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CHAPTER ONE
POV: Lev
Irina has always been my most loyal mistress. I've fucked her more times than I can count. A redhead with eyes that sparkle like emeralds, she is as fiery in bed as she is outside.
It’s those long legs, full breasts and tight little ass that keeps us going. Mostly, it’s how she knows exactly what I want before I even ask for it.
Today, though, we both know this will be our last time together.
I watch as she crawls towards me now, her hands bound behind her back with silk scarves, her nipples hard and erect.
She kneels without being told. She’s done this many times before. Her wrists are already cuffed behind her back. I slide the belt from my waist and double it in my hand.
She tilts her head up. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m always quiet before something I regret.”
“Do you regret me?”
“Not yet.”
I strike once on her thigh, sharply. She gasps like it’s the answer she has being waiting for.
I don’t watch her face. I watch the way she tries not to make noise. She thinks that’ll impress me. It never does. Restraint isn’t the same as strength; it’s just delay.
She shifts forward on her knees, eyes on mine. “You should break her in early. Before she gets ideas.”
“She won’t.”
Irina raises her brow. “She looked soft.”
“Soft things bend,” I say, drawing the belt across her hip. “They don’t break until you want them to.”
My lips curl as I break the belt against her skin with force again.
“And you’re not to have talk of my future wife on your lips. Is that clear?”
While she nods, whimpering and shuddering, I walk around her slowly, taking in every inch of her naked flesh. My cock throbs inside my pants at the sight of her exposed pussy, glistening wet already and I run a finger along her slit, feeling her shudder beneath my touch.
"So eager for me?" I murmur, pressing against her entrance but not pushing inside.
"Always," she whispers, arching her back to try and force me deeper.
"Naughty thing," I chastise, slapping her ass sharply. She gasps at the sting but pushes back against me again. This time, I don’t tease her; instead, I drive my length deep into her in one swift thrust.
Without a moment’s waste, I grip her hips tightly and begin pounding into her relentlessly. She cries out, her voice muffled by the pillow beneath her head.
I lean down, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back sharply. “I want to hear it.”
Her scream fills the room as I continue to fuck her brutally, my hips slamming against her ass with each thrust. "I might just miss
this sweet cunt," I say what I know she needs, biting down on her earlobe hard enough to draw blood.
"Please, Sir," she begs. "Fuck my ass."
I grin wickedly, knowing how much she loves to be taken there. I pull out of her pussy and trail the head of my cock through her slick folds, coating myself in her juices. Then, without warning, I press against her tight little hole.
Irina tenses instinctively, trying to relax enough to take me. But I spank her ass cheek, the sound echoing through the room. "Relax," I command, and she takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
I press harder, feeling her resistance give way as the tip of my cock pops past the tight ring of muscle. "That's it," I allow a groan, sliding deeper into her.
She cries out, the pain mixing with pleasure as I fill her completely. I begin to move, slowly at first, allowing her to adjust to my size. But it isn't long before I’m pounding into her ass with the same ferocity I’d used on her breeding hole.
Irina screams into the pillow, tears streaming down her face. I reach around, finding her clit swollen and sensitive. I rub it firmly, making her cry out louder. "Come for me," I demand, pinching her between my fingers.
She obeys instantly, her body convulsing around me as waves of pleasure crash over her. I grunt, feeling her orgasm milk my cock, drawing my own release from him. I slam into her one last time, burying myself deep inside her ass as I come hard.
I roll off and let out a sigh.
I need the release. I can already tell today would be intense.
As I sit wondering if my new possession would be easy to train, Irina moans beside me, arching her plump ass for more.
I click my tongue.
“Don’t be greedy,” I murmur. “I must save strength for my soon-to-be wife. She needs to learn slowly.”
Irina swallows whatever she wants to say. I leave her cuffed, red and aching. I walk out without another look back.
Dmitri falls in beside me without a word, only a quiet glance toward the chapel doors ahead.
“She’s here?” I ask.
He nods. “Came in five minutes ago with her father.”
“Rehearsal?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The chapel is a shell of carved concrete and blood money. The altar is bare, no crosses or sentiment.
I stand beside it while the priest fidgets through a leather-bound book. Dmitri waits at the far side. The seats behind me are full—Bratva heads, silent investors, old men with blood on their teeth. None of them claps when she walks in.
Yet, Anya Mikhailova doesn’t tremble.
Good.
She doesn’t lower her eyes or look at me as she walks. She keeps her gaze level, somewhere above the priest’s head.
Smart.
Her dress is plain white and satin with no veil. Her mouth is set with not sign of a smile. Yet, the way her honey-blonde soft waves frame that pale, beautiful face exposes her angelic aura.
I’m immediately drawn to her perfectly curated hourglass shape; the simple dress cannot hide it.
I chose well, as always.
I take her hand because the moment calls for it. Her fingers are cold. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean in.
The priest begins, “Do you take this woman—”
“I’ve already taken her,” I cut him short, my eyes never leaving what’s mine.
We sign and the photos follow. I kiss her cheek. Her skin smells floral, and like fabric that’s never been worn.
She doesn’t say anything other than what is needed.
Side by side, we walk through the stone corridor together. She still doesn’t speak. Her hands stay clasped in front of her, tight enough that I can see the blood leave her knuckles.
At the main staircase, Dmitri waits. He tips his chin toward her, asking a question without speaking.
“She’ll be escorted to the bridal suite,” I respond.
Anya’s head turns slightly. She doesn’t look at me, but I feel the question forming.
“You’ll have space,” I add. “For now.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” she says, almost feisty.
So she speaks. I stuff down a chuckle before it escapes.
“No. You didn’t ask for any of this.”
I keep walking, leaving her behind with Mariya, the housemaid.
Dmitri falls in step again. “You’re sure you want to keep her untouched?” he says, low.
I give him a smirk. “You know I will eventually. But not until I know what she is.”
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Bound by His Name by Cleo Noir