23. Pasha
23
I have not, in fact, figured this shit out.
It’s been five hours since the ceremony. Five long hours of guests toasting our good health and new life together. Of nibbling at gourmet seafood platters, of champagne toasts, of endless bullshit.
Not for a single second of it has Daphne been honest about her feelings.
She’s all smiles and laughter for our guests. When I formally introduce her to professional acquaintances, she’s polite and demure.
But I see that mask drop whenever we turn away from anyone who might be watching.
I see the way she just pushes the food around on her plate instead of actually eating it.
When I raise a glass to her, she just sits there. Limp and emotionless.
Now, we’re on the dance floor, swaying and spinning in circles to some cheesy love song I don’t recognize. This is our first dance together and husband and wife, and I don’t even know the song we’re dancing to.
I’m about to ask her if she does, when I notice the way her eyes are just drifting off into the distance. Not focusing on anything, least of all me.
That’s it. Time for a change of plans.
The song finishes—and so does my patience for her limp-wristed efforts to make a happy night of this. I wrap my arm around her waist and signal to Makari that we’re heading out.
“Where are we going?” Daphne asks me. It’s the first full sentence she’s directed at me since the ceremony.
“We are going to our bridal suite for a little chat.”
I could have said that a bit nicer. Maybe I should have unclenched my teeth before threatening her with what’s coming.
But how can I be “nice” when I want to shake the truth out of her like a ragdoll?
Why aren’t you happy, goddammit?
When the elevator doors open, I scoop her up, ignoring her shocked yelps of protest, and carry her into the suite. Then I toss her on the bed and demand to know what the fuck is going on.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I snarl as I sink into a nearby armchair. “You’re going to talk to me. And I’m going to listen. And then I’m going to fix whatever the fuck is wrong.”
She just blinks at me instead.
Fuck.
I rub a hand over my face and sigh. I am not going to lose my temper on the first day as a married man. “For God’s sake, say something. Anything. You haven’t said a goddamned word since ‘I do.’ You’ve barely looked at me this whole night.”
Finally—fucking finally—she opens her mouth. “I don’t… I don’t know what you want from me, Pasha.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
She shrugs. Her eyes go anywhere but to me. Her feet. Her lap. The ceiling. The floor. “I’ve been doing what I’m supposed to, right? I said the vows. Took the ring. Smiled. Ate cake. So… I don’t know what you want.”
I study her face. “I just want you to be honest with me, Daphne. Really, truly honest with me. None of this ‘whatever makes you happy’ bullshit.” I swallow hard, willing my frustration to take a back seat to my compassion. “What’s wrong?”
She’s silent. But I can be silent, too. Hell, I’ll make us both sit here in silence all damn night if it gets her to fucking talk to me.
Daphne twists the engagement ring on her finger around and around. Finally, after a few more turns, she stills her hands and looks at me.
I was prepared for her anger.
I wasn’t prepared for her despair.
“I’m s-sorry.”
It’s all she chokes out before collapsing into tears. I’m glued to my seat for a few seconds, surprised at this sudden turn, but then I remember I’m her husband now and I scoop her up into my lap.
We’re now both drowning in a sea of tulle and satin, but I don’t care. I just want her to be happy. Truly, deeply happy.
“Daphne…” I tuck her chin under mine. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to make you do all this…” She sucks in a long, shaking breath. “You never wanted any of this. A wife, a baby… none of it. And I never set out to trap you into it, you know? Things just happened, and before I knew it, we’re here.” She sniffles. “I wanted this day—my wedding day—to be with someone who actually wanted to marry me. And I feel so trapped. Because… because I love you. I love you and I’ve always wanted you, but…”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “But…?”
Daphne looks me in the eyes. She’s so tragically beautiful that it physically aches. “But you don’t want me. You’re just really good at pretending. It’s all a show, right? We have to make people believe you really want this. Even when you don’t.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Because not a fucking word of it is true.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I manage to blurt out.
Daphne slides off my lap and crosses the room. I don’t know if she needs something over there or if she just wants to put some distance between us. Whatever the reason, I’m not okay with it.
“What if Taty didn’t exist?”
I freeze in my tracks. “What?”
“What if Tatyanna didn’t exist?” Daphne repeats. “No pregnancy. No baby. Nothing tying us together.” She wrings her hands together, nervously looking away. Her next question is barely a whisper. “Would we still be here? Right now?”
It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in.
But when it does?
I feel like the world’s biggest fucking idiot.
I’ve been so focused on doing everything right. Right by her, right by our daughter, right by the Bratva. Solidifying alliances, ensuring trust funds. Making a show of our union so people will witness and never question our sincerity. Showering her with gifts upon gifts, attention, sex.
And not once have I allowed either of us to know the truth.
The real truth.
I’ve been avoiding this exact confession because it makes me seem weak. Foolish. Vulnerable. All things no pakhan is ever allowed to be or feel lest his enemies destroy everything he is. Everything he has.
Kostya is not a man I like comparing myself to. But I’m realizing, right here and now, that my efforts to avoid becoming him have done exactly that.
And I’ll be damned if he robs me of my wedding day, too.
I rise and look at her. “The morning after that night at the auction, I woke up wanting you. It was an ache that refused to go away, a longing inside my chest that demanded I do something to bring you into my life.”
Daphne is quiet. Even her breathing goes still.
“I buried that instinct,” I rasp as I walk toward her. Slowly, slowly. “But the next day, there it was again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Every day, for four fucking months… you were the first thought on my mind.”
Daphne’s fingers tremble in my grasp when I pick up her hand.
“Do you remember that day we ran into each other at the clubhouse? At lunch?”
“Yeah. I remember.”
“Remember how I chased after you? Wouldn’t let you leave without talking to me?”
Her face flushes. “Yeah…”
“Daphne.” I say her name so she’ll look at me. I need this to finally sink in, for both of us. “I had no idea you were pregnant. Not yet. All I knew was the woman haunting my dreams was right there, and I wasn’t going to let her go.”
Fresh tears spill. But this time, I have a feeling they’re not sad ones.
“So yes, I’d marry you—with or without a baby. The only thing your pregnancy did was remove my head from my own ass so I could see what I had right in front of me: you.”
She stifles a tiny, teary laugh. “But you said you never wanted to get married.”
“I didn’t want to get married. That’s true. But that was before I met you. And after… there’s no one I’ve ever wanted more.”
She swallows. She’s teetering on the edge of believing me. We’re so close. We’re so fucking close to breaking through into a future neither of us ever thought we could reach.
“Look at me, moya plamya.”
Daphne’s lashes flutter. She looks at me, her lips slightly parted. God, I need her.
“I am so. Fucking. Sorry.” I tip her chin up with a finger when she tries to look away. “For everything. For not being honest with you from the start. For causing you pain and heartache you should have never experienced. For not…” I huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “For not giving you the vows I didn’t think I could bring myself to say. But I’m here with them now. I’m ready for them now. Are you?”
Her only answer is a quiet inhale.
So close.
So fucking close.
“I, Pasha Fyodor Chekhov, vow to love you for every breath of every second I have in this life. You are my everything, Daphne. I give you my heart, my soul, my life. Everything that I have, everything that I am, is yours.”
My mouth hovers over hers.
“I love you. I will never stop loving you. I loved you from the moment you stole that first kiss from me, and I pray to God that my final moment will just be that again.”
When our lips finally touch, it’s better than the ceremony. Daphne’s soft moan comes out more like a whimper of need.
I’m all too happy to give her exactly what she wants.
We’re naked faster than I thought possible. Time keeps skipping and jumping forward, only little blips of it registering in my conscious mind.
The rustle of my tuxedo jacket as Daphne’s frantic hands peel it from my shoulders.
The harsh cough of her zipper as I pull it down.
Breaths. Hers. Mine. Fingers touching and roaming and intertwining.
It’s been weeks. Three whole dick-straining weeks of watching her prance around our home, all luscious curves and soft skin and utter torment.
Now, she’s here, she’s mine, and she’s panting beneath me as I struggle to kick my shoes, pants, everything off.
“I’m still…” Daphne’s voice suddenly trails off and she looks away. “I’m sorry. I just remembered.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“So what are you—Pasha!”
I flip her over, relishing her surprised scream. As soon as she’s on her belly on the bed, I blanket her with my torso. “If you think, for one second, I’m not going to make love to my wife on our wedding night, you’ve lost your goddamn mind. I’ll be careful enough. But just barely. Just very fucking barely.”
I may not be able to penetrate her tonight, but I’ll be damned if either of us sleeps before she screams my name.
I smile at the way her skin shivers with pleasure at my touch as I trace my fingertips along her bare ribs.
I tease my fingers underneath the strap of her lacy white thong. Gentle, gentle—and then I take a fistful of what little material there is and rip it free of her with a pop, casting it aside like it offended me.
Daphne yelps again and tries to rise up, but I press her back down with a flat hand to the small of her back.
“You move when I say you can,” I snarl. I fill my hands with her thighs and spread her open for my tongue, gliding it from the tip of her clit all the way to the very back where my thumbs keep her open.
“Oh… God…” Daphne moans.
“My name’s Pasha.”
She starts to laugh, but I cut that off with another slow, deep swipe of my tongue. Again, and again.
I could roll her over for a better angle. I know that. But there’s something about keeping her right here, right where she can’t do anything but enjoy what I’m doing to her, that has me throbbing even harder than if I took the easy route.
She tastes fucking divine. For a man who’s ached for her for weeks and is just now finally getting her sweet nectar on my tongue, it’s nothing but the purest honey.
The sweetest fragrance.
The most delicious moans.
Her stitches are healed over, but I’m still careful when I press my tongue deeper inside her. This is a slow, sensual lovemaking meant to convince her I do, truly and sincerely, love her with every fiber of my being.
The rougher moments will be for the times I need to remind her who she belongs to.
Right now, she needs to be reminded of who I belong to.
“That’s it, baby.” I nip at the curve of her hip. “Open up for me. Let me take care of you.”
It’s easy to bury my face between her legs and forget about everything else in the world. It’s just us, here and now. All that matters, all that exists, is the connection we feel between each other.
I pulse my tongue in and out of her sweet slit, listening to her moans to know when to flick, when to dip, when to glide. Her fingers squeeze the bedsheets when I move over her clit again, so I return to that spot.
“Yes!” Daphne rolls her hips. Presses herself to me more. “Yes! Pasha… please…”
When she comes, her gasping cries are music to my ears. Her hips buck and roll, but I don’t let her go anywhere but my mouth. Her thighs quiver and give way, but I hold her down until it’s finally through.
“That…” Daphne’s chest rises and falls with her attempts to catch her breath. “That was…”
“A warm-up.” I suck a lovebite into the juncture between her hip and her thigh. I want to see where I’ve been tomorrow, and the next day, and always.
I meet her gaze, even from where I’m firmly planted between her legs and worshiping the softness of her post-pregnancy abdomen, so she can see just how serious I am.
“I told you, Daphne: I love you. I want you. And I’m not letting you sleep until there’s no way you can doubt that I do.” I arch an eyebrow. “Any questions? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”