Chapter 16 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
The next evening, I had to drag Lily out of the villa. We’d spent the day in a haze of sheets and stolen kisses, neither of us willing to let go. If I didn’t force us into the world again, we’d never leave that bed.
She protested, of course—half teasing, half serious—but I wanted her out where people could see her on my arm, wanted her where I could watch the way she glows when the night belongs to us.
Now, seated across from her in a dimly lit restaurant, I should be studying the menu, the wine list, anything else.
But I can’t.
All of my attention is on Lily.
She sits across from me, framed in soft candlelight, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass. She’s wearing my dress—the one I picked out myself before the wedding and packed for myself after Gwen said she shouldn’t need any clothes, because I wanted to see her in this and only this.
Royal blue, rich as midnight.
The color turns her golden skin incandescent.
The neckline plunges in a deep V, dipping low enough that every breath she takes pulls my gaze down, and the back…
the back is bare. Smooth. Perfect. A single thin strap ties behind her neck while the rest of the silk skims her waist and hips like liquid.
It leaves almost nothing to the imagination.
And her hair—God. She’s slicked it back into a high puff, regal and effortless, with soft curls left loose to frame her face. It’s elegant and wild at the same time, like her.
Every man in this restaurant looks at her. Every second of it feels like a blade sliding between my ribs.
But she’s mine.
Her lips curve into a soft, shy smile as she lifts her glass to sip, but I know that look—her lashes low, her shoulders just a fraction higher. She’s nervous. She knows what this dress is doing to me.
Excited about my naughty girl, I let her squirm across the table from me, her wine glass trembling just slightly in her fingers. She has no idea how much I enjoy watching her try to hold herself together.
She doesn’t know that I was built for this.
My father made me a tracker. Patient. Relentless. Methodical. From the time I could walk, he carved it into me—how to watch, how to listen, how to read the world until it became a map of patterns and movement, until there was nowhere left for prey to hide.
It was all I could offer the Bratva. When I was younger, he said I felt too much.
So he beat the feelings out of me. Happiness.
Sadness. Anything he called weakness. He cut it out of me, burned it out of me.
I carry the proof on my skin—thin white scars from his blade, his touch, his will. He built a soldier out of a boy.
There is no love left in me. No emotions—only rage or the cold, empty silence that comes when I am away from her. Away from Lily. My heart. The only person alive who has ever made me bleed.
And she wants all of it.
She wants the rage. The numbness. The predator I became when I learned to hunt. With her, that part of me gets to be alive, gets to feel. She wants the beast.
Perfect Lily, who doesn’t even realize she was made for this—for me. She wants me as if the heavens hadn’t carved her in my image, as if she ever had a choice not to love me, the way I had no choice but to love her.
She craves the beast. She craves the chase, the slow unraveling, the tension between knowing and not knowing. She likes to be a little scared, to feel the heat of me closing in until there is nowhere left to run.
And I like watching the moment she realizes there’s no escape. I like feeding her to the depraved monster inside of me.
Even here, at this table, in this dim, quiet restaurant, I can see it written all over her: the anticipation, the flush that crawls down her neck, the way her thighs press together under the table as if that will save her.
It won’t. Because she can’t hide from me. Not here. Not anywhere.
She belongs to me, and every inch of her knows it.
Across the table, Lily tilts her head, that mischievous spark in her golden eyes. She’s been flirting all evening—soft smiles, the tip of her shoe brushing my leg under the table—but now she pushes it further.
“Lily,” I warn, leaning forward slightly, my voice low enough to make her still for half a beat.
“Yes, Aleksandr?” she says sweetly, tilting her head like an angel while every line of her body screams trouble.
“Behave,” I murmur.
In response, she sticks her tongue out at me.
My fingers tighten on the edge of the table.
She knows exactly what she’s doing when she “accidentally” drops her linen napkin, lets it flutter to the floor like a white flag she has no intention of honoring.
“Oops,” she says, far too innocent.
The moment Lily drops that napkin, I know she’s up to something.
Mischief is written all over her face and the way she licks her lips tells me she’s already ten steps ahead.
I force myself to stay composed, my fingers gripping the edge of the table as she bends down slowly, her royal blue silk dress sliding up her thighs.
The deep V-line of her backless dress reveals the long, elegant curve of her spine, and I can’t help but stare. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
But then I feel her hands on my thigh, and my breath hitches.
Her fingers trail higher, teasing, until she’s undoing my belt with a practiced ease.
Jesus. I glance around the crowded restaurant, but no one’s paying attention.
They’re all too absorbed in their meals and conversations.
My heart pounds as her hands slide my zipper down, and then her warm breath ghosts over my cock through my boxers.
“Lily,” I hiss under my breath, my voice barely audible. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
She doesn’t answer, just pulls me free from my boxers with a slow, deliberate motion.
Her hand wraps around me, and I bite back a groan as she strokes me once, twice, her touch so soft it’s almost unbearable.
And then her mouth is on me, hot and wet, and I nearly slam my fist on the table to keep myself from losing it.
She takes me deeper, her tongue swirling around the tip before she sinks down until I hit the back of her throat.
My head falls back, and I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white.
Her lips are fucking sinful, her mouth a velvet vise that’s driving me out of my mind.
The sounds she’s making—those little hums and moans—are doing things to me I can’t even explain.
“Fuck, Lily,” I growl, my voice low and rough. “You’re such a dirty little girl, aren’t you? Taking me like this in public, where anyone could see?”
She hums around me, her lips tightening as she sucks harder, and I swear I see stars. Her hand works the base of my cock in steady strokes, her mouth moving in perfect rhythm. It’s too much—too good—and I know I’m not going to last if she keeps this up.
I grab her hair gently but firmly, tugging her off me. She looks up at me from under the table, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes dark with hunger. “You dirty little girl.”
“Me?” She smiles, lips glistening with my precum. I reach down, and tuck my cock into my slacks, and watch as she pouts, like the fucking seductress she is.
“Yeah you,” I tease, reaching under the table, gripping her wrist, and hauling her up so fast her chair scrapes against the floor.
A collective gasp ripples through the room, silverware clinking against plates as a few people freeze mid-bite.I don’t even glance their way. They can all watch. They can all see exactly what happens when my little wife decides to provoke me.
I grab her around the waist, haul her up, and throw her over my shoulder. My hand cracks against the curve of her ass, hard enough to make her squeal. The sound only pours gasoline on the fire already ripping through me.
I stride straight for the hallway like I own the ground under my boots, like the devil himself cleared the path for me. Lily stammers out, “Aleksandr—”
“Yeah, call my fucking name,” I snarl over my shoulder, smacking her ass again as I weave us between tables full of respectable people eating their respectable meals. Let them choke on their shock.
A woman steps out of the bathroom just as I reach it. Her eyes go wide. “Oh my—”
I don’t even break stride. I push past her, stalk inside, and slam the door so hard behind us the frame rattles.
“Are you fucking mad, Lily?”
She giggles. Actually giggles. That sweet, maddening little sound digs under my skin until all I can think about is breaking her composure.
“What?” she says, wide-eyed, like she hasn’t just set me on fire in front of a crowd.
“Sucking my dick under the table like the nasty little girl you are?” I growl, twisting the lock with a sharp snap. I spin back, closing the distance between us in a step, and shove her up against the sink hard enough that the counter jumps.
“You think I won’t fuck you right there in the middle of this restaurant?” I lean down, my voice a raw whisper against her lips. “Make everyone watch you bounce that pretty ass on my cock?”
Her chest rises and falls in frantic little bursts, and she tips her chin up to look at me. Those golden eyes of hers—bright and wild and daring—are a match to gasoline. “I just--um…”
“You just what?” My voice is a growl, close enough that she can feel the heat of it on her lips. “You want me to lose my fucking mind in front of everyone?”
I pin her face in my hands, holding her there, making her meet my eyes. My thumbs stroke slowly over the flushed heat of her cheeks, keeping her caged.
“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” I rasp, the sound shredded by how badly I need her. “Strutting around in that dress like sin itself—and then pulling that stunt under the table. You like this, don’t you? You want to be punished. You need discipline, don’t you, baby?”