22. Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
V iktor
Of course the universe would force me to prove the sincerity of my oath only an hour or two after making it. I knew the moment my men escorted the tall designer, and her flock of seamstress attendants, into the penthouse that there was going to be an issue.
For one, I did not like the way the woman looked at Tiffany when she walked in, with her nose in the air like she was too good to be in my home, serving my fiancée. Then she sealed her fate.
The designer’s assistants immediately became busy removing dresses from their garment bags, while the woman supervised like a circling harpy.
“Don’t bother with those,” she directed to the ladies, before looking at Tiffany and saying in English, “Sadly, there will not be much of a selection. My designs aren’t made for fat, squishy American body shapes. If I had known you were so heavy, I wouldn’t have answered the call.”
Her eyes widened when I pulled out my gun, but she didn’t get a chance to talk. I shot her in the middle of her sloping forehead.
While the ladies began screaming, and fled for the exit, Tiffany began happily clapping and bouncing on her feet, a huge smile on her face. “Aww. You really do love me,” she said.
I ordered my men to detain the women, and take care of any issues they might have had with me murdering their boss, before I addressed my fiancée.
“I am sorry you were exposed to that. She was hired on recommendation. Would you like me to have the person who recommended her killed?”
With a broad smile, Tiffany nodded. “Yes, please.”
Since it was just me, her, and the dead woman left, I pulled out my phone and texted out some additional orders to my lead man. “Done,” I replied upon hitting the send button. “Or will be shortly.”
Tiffany came up to me, drew a finger down my chest, and cooed. “I don’t need to be dressed up. This is just a formality, right?”
I nodded.
“We’ll save the wedding dress for when you propose.”
“I’ll take you shopping,” I offered, eyeing her robe. “So you have something special to wear. Then I will take you to dinner.”
“I don’t want to go shopping,” she replied. “I have clothes. American clothes. And they fit me correctly.”
I suppressed my snarl. If I could kill the bitch at my feet over again, I would. Now I would have to lay Tiffany’s body image insecurity to rest yet again.
“You will need clothing that befits your station as the wife of a Bratva leader.”
Tiffany frowned. “Are you saying my current clothes are too low class for someone ‘of your station’?”
“Careful,” my mother cautioned in my head. “She’s not from this world.”
Rather than demand her compliance, I decided to explain the domino effect. “If I do not provide haute couture fashion for you, I will be seen as a negligent husband, and a weak leader incapable of dressing his wife properly. It will send a message to others that the Bratva in this area are no longer powerful, that we must have somehow lost our access to unlimited money and resources. This will embolden my enemies to test me, thus putting you and everyone under my command needlessly in danger.”
“That’s dumb,” she bristled.
Nodding, I agreed with her. “Yes, but it’s the way of things.”
“But what if I don’t want to wear it, or it doesn’t look good on me?”
I motioned to her robe. “Everything you wear looks glorious.”
“Great! Then I’ll marry you in this!”
“You will not.”
“I will.”
“No,” I reiterated.
She had the gall to stomp her foot at me. “Yes.”
I put a finger in her face. “Tiffany, you promised me obedience.”
“I’m taking my promise back.”
I frowned. “You cannot do that. It’s dishonorable.”
Her lifted brow spoke volumes. “Really? You are worried about honor?”
“Yes,” I countered, utterly dismayed. “I’m Russian. And Bratva.”
“Well, I’m American. We don’t play by the rules.”
Before I knew it, she spun and ran away from me.
“Get back here, you little brat!” I bellowed after her.
Her laughter rang out as she dashed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. My head tilted at the audacity of her attempt to thwart me.
I heard glass repeatedly breaking.
With a sigh, I warily approached the bedroom door. “This better not be locked,” I announced.
Of course, it was.
I used my foot to forcefully kick in the door.
“Oh, my little milyy,” I purred, stepping into the dark bedroom. “Has no one ever told you that running from a beast is a futile endeavor?”
I flicked the wall switch, but nothing happened. Apparently, the shattering I heard was from Tiffany breaking all the light fixtures.
Being that it was late morning, I could just as easily open the blackout curtains and ruin her fun, but I decided to play her game. This was her way of maintaining some level of control when I gave her none. And her acting out was kind of cute…
So I closed the bedroom door, casting the room in pitch darkness. Where would my milyy hide? Under the bed? In the bathroom?
The crunching glass beneath my feet muted when I stepped onto something sticky. I then smelled the blood.
Well, this wouldn’t do.
“Tiffany, you naughty girl. I am going to have to punish you yet again. How many times have I had to do this in the short time we have known each other?”
The room’s eerie silence was broken by her soft giggle.
I tsked. “I do not like it when you injure yourself, and I know for a fact that you are barefoot. Shattering all the lightbulbs was foolish.”
I heard her gasp, coming from a closet. Was it one of surprise? Of anticipation?
Shaking my head, I removed my cell and typed in new orders. I guess we were getting married here in the flat. She was injured, and I would not have her harming herself more by walking in heels.
After I was satisfied with the new course of action, which included removing the dead seamstress’ body, before my men dragged over whoever needed to be here to make a legal matrimony happen. I slowly approached the closet.
I opened the door and turned on the only light she’d left intact.
“You caught me,” she whispered.
“I did indeed.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
I grabbed her and pulled her towards me before lowering my lips to her ear. “I’m going to fuck the rebellion out of you.”
I swept her into my arms, a haze of red mist forming over my eyes. I threw her onto the bed then crawled on top of her.
“Not a word. Not a peep. No pulling away,” I growled, my patience at an end. “Nothing that shows protest of my use of you. Understand?”
Tiffany gulped. “Yes.”
I gripped her throat. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
I pulled back, got on my feet, flipped her over, and spanked her pert ass three times. I trailed a finger down her spine, relishing in her shiver of delight.
Oh, she wanted me.
I drew my hand back and smacked her ass hard. She jumped from the sudden onslaught of pain, but didn’t make a sound. Good girl. I didn’t let up until her dark skin had turned a dark red in the gleam of the closet light. Perspiration rolled down my neck from my exertion.
When my palm was hot, I stopped.
“Never run from me again,” I reminded her. “And know that I will not tolerate you injuring yourself. I don’t care how much of a masochist you are.”
I rolled her onto her back and pulled her to the end of the mattress so that her head hung over the end. I opened her robe, then unbuckled my pants and withdrew my erection. I grabbed my engorged cock and lightly ran it over her chin, her cheeks, and across her nose. Slowly, back and forth, over and over, I enjoyed her silky-smooth skin.
Then I leisurely dragged the tip of my dick to her soft lips, and smeared my pre-cum against them. Her lips slightly parted, as if giving me permission to go further. Not that I needed it.
A groan escaped my throat as I pushed the cockhead past her plump lips, and into her fuckable mouth. I began pumping my hips. I loved watching her heavy breasts bounce while I used her like a gloryhole.
I kept up my brutal pace, only pulling all the way out occasionally to let her catch her breath. I punished her breasts as well, tugging and pinching the nipples hard, and smacking her tits whenever I felt her teeth graze my shaft.
When I began spanking her breasts, she behaved.
In apology, her tongue rubbed along my veins, soothing the pain of her nibbles. Heavenly.
“I’m gonna come, milyy . You better swallow every drop,” my hoarse voice demanded. “Or I will bring out the belt and we will do this again.”
Slipping deep into her throat, I watched her struggle to swallow me down.
Even after I had shot the main load, I kept my cock in her mouth until she began suckling on the softening organ like she was drawing on a teat. Because when I said every drop, I fucking meant it.
Once satisfied, I pulled out of her slowly, allowing her to feel every ridge of my shaft as it brushed against her tongue. Cleared of her lips, I took a step back to see her face wet with saliva and cum.
“Thank me,” I ordered.
She looked incredibly dick drunk. Fuck, it was hot. Her glazed eyes, her fists still clutched into the bedspread, her robe spread open, her limp legs spread open; she was a work of art.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
Blinking hard, she shook her head no.
“Well?” I prompted.
“Thank you, Viktor.”
“For what?”
She looked confused for a second. “For giving me your cum.”
“And?”
“Punishing me.”
I put my cock away then moved over to the window. “You’re welcome, milyy.” I drew open the curtains so I could see the damage. Not the damage to the room, I shouldn't care less about that. But to see how badly Tiffany’s feet were cut.
Enough to piss me off.
I pulled out my cell to summon the doctor.