Chapter Sixteen - Kiara
Today is the day I’ve been dreading. I’m marrying a man I don’t want to, but have a deep, dark attraction for, and he knows it. Standing in front of the full-length mirror with Borisya standing by admiring her handiwork, I can’t deny that I feel like a fairy princess in her dress.
“Wow. You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just saying that because you’re marrying my cousin,” Borisya beams, a queasy feeling washing through my stomach.
“I love the dress,” I say warmly, trying to find the right thing to say, but what do you say when you’re being forced to marry a bloodthirsty Bratva boss who wants to own you?
“And you made the perfect choice.” The cream-colored form-fitting mermaid dress hugs to my slender waist accentuating every part of my body it needs to. The silk feels incredible on my skin, and with my makeup done up and a veil on, with my hair pinned in a swirl of curls, I don’t recognize the woman staring glumly back at me in the mirror.
Internal desperation and panic has plagued me most of the morning as I hold on to the bouquet of freesias and wildflowers in my hands wishing I could run. Run, run, run to the furthest corner of the earth where Akim can’t find me. And I would take my father. I wish I could summon back all the nights I saw him slip into the other room so I wouldn’t overhear his hushed conversations.
I would have made him stop, but I’m sure with the Bratva, once you’re in; it’s not that easy to back out. I can’t complain about the wedding venue. Being wed in the opulent hall of the Astoria building would be a dream for any other Chicago bride, but not me.
Photographers, and people I’ve never seen before surround me, fussing over my dress and giving me instructions for what I need to do next. I have no idea about how a wedding is organized, and I’m too numb to care. Part of me is scared, and the other part is grieving losing my youth and giving it to a man who doesn’t love me and only wants to claim me. Tilting my chin in the long, round mirror, Borisya adjusts my train as I consider how I can hold my own with him in the marriage.
And it’s at this moment that I lose heart. I don’t have any hold when it comes to this situation. I don’t want to be part of a Mafia family, and in a way—as I smile, flinching back at Borisya—it’s my father’s fault.
But it’s too late for guilt. All that’s left is a high-profile wedding with all his brothers, cousins, and extended family waiting for me to come out. Emily’s in the crowd, but she looks as worried as my father does. We’ve known each other’s secrets for so long, but mine is cast all over my face. I tried calling her a couple of times before the wedding, but couldn’t get ahold of her.
I told Akim I didn’t want any bridesmaids. It would have been a lie for them to celebrate a sham of a wedding with me, and I couldn’t take up their time with it. I slide into my wedding heels already exhausted from everything. Riddled with anxiety, I wait for the wedding music to cue, alerting me to walk out and into the decorated venue. The fancy hall doubles as a wedding and reception venue and the room is draped in white, with a large fancy chandelier hanging, and with chairs filled on each side. None of them are people I know, and all the beady eyes staring at me as I time the beats to the wedding music make me weak at the knees.
When I see my father join me with his arm held out for me to hook on to. I have to present an aura of forced calmness when all I want to do is hitch up this train and run in the other direction. I smile deeply at my father overjoyed to see him, but the depth of his guilt etched into the worry lines of his face are concerning.
Can’t worry about that now. All I want is to get this over with and see if I can negotiate some kind of normal life with Akim to where it’s bearable. “Hi, you look amazing. Are you okay?” he whispers, covering my hand with his as he holds on to me tightly, walking with me.
“Everything’s okay, Dad. Trust me,” I reply with a demure smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I glance into the crowd to see if I recognize anybody. I spot a few of the Utkin brothers sitting together with their wives, watching me, and secretly I scorn them for looking my way. I’m never going to call them my family. Every single one of them is a criminal and has probably done terrible fucking things to keep their stupid empire.
Remember the connection when you first met. He has humaneness inside. You’re going to have to dig to find it.
“It’s not okay. I can tell it’s not okay, and this is my fault. I don’t want you to do this. We can run. I swear we can turn around right now,” he repeats under his breath, but I just keep on smiling as hushed whispers gather in the crowd.
“No. Dad. I’m marrying Akim.” I hold my head up a few paces from the man who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. He’s wearing a suit, but the only difference is the color of his tie. It’s red, but the same chocolate brown eyes drill into me as he clasps his hands arrogantly in front of himself.
Akim’s eyes glance over me in appreciation as my father steps away, my protection gone. Timidly, I slide my hands into his as the celebrant smiles at us both, but I can’t bring myself to give him one back. To me this is a day of mourning. I might as well be at a funeral, not a wedding.
“You look spectacular,” Akim compliments as I smile sadly at him when he squeezes my hands.
“She’s the perfect girl for him,” I hear a woman say in the background.
No. I’m not. I hate him. But hate is too strong a word. It’s somewhere between loathing and violent attraction. Does that make me any better?
“Thank you. You look handsome too.” I leave it at that as the celebrant starts to walk us through the motions of traditional vows and I want to crawl away from him. He’s making a mockery of love, reciting the words in cold command, leaving me feeling emptier than ever.
“Do you now take Kiara Jane to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the celebrant asks as Akim’s face fills up with a cocky grin.
“I do.”
Organ music fills the hall as the celebrant gives us the all clear to proceed as a lawfully married couple. “You may kiss the bride,” he announces proudly, but he can’t see the fear buried in my eyes. I want to scream and tell him to reverse it. I’m still hoping this is all a bad dream, and I’ll wake up back in my townhouse with my father and working from home at my computer. But it’s not true. Akim is standing in front of me wearing a smugly arrogant expression.
He raises my veil, eliciting a cold shiver down my back as his mouth brushes against mine. I hold back as much as I can, but he applies pressure to the small of my back, embarrassing me by deepening the kiss in front of everyone, his tongue briefly touching mine. With a tight smile, I act, putting a hand up to his face as the crowd whoops assuming it’s a display of our passionate union. But I know better. It’s a gesture of control.
“Easy there, groom,” I whisper, putting a hand on his chest, which he covers with his hand. His eyes glower with possession, his mouth deepening into a smile.
“Sorry, I got a little carried away. What can I say? I’m in love with my bride.” The sentence has no love in it, only deep contempt.
It’s official. I hate Akim Utkin with a passion.
***
Standing in the middle of his grand bedroom, I want to run, but I’ve got no escape. I have to sleep beside this man for the rest of my life, and I don’t know how I’m going to do it. His presence is all-encompassing, and his hungry, lustful stares make me want to cover up.
Not able to look him in the eye, I stare at his bare chest, and all the fantasies I had about what he looked like underneath are unearthed. I hate myself for seeing that in real life it’s better than fantasy. His top half is full of intricate tattoos, a ring of stars around his belly button, and underneath is all hard muscle. Swallowing hard, I hold on to one of the four bed knobs for steadiness.
My breathing is labored and here again, I’m suffocating in his darkness. He has a habit of making me feel this way. I’ve defied him in the only way I can, finding a pair of sweatpants I bundled out of sight at the back of my closet and wearing them. He’s going to have to work if he wants me to take my clothes off. I stare behind him, the blind open to the glittering Chicago skyline.
“Good evening, wife,” Akim says softly with the same oozing charm he met me with at the bar. Goose bumps form on my arms as I tuck my hair behind my ear, staring at the imposing king-size bed.
“I’m barely your wife,” I murmur, bristling through my teeth as I twist part of my body away from him.
“Turn to face me. You’re my wife now. And together and for all the nights to come, you’re going to sleep in this bed with me. And only me. You’re mine,” he recounts with authority, a deep tingle running through the base of my spine, but all I show him is the scorn etched in my eyes. It’s the only part of me I want him to see.
Facing him, I tilt my chin, pulling the edges of the sheer cover-up he gave me to wear together. Under it is the fancy red bra he wanted me to wear. He walks forward, a gentle smile on his rugged face, but beneath lies a wolf. “Am I?”
Inner resistance is all I have left, and these niggling feelings of desire are only residue from the night we met, I tell myself, mistrust blazing in my eyes.
Akim laughs gently reaching for me as he tugs at the drawstring of my sweatpants. “Nice try these. Take them off for me. Be a good wife,” he taunts, kissing my neck, tendrils of his hair tickling my skin.
I hate him. Yes. I hate him with every fiber of my being. Waiting for a second, I take my time undoing my drawstring and sliding out of my pants. “Happy now?” I hiss. Akim glances down at my lace, red G-string, which I would never wear, and gives a satisfied groan.
“Not quite. Now the robe. Take it off for me. I want to see that sexy body of yours.” Disturbed, but excited by his request, I discard the robe standing only in my underwear. “Mm. That’s better. You look good in red. I’m going to make sure those sweatpants never come back again, though.”
Smiling, I like the irritation in his voice. And when we do go shopping, I’m going to do everything I can to slip a pair back in the bag. “Oh. You don’t like them?” Akim walks behind me, and him being out of sight unnerves me. What is he going to do back there?
I find out soon enough as Akim’s body wraps around me, his hand dragging my neck up from behind. “No. I don’t like them,” he adds hoarsely. “Don’t wear them ever again.” His hands slide up and down my throat in what I perceive as a threat, a flashback to when he entered my apartment and pinned me against the wall.
“Okay,” I reply in a small voice as his hands drop away. He grazes a finger down my spine and smacks me on the ass. I jolt forward from the smack, but I don’t hate it, and I wish I did, but the tortured part of me wants him to touch me. In all the places.
Hold on. Don’t show him your desire. He doesn’t deserve it.
But I sense I’m done for as Akim returns to the front, unclasping my bra, my bare chest visible. “That’s better. God. You are so glorious. Do you know that?” He kisses my earlobe, tugging on it, electricity zipping through me as my fingers curl.
“Whatever,” I say, but Akim grabs my hand placing it on his hard cock, thrusting himself into it.
“How about this? You seemed to enjoy it the last time.” Gasping, I feel his girth wondering if he’s going to fit. My mouth parts as he smiles kissing the side of my mouth. “There we go. I know you want me. You don’t have to pretend. Lay on your back for me. I can give you this treat a little later.”
Nervous about my virginity being taken, I follow his command and lie back, trying to get comfortable between the valley of pillows. Propping myself up, Akim’s hulk of a body hovering over me, I stare at him with scared eyes. “What are you going to do?” I ask, inexperienced and worried.
He strokes the inside of my leg, tapping it. “Spread for me and I’ll show you. Pleasure is what I’m going to give you, wife, not pain.” Opening my legs reluctantly, Akim’s mouth lines up a trail of kisses along my inner thigh, a delicious shiver coursing through me. I didn’t know it could feel like this. His hands are everywhere, and I barely notice the red lace being dragged from my body to the floor; that’s how relaxed I now am. I want to resist him for as long as I can, but the undeniable attraction I have to the man won’t let me.
Sighing, I give in to surrender as Akim’s tongue skims over the surface of my flesh, his hands holding my thighs in place, the image of him thrusting into the woman from the sex tape coming to mind. Whimpering, I imagine myself to be her, but this is better.
We’re married now. Maybe I should… could… give myself over to him. Gripping the sheets, I relax my hips as Akim’s mouth reaches the apex of wet core and his tongue glides inside me. Wanting to burst from the inside out, I sink into the bed, his tongue dancing and holding my hips. Some of the sensations I’ve never experienced before, so I don’t know what to feel or where to go. Akim steadies me with his hands, silently enforcing his guidance as waves of pleasure ripple through me.
I grip the sheets again as his mouth speeds up, but this time, it’s not because I’m wanting to defy him. No, it’s the volcano the monster has built inside me and the lava that wants to spill out of me—it has to go somewhere. My hips roll and gyrate under his command, his tongue in control as he flicks somewhere inside me as the lava releases, and I hear myself cry out.
“Akim! Yes. I like it!” I breathe out, wanting to capture the words, running them back into my mouth.
He’s won, and I’ve lost the battle to suppress the desire I feel for him. He raises up, his black hair hanging, his chest heaving. “I know you did. Tell me how much you want me,” he hisses as he stands up, taking his underwear down, his hard erection springing out, a throbbing pulse aching between my legs.
“I want you,” I tell him, lost in the sea of lust. Akim positions himself in front of me, gently guiding himself inside me. I feel myself expanding, his hips thrusting. So experienced. A slight pinch has me wince, but he stops.
“Want me to stop?” he asks. “It’s okay. First time,” he says softly, a warmth in his eyes. “I can take it slower.”
I can’t stop the feelings. I want him to take me now. “No. Don’t stop,” I hear myself say. Maybe it’s the alter ego, Ana, from the club, the one I wanted to be for the night speaking. He continues, watching to see how I react, pumping inside me, the feelings getting better as he keeps moving. The pace changes as I think, I’m the woman in the sex tape now.
Enthralled by him, I watch as he turns my body inside out, the pace changing again, his face contorting. “I’m close, Kiara. What you do to me,” he hisses through his teeth, flesh to flesh, consummating our marriage as he swells inside me, his climax overcoming him like it had done to me.
What have I done? And why did I like it so much?