Chapter 5
“You don’t strike me as the gentle type.”
VALENTINA
His kiss obliterates me.
I may have no memory, but I know…in the depths of my innermost being, I have never been kissed like this. Such possession, dominance…ownership, when this utterly beautiful, masculine man kisses me, it’s clear he has one motive: I am his.
Valentina Makarova.
It doesn’t quite fit. The first part, yes. But I like his name. Roman. Roman Makarova. It’s the name of a warrior, the kind who would wage a war for me. But why do I think I’d be the queen sitting on a throne giving him hell?
My strange and wild thoughts multiply.
“And you…are my wife.”
I lift my brows. Shock punches through my chest. Marriage.
Matrimony. These words are so distasteful, so revolting.
And yet, when I look at him, this dark, beautiful god with his hypnotizing green eyes and long golden locks tied in a ponytail on his broad shoulder, relief is all I feel.
And a strong current of heat between my legs.
He overwhelms me.
He looks like he stepped straight out of a mafia boss magazine. That suit hugs him, dark, tailored to perfection, fabric of wealth, power, and danger. Even with his cocky smirk and arrogant posture, he looks damn good in it. Like he’s already a king and I’m his crown to claim.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I admit and touch my ailing head, the twinkle of the rock on my finger catching my eye. It’s a diamond. A purple diamond worthy of royalty. Why does it impress me all the more?
Roman helps me sit up, comfortably positioning my pillow. Good. I don’t want to fall back to sleep, though I will soon, judging by the dizziness. My golden hair mirrors his, but his is a hint more silver. And while his hair is straight and silky, mine is curly and wild.
“You must be famished,” my husband says before barking an order to someone in the hall. My breath hitches when he touches his thumb to my chin. “Name anything, and I will have it made for you.”
Rendered speechless, I stare at his eyes. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.
“Um…” my voice cracks, hoarse and strained with emotion. I blink up at Roman. Fuck his sculpted cheekbones and rugged but chiseled square jawline.
He has no business looking this devilishly handsome. So fucking lickable, it’s criminal. While my sense of reason might rebel, my traitorous lady parts scream, “We’re not worthy!”
I tighten my fingers around the blanket, anchoring myself as he observes me, calm and expectant. “What do you want for breakfast, Koroleva?”
I don’t know the word. But I like it. It rolls off his tongue in a seamless Russian brogue that sends shivers up my spine and heat surging south. Exhaling, I confess, “I…I don’t know.” I search his face, trying to piece together a life, a memory I don’t remember. “What do I usually have?”
His lips curve slightly, as if indulging a private joke. “Whatever you desire.”
Something stubborn rises in me. If this is my life—if he is my husband—then surely, I must eat like a queen.
“I want black sturgeon caviar on warm, buttered blini,” I say, testing him.
“With the kind of sour cream that comes from cows that probably live better than most people. And sirniki with a drizzle of golden honey. Oh, and a cup of kopi luwak—since I assume my tastes are as expensive as this estate.”
I lock eyes with him, not breaking. Roman’s green eyes glitter with amusement as he leans in. “Of course. Only the finest for my wife.”
He gets up to inform the staff outside. Fuck. I’d hoped he would respond like he was rising to the challenge. Instead, he responded like a husband, a ruler—self-assured and confident in his dominion. I say the word. He follows. But it’s clear he holds the strings and the answers.
Did I grow up with the finest food? Or was it a special occasion? What other things do I enjoy?
“Are you warm enough, maya Valya?” His voice cuts through my thoughts as he lingers beside the bed, his shadow falling over me.
I part my lips, eyeing him quizzically. “Why? If I weren’t, what alternative would you use to warm me up, my husband?” A dark playfulness rises in me. I like seeing his response.
He taps his jaw, the vein in his marble pillar of a neck throbbing. “I could be a gentleman,” —‘gent-yl-mehn’ in his accent—“and offer you a heated blanket or turn up the temperature…”
“You don’t strike me as the gentle type.” I meet his gaze with a sultry-feeling smile.
“I am not.” His green eyes turn to heated jewels, kindling all my senses. “I would prefer you to remain cold, Moya Koroleva…if it means I am treated to the shape of your lovely nipples peaking through the silk you wear.”
A flush swells over me, and the devil knows it. He tilts his head with a subtle smirk. My nipples seem to bud all the more under his livid gaze. If I’m his wife, then it must mean we’ve…
I resist the urge to touch between my legs. All I know is the very thought of something, of someone inside me, it’s unfathomable. And yet, one more glance at him has heat and hunger swelling like my body is preparing. Fuck that. Not till I get answers…and the delicious meal.
Tossing my hair over one shoulder, I cross my arms over my chest and stick my nose up. “Maybe my nipples are none of your business.”
His entire body tenses. My breath hitches.
But even as he advances closer, drowning me in his body heat while searing me with those emerald eyes, I don’t shrink.
I can barely breathe. When Roman lowers his upper body until his hands flatten on the blankets, effectively caging me in and casting his masculine musk all around me, my senses riot. Gooseflesh erupts on my skin.
I still don’t flinch as he tips his brow to mine, his lips and breath an inch from mine.
Somehow, I find my voice. “Do you enjoy bulldozing my air supply? Or do you just have personal space issues?”
Something dark rumbles in his throat, and my mouth goes dry. “Are you saying I take your breath away, Valya?” God, he smells delicious—leather, vetiver, and hints of dark woods.
Going for broke, I arch my neck, careless if my lips brush his. “Careful,” I warn in an erotic but brattish voice. “You might choke on it.”
“Or I’ll suffocate you with my charm.”
Fuuuck. He cocks his head with a dastardly smirk. He’s baiting me.
“More like your giant ego,” I fire back, but it’s weaker, and it takes all my strength not to squirm.
“Ego implies exaggeration. What I have is simply reality.” He winks. “And to circle back…everything about you, Valentina Makarova, is my goddamn business.”
The moment he pulls away, my lungs can function again, though my cheeks have turned bright red. He still hasn’t lost that knowing simper that sends a chill up my spine. What will happen after the meal? I touch my head again, wondering when the pounding will stop.
Roman stiffens. “I’ll call for the doctor and an increase to your pain medication.”
“No. I don’t want meds. I just…I’ll be fine.”
He turns to the bed, that knowing smirk somehow growing.
“Valentina Makarova. I am the king of a small empire. You are my queen. Do you believe a king will not take every step necessary to ensure his queen, his wife, is satisfied?” He clenches his hands into fists, the veins showing more.
There’s a wicked gleam in his eye, and it’s not putting me at ease.
No, it’s working. God, why does it have to work? !
I should be rolling my eyes, but instead, I’m fighting the urge to crawl into his lap and let him have his way. Damn him.
“I have no idea what you mean.” It’s the first time I shrink back into the pillows.
“I will show you, Valya. But I am afraid you will get a little colder first.”
His expression turns from wicked to carnal and sinful. His hunger practically drowns me. And my center clenches….and drips. Oh, shi—
—I don’t get to blink before he rips all the blankets from the bed. I don’t get to move a muscle before he has me pinned against the bed with my arms over my head. I buck and thrash, but he’s a goddamn wall of armored muscle.
“Roman, what the hell? Get the fuck off me!” I cry, but my whole body trembles when he brushes his nose along the side of my neck.
“I will take the pain away, maya Valya. Chemu byt’, togo ne minovat’.”
“What does that mean?”
He smiles—no, he bares his teeth. Raw, unfiltered predator. Lethal dominance wrapped in seductive masculinity.
The next thing I know, I hear the click of metal. Cold steel bites into my wrists.
Snap. Snap.
He’s handcuffed me. To the bed.
I jolt. “What the fuck?” I look above me. “Who the hell forges iron rungs into a bed frame?!”
Roman pushes the nightgown up to my hips. Then, without a word, he spreads my legs wide and buries his face in my dripping cunt.
I scream from the shock. Some fear. But more heat. And so much…need.
And still, I fight. Whether out of instinct, reflex, or sheer panic, I bring my knee up as powerfully as I can, and it cracks against his jaw.
His head snaps back.
And I choke, my breath seizing as his expression deepens from predator to sadistic hunter.
A muscle bounces in his cheek.
He grips my knees, forcing them apart, then sinks his teeth into my thigh.