Roman
The moment I slide inside her, the world ceases to exist.
I’ve fucked before, dozens of women, faceless, nameless, nothing more than warm bodies to take the edge off. But this isn’t fucking. This isn’t release.
This is war.
Her body clutches me like it was made for me, slick heat drawing me deeper, milking me with every thrust. Her head tips back, lips parting on a cry that makes my cock throb.
I watch her unravel, the flush racing down her chest, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her eyes roll back when I grind against her just right.
It ignites something savage inside me.
I grip her neck just tight enough to feel her pulse hammering against my fingertips, and drive harder, faster. Each slam of my hips is a claim, a brand, a vow. Mine. Her nails rake my back, her legs tighten around me, pulling me closer, demanding more.
When she comes apart beneath me, screaming my name, I lose it. Her body spasms around me, clenching, desperate, and I roar as I spill into her, burying myself deep, grinding until I know she feels every drop. Until there’s no mistaking what I’ve done, what I’ve made her.
Ruined. Owned.
My chest heaves as I collapse against her, my weight pressing her into the mattress. Her fingers curl into my shoulders, not pushing away, not resisting. Clinging.
For a long moment, all I hear is her ragged breathing, the frantic pound of her heart against my chest. I inhale her scent, sweat, sex, the faint sweetness of her arousal, and something tightens low in my gut.
I don’t just want her. I need her.
And now she’s mine.
We lie in the silence, waiting for our breath to return to normal, for the world to rebalance, and it isn’t long before her breaths come deep and rhythmic.
I leave her sleeping, tangled in the sheets, skin flushed from my touch. Her lips are swollen, her thighs trembling even in rest. Satisfaction rolls through me at the sight. She won’t forget tonight. She won’t forget me.
Downstairs, my brothers wait.
The lounge is dimly lit, glasses of vodka glinting on the low table. They look up as I enter, four sets of eyes sharp and amused.
“Well,” Nikolai drawls, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “That didn’t take long.”
Mikhail chuckles, low and knowing. “Our Roman, finally tamed.”
“Fuck off,” I growl, grabbing a glass and tossing it back. The burn sears down my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the fire still raging in my veins.
Aleksei leans forward, grin wide. “You swore you’d never settle down. Swore no woman could keep you.”
I shrug, pouring another. “I didn’t settle. I claimed.”
Their laughter echoes, sharp and mocking, but I let it roll off. They understand. They all recently found their wives in a similar way. That feeling the second I saw her. They felt that too. That truth screaming in my blood…They get it.
Maksim’s gaze is steadier than the rest. “Your timing was… inconvenient.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Our uncle was supposed to pay her father for that marriage. Two million for her to be tied to the cousin. But when you took her, I handled it.” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. “I gave him the money myself. Made it clear the alliance stands, with us, not our uncle.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “And?”
“And he didn’t argue.” Maksim’s lip curls, disgust flashing across his face. “Didn’t give a damn what happened to his daughter, so long as the money cleared and the connection was intact.”
My grip tightens on the glass until it cracks. I don’t flinch as shards bite into my palm. The fury is a wildfire, choking me, blinding me.
That bastard. That smug, greedy bastard. Selling his daughter off like she’s nothing. Not even caring who takes her, as long as the deal’s done.
“But there is still the issue of our dear old Uncle…” Maksim sighs. “He is on the fucking warpath, because he wanted the alliance to further his own interests.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“He’s furious,” Maksim continues. “You humiliated him, Roman. He promised his son a bride that would further his prospects, and now you’ve taken her.”
“He didn’t even want her,” I counter, “you heard the disrespectful little prick. He is lucky I didn’t shoot him straight between the eyes.”
Aleksei smirks. “He should have kept a tighter grip if he didn’t want her taken right out from under him.”
Mikhail’s gaze sharpens on me. “Fury isn’t nothing. He’ll want to make a point.”
I lean back, letting the cracked glass dangle from my fingers. “Let him rage. Let him slam his fists and drink himself stupid. It changes nothing.”
Maksim’s brow arches. “You think he’ll just let it go?”
“No.” I smile, feral, showing teeth. “But his son isn’t without options. The Masquerade Ball is in two months. There will be women enough to choose from, women who want the name, the power. He can take his pick there and leave Olivia the fuck out of it.”
My brothers exchange glances, weighing the truth of it.
The ball is a beast of its own, an annual gathering where deals are made in the shadows, masks concealing sins no one dares name aloud.
Alliances are forged with blood and lust. Every syndicate sends their best, their brightest, their most beautiful.
Celebrities, politicians, everyone who is anyone who can afford the fucking price.
And they all pay handsomely for one night of anonymous debauchery.
“He won’t like being told to wait his turn,” Nikolai drawls, tipping his glass toward me. “But you’re not wrong. There’s no shortage of girls desperate for a husband with Bratva money and a ruthless reputation.”
“Desperate women,” Aleksei adds with a grin, “and fathers even more so.”
Maksim exhales, his eyes never leaving mine. “You may have thrown him a bone, Roman, but don’t think for a second he’ll forget the insult. He’s family, but family cuts deepest.”
I know what he is referring to. “I’m not afraid of him,” I snarl, my jaw tightening. “He can take his grievances to hell for all I care. Olivia was never his. She was always mine. I’d have taken her the moment I saw her wherever that was.”
“Who is hosting the ball this year?” Nikolai asks, turning to face Maksim. “Maybe you could pull some strings and we can make sure our dearest cousin meets the right kind of woman.”
Silence follows, heavy, taut, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the clink of ice in glasses.
“The Orlov’s,” Maksim says. “But I think we can do better. I’ll see if they will let us host this year.”
“Do whatever you need to. She’s mine,” I snarl again, rising to my feet. The words shake the room, sharp and final. “No one touches her. No one so much as looks at her without my permission.”
The brothers fall silent.
Nikolai arches a brow. “Possessive already?”
“Yes,” I bite out. “Because she’s not like the others. She’s not a pawn. Not some pretty little thing to warm my bed and disappear. She’s mine.”
Mikhail whistles low. “God help anyone who forgets it.”
“God won’t be able to help them,” I say, dropping the bloodied glass to the table. “Not when I’m done.”
For a moment, the room is quiet, the weight of my vow settling over us all. Maksim studies me, unreadable, then nods once.
“Then we protect her. As one of us.”
The others echo it; a silent pact forged in blood and vodka. And I know, with absolute certainty, that no matter what storms come, alliances, enemies, even her own father, Olivia is untouchable.
Because she belongs to me.