Chapter 19
ALINA
My heart stutters in my chest as Dimitri's words sink in. Consummate our vows.
I thought I'd have time, a few hours, at least, to process what just happened, to wrap my mind around the fact that I'm married to this man. That I'm his wife. That the heavy gold ring on my finger binds me to him in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
But Dimitri doesn't give me time to think. He takes my hand, his grip warm and firm, and leads me from the study. The priest and witnesses file out quietly. Then it's just us, walking up the grand staircase together.
My legs feel shaky. Whether from fear or anticipation, I can't tell.
We pass the guest room where I stayed before, and my stomach tightens as I realize we're heading to his bedroom. The master suite. His private domain.
Dimitri opens the door and gestures for me to enter first. I step inside, and my breath catches.
The room is massive, all dark wood and masculine elegance.
A king-sized bed dominates the space, covered in royal blue linens that look impossibly soft.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the gardens, and I can see the city lights twinkling in the distance.
Everything is tasteful, expensive, and utterly intimidating.
The door closes behind us with a soft click, and suddenly, the room feels much smaller.
I turn to face Dimitri, my hands twisting together nervously. He's watching me with those intense green eyes, and I feel heat flood my cheeks. I've never been alone with a man like this, never been in a bedroom with a man who has every right to touch me, to claim me.
"Alina." His voice is low, rough. "Come here."
I take a hesitant step toward him, then another. When I'm close enough, he reaches out and cups my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. The gesture is surprisingly gentle for a man who killed half a dozen people just hours ago.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asks.
I consider lying, but what's the point? "A little."
"Good." His lips quirk in something that might be a smile. "Fear keeps you sharp. But you don't need to be afraid of this. Of us."
"How can you be so sure?" My voice comes out breathless. "We barely know each other."
"I know enough." His other hand comes up to frame my face, and he tilts my head back so I'm forced to meet his gaze. "I know you're brave. I know you're strong. I know you stood up to your father even when it terrified you. I know you pressed that panic button and trusted I would come for you."
His words make something warm unfurl in my chest. He sees me. Not just the frightened girl he pulled from the burning church, but the woman I'm becoming.
"I know something else too," he continues, his voice dropping even lower. "I know you want this. I saw it in your eyes when I kissed you before, the way your body responded to mine."
Heat floods through me at the memory. That kiss in the guest room, the one that left me breathless and aching. He's right. I did want it. I do want it.
But wanting and having are two different things.
"I've never…" I trail off, embarrassed.
Understanding flashes in his eyes. "Never been with a man?"
I shake my head, my cheeks burning. "Sergei and I never… We were supposed to wait until after the wedding."
Something dark crosses Dimitri's face at the mention of his nephew, but it's gone quickly. "Then I'll be your first. Your only."
The possessiveness in his tone should bother me, should make me want to argue, to assert my independence. Instead, it sends a thrill through my body that I don't want to examine too closely.
He leans in and kisses me, and this time, there's no hesitation. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and when I open for him, he deepens the kiss, tasting me, exploring me.
My hands come up to grip his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
He's so much bigger than me, so much stronger.
At forty-two, he's twice my age, and there's something about that that makes my pulse race.
He's not a boy fumbling through inexperience.
He's a man who knows exactly what he's doing.
His hands slide from my face to my hair, tangling in the red curls and tilting my head to give him better access. I make a sound that's half gasp, half moan, and I feel him smile against my lips.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you."
His mouth moves to my jaw, then down to my neck, and I shiver as his beard scrapes against my sensitive skin. He finds the spot where my pulse hammers and sucks gently, and my knees go weak.
"Dimitri," I breathe, not sure if I'm asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the heat in his green eyes makes my stomach clench. "Tell me what you want, Alina."
"I don't know." It's the truth. I've never felt like this before, never experienced this kind of need. "I just… I want…"
"You want me to touch you." It's not a question. His hands slide down my sides, tracing the curves of my body through the simple white dress. "You want me to make you feel good."
"Yes." The word comes out as a whisper.
He reaches behind me and finds the zipper of my dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric loosens, and cool air hits my skin. I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful. Because Dimitri is looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and panties. I resist the urge to cover myself, forcing myself to stand still under his gaze.
"Beautiful," he says, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking beautiful."
He shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and I watch, mesmerized, as more of his body is revealed. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. The eight-pointed star tattoo on his right pec that marks him as Bratva royalty. Scars that tell stories of violence and survival.
He's beautiful too, in a dangerous, masculine way that makes my mouth go dry.
When he's bare-chested, he reaches for me again, and this time when he kisses me, I can feel the heat of his skin against mine. His hands roam my body, learning my curves, and when he cups my breast through the thin fabric of my bra, I gasp into his mouth.
"Sensitive," he murmurs approvingly. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and pleasure shoots straight to my core. "I'm going to enjoy discovering all the ways to make you come undone."
He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, and then his mouth is on my breast, his tongue circling my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. I cry out, my hands fisting in his hair, and he makes a satisfied sound against my skin.
My body is on fire. Every nerve ending is alive, singing with sensation. When his hand slides into my panties, finding me wet and ready, I nearly come apart right there.
"So responsive," he says, his fingers stroking me with maddening skill. "So perfect."
He lifts me easily, carrying me to the bed and laying me down on those soft blue sheets.
He strips off the rest of his clothes, and I get my first full view of him.
He's magnificent. All hard muscle and masculine power, and when I see how much he wants me, a flutter of nervousness mixes with the desire.
He must see it in my face because he pauses, kneeling on the bed beside me. "We'll go slow. I'll make it good for you."
Then he's kissing me again, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive me wild. He removes my panties and spreads my thighs, and when his fingers find me again, I arch off the bed.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Trust me."
He works me with his fingers, building the pleasure higher and higher until I'm trembling on the edge of something I've never experienced before. Then his thumb finds that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I shatter.
The orgasm crashes over me in waves, and I cry out his name, my body convulsing with pleasure. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm boneless and gasping.
"Exquisite," he growls, positioning himself between my thighs. "Now I'm going to make you mine."
He enters me slowly, carefully, and there's a moment of sharp discomfort that makes me tense. But he pauses, kissing me deeply, murmuring reassurances in Russian until my body adjusts to the intrusion.
Then he starts to move, and the discomfort fades, replaced by a fullness that feels right. He sets a slow, steady rhythm, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Alina." My name on his lips sounds like a prayer and a curse. "You feel incredible."
The pleasure builds again, different this time but just as intense. I meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm, and when he reaches between us to touch me again, I come apart for the second time.
He follows me over the edge, his body going rigid as he finds his release, and I feel the warmth of him inside me. He collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest, and we lie there breathing hard.
"Mine," he murmurs into my hair. "You're mine now, Alina."
And lying there in his arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, I realize I don't mind that claim as much as I thought I would.
A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
"Pakhan." It's Alexei's voice, urgent and apologetic. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've found her. We've found Katya."
I bolt upright, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "Where? Is she okay?"
Dimitri is already moving, pulling on his pants with efficient speed. "Talk to me, Alexei."
"She's being held at a Popov safehouse on the outskirts of the city. But it's heavily guarded."