. It is your choice.”
"It's not a choice I want," she said, her voice laced with defiance, though the tremor beneath it betrayed her.
"Regardless, it is the only choice you have."
I reached around her, cupping her breast in my palm, rolling the sensitive peak between my fingers before pinching just hard enough to pull a gasp from her lips. The sound sent a bolt of satisfaction through me. I let go, letting my hand trail lower, tracing the delicate curve of her waist, the soft dip of her belly, until my fingers slipped between her legs .
She was warm, slick, her body betraying her even as her mind fought against me.
"I could be so good to you, or I can be cruel. I would rather have you wet and willing, but I will have you either way. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her eyes locked on the mirror, her breath coming in uneven pants.
"Look at yourself," I murmured, my grip tightening on her hip, grinding into her deeper. "Look at how stunning you are as you take my cock. This is meant to be a punishment, but I think you like it."
She said nothing, only lifted her chin, trying to look defiant. It would have been more convincing if her body wasn’t responding so beautifully to me.
Her nipples stood hard and flushed, her lips parted, her muscles clenching with each slow roll of my hips.
I smirked. "I bet if I touch your pretty cunt, you’ll be wet for me again. Am I right? Answer me, moy zaichonok ."
"Any dampness you feel is just your own cum still dripping from me."
Venom laced her words, but the second I brushed my fingers over her swollen clit, she gasped, the sharp sound cutting off her protest.
I chuckled. "Lying doesn't suit you."
She tried to turn her head away, but I grabbed her jaw, forcing her to keep watching herself in the mirror.
"You need to learn to behave, to be a good wife, and I will make it so good for you," I growled against her ear as I circled her clit again, rubbing in slow, torturous strokes.
This was meant to be a punishment. I should have worked her up only to leave her aching, desperate, helpless.
But that felt wrong.
I didn’t want her to associate my bed, my hands, my dominance with suffering. I wanted her to crave it. To beg for it. To know that no matter how hard she fought, no matter how much she denied herself, her pleasure belonged to me.
Her body was mine to ruin.
Mine to worship.
Mine to control.
And I would make her come. Over and over again.
My fingers worked her clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing more of those sweet, helpless noises from her throat. The mask of indifference melted away, her expression unraveling, her body betraying her completely.
There she was.
My goddess, lost in ecstasy.
It was only a matter of time before she admitted the truth.
My future wife.
The woman who would ride me in train cars, fuck me in the shower, take my cock in her ass in a bathtub. The woman who would be stretched out beneath me, heels digging into my back as she came apart, first on my tongue, then on my cock.
I pressed my lips to her ear. "Tell me you like this. Tell me how my greedy girl has turned a punishment into a reward. I think you like this even more than being spanked."
"No," she gasped. "I don't—I—no. "
Liar.
I slammed into her, gripping her hips tighter, fucking the insolence right out of her.
"Admit it," I demanded, my voice dark and unforgiving. "Tell me you love the way it feels to be owned. That you crave to submit to me. Say it, and I’ll let you come. Deny me, and I’ll deny you."
An empty threat. She didn’t need to know that.
Her teeth clenched, her body trembling with the effort to resist. I was ready to push her down, to take my frustration out on her body until she learned.
Then she broke.
"I like it." The words cracked in her throat, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. "I shouldn’t like it. This is wrong. I should hate this, but I like it. I want?—"
I grabbed her jaw and wrenched her head to the side, crushing my mouth to hers, swallowing the rest of her words.
It was the only way I could tell her I understood.
Not the shame. Not the guilt. Fuck that.
But the need. The overwhelming, consuming force between us. Something raw, something dark, something deeper than I ever thought possible.
My fingers worked her clit in tight, punishing circles. My thrusts turned brutal, relentless. I was close, my balls tight, my body strung so hard I was about to snap.
Her body betrayed her completely, her ass gripping my cock, her legs trembling, a desperate whimper caught in her throat.
"Come for me, wife ," I growled against her lips .
Her entire body tightened, her lips parted in a silent scream as she shattered around me.
I followed, burying myself deep, filling her, marking her.
There was something profoundly satisfying in knowing my wife could come on my command. Almost as satisfying as knowing that both her cunt and her ass were now mine.
A wave of exhaustion hit me, the kind that settled deep in my bones. The last few days had drained me—too little rest, too much tension—but more than that, it was her. The relentless fight, the emotional war she waged against me, and now, this. Taking her. Owning her.
We didn’t speak as I cleaned her up, carefully wiping her body, then draining the tub. I wrapped her in a thick towel and sat her on the edge of the counter where she slumped against the wall, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted as I started the shower.
She was spent. Raw. Broken open in more ways than one.
I stepped into the shower, holding her, washing away the evidence of our fight, the sex, the claim I’d just sealed. Then I lifted her into my arms and carried her back to the bed.
She didn’t resist.
She simply curled into me, her body fitting against mine as if she had always belonged there.
Tears still streamed silently down her face.
I understood. Today had been too much.
The kidnapping, the chase, the battle of wills. Then the intense, soul-wrenching sex that left her undone. She was feeling it now, the aftermath. Probably something close to a sub-drop, her body crashing after the overwhelming high.
I had taken her apart.
Now I would prove that I was the man who would always put her back together.
I held her close, my fingers threading through her damp hair, grounding her.
“Tomorrow, all of this will be over,” I murmured. “When I give you my name, you will be safe. No one will dare harm the wife of an Ivanov.”
A beat of silence. Then, softly, barely more than a whisper…
“Veronika had your name.”
The words were quiet but sharp, cutting into the moment like a blade.
I exhaled slowly. “Veronika did not act as my wife.” My voice was steady, final. “She stepped out of our marriage. She was careless. Discreet or not, she was never mine. Not the way you are mine.”
Marina’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, but I held her firm, my grip possessive, inescapable.
“She still had your name,” she said. “Why will it protect me when it didn’t protect her?”
“It will.” My voice hardened. “That is all you need to know.”
She didn’t argue. Not this time.
Because it wasn’t a discussion.
I pressed my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her, committing it to memory. I ran my hand down her back, over the curve of her waist, savoring the feel of her skin beneath my palm.
She would understand soon.
Tomorrow, everything would be final.
“The wives of my cousins will come to prepare you for the wedding,” I told her. “You’ll like them.”
I traced slow circles on her skin, my fingers skimming the delicate dip of her spine, grounding myself in the sensation of her body wrapped in mine.
“Everything else is being handled. You don’t have to do anything.” My voice dropped lower, soft but firm, the final stroke of control. “Tomorrow, you will become Marina Ivanova. Once we take care of a few loose ends here, we will return to Moscow. And I will make sure the world knows exactly who you are. My wife. And that no one, no one, will ever touch what belongs to me.”
She said nothing.
I assumed she had finally given up fighting the inevitable.
Maybe she had realized what I had known from the start. I was going to take care of her. I was going to provide for her, protect her, strip away every burden. Soon, all of this would feel like nothing more than a distant dream.
"When we get to Russia, we’ll set up your new bank accounts with your allowance, and we will build a life together," I murmured, my voice laced with the promise of certainty. "You’ll love the house. You can decorate it however you want, make it your home."
She didn’t respond .
Her silence wrapped around me like a blanket, heavy but not unwelcome.
My eyelids grew heavy. It had been too long since I’d had a restful sleep, and now, with Marina in my arms, Oleg dead, and Solovyov being dealt with, I could finally rest.
There were still loose ends to tie up.
The danger wasn’t entirely over.
If Artem had his way, the family could be headed into a civil war.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
For now, the Ivanov clan was whole. United.
This compound and everyone inside it was safe. Marina had been thoroughly fucked, punished, and then fucked again.
She would be my wife in less than twenty-four hours.
For the first time since my disastrous marriage to Veronika, there was no hollow pit in my gut. No creeping disappointment clawing up my throat. No burning shame of being a cuckolded joke.
All of it had been eradicated.
In its place was something warmer, heavier, something foreign. It took me several moments to name the feeling. Contentment. A rare luxury for men like me.
Was this what Gregor and the others felt when they held their wives? Was this why his focus had shifted, why his edge had softened, no, been refined?
Damien once told me that the love of a good woman didn’t make you weaker. It shifted your priorities.
Looking down at the sleeping goddess in my arms, I was starting to understand .
I wasn’t weaker for her.
She strengthened me.
For her, I would burn the world to ash.
For her, I would conquer nations, kill any man who dared touch her, topple governments if she so much as whispered a command. If her life was ever in danger, I would erase every last threat without hesitation.
But I would rather spend my time worshiping her.
Marina stirred in her sleep, pressing her tearstained face into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, my lips pressing against her forehead, savoring the feel of her body curled into mine.
My obsession.
My wife.
She would come to accept it. She’d have no choice. Running was no longer an option for her.