Chapter 6
“I know where the bodies are buried.”
ROMAN
Iadore her shriek and her flustered breaths. I can’t wait to learn every sound from Valentina Makarova’s mouth.
I wasn’t prepared for that knee. Felt like a goddamn kickback. Good thing I have an iron jaw.
After a few more seconds, I release her thigh from my teeth, but warn, “Knee me again, maya Valya, and I will leave marks all over your flesh.”
I will anyway, but she still lowers her knees.
The reddened mark from my teeth will stay. It will be tender for a couple of days. But I’ll give her more.
When she tenses again, I growl, “Be still.”
And then? I bury my face in her pussy. The scent hits me first.
Amusement ripples through me as I taste my wife. Honey. And vanilla. Not store-bought—no, this is something else.
Fuck, Zina, that wicked, old woman. I’ll need to thank the old shrew and her sense of humor, surprising me with her handmade scented oils. No lacy underthings for Valentina either.
I drag my mouth lower, to Valentina’s wet center, catching the intoxicating taste. I close my eyes, and I smile.
When she tries to snap her thighs together, I dig my fingers in so hard, I leave bruises on her winter-white skin. She cries, straining with the handcuffs, but I don’t give her an inch.
She will learn quickly who her master is. A demanding one.
Her nipples pucker through the thin silk. Her knees tremble. I still sense the tension in her. But she’s looking up at the ceiling, avoiding the sight of me. And I chuckle internally. She’s in denial.
So, I devour her. Like a starving man. Like a king feasting on the forbidden. Like she is my fucking birthright. She is.
I scrape my teeth along her pretty pink flesh, tilt my jaw to get a better angle, and lick her from taint to cleft.
My cock jerks in my pants. I’ll soak her with my cum today. And she will not wash it off. Not until I return at night to bathe her.
Zapretnyy plod sladok. Forbidden fruit is the sweetest.
Fuck, all those nights watching her. All the fantasies I contrived. They are nothing compared to this.
She’s a religious rite. And I’d get on my knees for her a thousand times over.
I’ll have her on her knees, too. She will give me all her vulnerability, all her secrets…even the ones she cannot remember.
Knifing my tongue between her labia, I taste her.
I take my time, savoring everything until I arrive at the plump, little pearl of feminine divine.
I circle my tongue around her pretty clit, thrilling in how she jumps.
The tension in her does not abate. Not yet.
Frantic breaths leave her throat. Blood roars to my cock.
Lifting my fingers to her hot flesh, I slip two fingers along her center and slowly glide inside.
“Oh, fuck! Oh, God!” she moans as I pump my fingers.
“Tebe eto nravitsya?” Do you like this?
I taunt her, though she doesn’t yet understand, but her body does. She’s creaming my fingers, greedy and desperate, her tight little channel sucking me in with every pulse, hungry, needy, made for me.
Then—
My fingertips meet resistance.
A delicate barrier. Silken, stubborn. A trembling veil guarding what’s mine.
I pause, savoring. My breath catches, and something primal roars through me. The beast inside me bares its teeth. This is it—what no man has touched. What only I will take.
My thumb strokes her hip as she squirms, unaware of her virginity.
So innocent. Yet, so lustful. Lascivious. So fucking perfect.
And soon…she will break for me.
I spread her until she whimpers. I pause, cherishing the sight of her with the shafts of morning sunlight worshiping her body. The soft outline of her full breasts and stiff nipples through the silk. A lovely flush spreads along her skin, and her chest heaves.
“Oh, God, just stop already!” she pleads, tears forming in her eyes, turning them to amethysts. She tenses, trying to cling to shredded threads of resistance.
I chuckle against her pussy. Without removing my fingers from her center, I flick my eyes up and summon her, “Look at me, Valentina.”
She resists at first. But the second I nip her other thigh, she drags her eyes to mine.
“Horosho devochka.” I say, then translate, my voice deep and thick with approval. “Good girl.”
A shiver surges through her. She blinks. And those tears glisten on her cheeks through the strands of golden hair.
I trace my tongue along the delicate curves of her labia and circle my fingers inside her. Her pussy clenches.
“Do you feel pain, Moya Koroleva?”
She parts her lips, but nothing comes out. Gaze locked on hers, I flick her clit with my tongue, smirking when she gasps.
“Answer me, Valentina,” I say sharply. “Or I will bite you in a place you will feel every time you try to walk away from me.”
“Okay, okay!” she huffs, then clenches around my fingers again. “I honestly forgot about the pain.”
“Mmm…Otlichno.” Excellent.
I dive back to her heavenly center.
It takes all my strength not to tear off all the clothes and fuck her like a beast. That will come in time. But a woman like Valentina Makarova needs other things first. I may be a damn devil, but I know how to pleasure a woman. And how to build her up until she’s ready to fall to her knees.
So, I softly thrust my fingers in and out of her opening. Her body softens into the sheets, but her hips lift. I’m fucked for this woman. Ravenous for her.
I’ve never been this hard. Valentina Makarova calls out the monster in me. I want to savage her, to ruin every untamed, exquisite inch of her.
I’ve had many women. Never a virgin. She is the only virgin I was ever interested in. She will be my first. And the last woman I will ever have.
Withdrawing my fingers, I tease her slick opening while licking her luscious folds, then train my attention on the sweet, swollen nub of her femininity.
She twists. I let her struggle, struggle with the fear and defiance and most of all…
desire. At last, she sighs and practically rolls her hips, seeking more.
I have her.
All her resistance crumbles.
I kiss her inflamed folds. I feed on her, gorging on her delectable heat. Finally, I draw her clit between my lips and suck tenderly, feeling her inner muscles flutter.
Fingers pausing inside her, I lift my other hand, cup her soft, high breast, and curl my thumb over her taut nipple.
She hisses, then moans, throwing her head back.
She clamps down on my fingers. A long, shrill screech fills the room as I lick her through the orgasm, stabbing her clit with my tongue, pumping my fingers, and tweaking her nipple.
Those taut buds are hypersensitive, and I will enjoy tormenting the immaculate rosy tips.
As she cries out at the peak, more fluids escape, gushing around my fingers, creaming my entire hand, and leaving a well of her release between her thighs.
Finally, she comes down, her breaths quick and ragged. Her eyes burn against mine, silently punishing me. Not for ruling her in these moments. But because of how good I made her feel.
Valentina blushes beet red. I smile wickedly. And while I lower the hem of her silk nightgown, I do not unshackle her. She’s flushed and panting, trembling under my hands.
As much as I long to eat her out more and test her boundaries, the outer door opens, ushering in a chain of staff. The delicious scent of my wife’s meal drifts in the air.
Zina steps inside like she owns the room—her presence both soothing and slightly uncanny.
With her broad hips and comfortable plumpness, she moves with the confident grace of a woman who’s run estates, buried secrets, and hexed a man or two.
My estates. My secrets. And the men who crossed her?
Nothing saved them from my wrath. It’s why she stayed with me, became my house matron, and earned her place here.
And she does it all wearing a soft pastel apron, embroidered with tiny black skulls and trimmed with delicate lace. I know she also keeps a small revolver strapped low on her thigh and a knife hidden in her skirt.
The apron and dress hug her generous curves, swaying as she walks. Sharp cheekbones and her icy blue eyes miss nothing.
But it’s the crow that captures Valentina’s attention.
The sleek black bird perches on Zina’s shoulder, feathers glossy, eyes gleaming with intelligence. My wife is intrigued. She peers at the bird with slow curiosity.
Zina meets Valentina’s gaze with a small, practiced nod and warm smile, helping to put her mistress at ease. Valentina will know those who serve her.
I will not be so gentle.
“Is that a crow?” my wife asks.
Zina beams, eyeing her faithful companion. “Of course, Milaya. I’m certain your memory of him will come back soon. You know he can’t go anywhere without me.”
I watch the exchange, letting the illusion settle like fog. Zina acts as though nothing has changed.
“What’s his name?”
The staff files in silently, placing the silver-draped trays of food on the corner table. The scent of caviar and sweet sirniki wafts through the air. Everything is in its place.
Even the lies.
“Shalun,” Zina remarks and reaches into her pocket, withdrawing a large sunflower seed. Shalun cocks its head, then snatches the seed deftly between its sharp black beak before settling.
Valentina blinks, but her eyes are merely curious, not judgmental. Good. The last thing I need is a quarrel.
Shalun’s wings shift, as if acknowledging the tension in the air.
No one comments on the bindings, but Zina’s lips curl into a mischievous smile as she approaches, eyes flickering with dark humor. “Roman has told me of your condition.”
“Condition?” Valentina lifts a brow, now suspicious.
“The car crash. Rest assured, we will all do everything in our power to help. But perhaps it’s for the best you do not remember me, Milaya.
After all…” She whispers something in Russian, light but teasing.
I catch the words: “Ya demon, kotorogo on vyzval iz ada. Teper on zastrial so mnoy — postoyannyy poltergeist.”
“Does she come with subtitles?” Valentina wonders, and I shake my head with a low chuckle.
I translate for her, “Zina just informed you she is the demon I lamentably summoned from hell. And I am stuck with her. Now, now, Zina, let us not scar my wife beyond repair.”
Zina winks, putting Valentina at ease more. “I know where the bodies are buried.”
There’s a cold edge behind the words—something she never lets slip to outsiders. A quiet warning. And a promise.
Not that Valentina needs to know where the bodies are buried.
She sets a steaming cup of tea beside Valentina, the scent a strange mix of chamomile and something darker, like grave moss. “This will calm restless spirits,” she says with a faint smirk.
I catch Valentina’s hesitant gaze and offer a slow, reassuring smile. The game has begun.