Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
KIRILL
Standing at the window with a glass of whiskey in hand, I watch Manhattan slumber below and try to think about anything but the woman sleeping down the hall.
My wife .
Fuck, I shouldn’t like that as much as I do.
I married her because it was the smart, tactical move. But standing at the altar, watching her walk toward me—a vision in white—and then sliding my mother’s ring onto her finger… that didn’t feel like strategy. It felt like inevitability.
I’d told my brothers everything right before the ceremony. Dinara’s real identity, what I found in her apartment, the messages confirming no one in her life, including Pavel Fedorov, knows her true reasons for moving to New York.
Matvey thinks I’ve lost my mind, marrying a Belov Syndicate hacker to solve my problems with our father.
Dem, on the other hand, stayed silent as I explained the strategy, but I caught my brothers exchanging looks during the ceremony.
They know my feelings for Dinara run deeper than I admitted to them.
Whether they think this is a smart move or not, when I asked if they’d stand with me no matter what happens from here, neither hesitated.
For now, my father doesn’t need to know about this marriage. He’d be dead set against it. But fuck him. I don’t plan on losing to the Ghost. Or marrying Varvara Morozova or anyone else he has in mind. I’ve given up enough control of my life to my father’s choices and it ends here.
Inviting Katya was never the plan, but something kept on nagging at me. It felt wrong not to have her there. Wrong for my sister to miss my wedding even if the whole thing is just a strategic maneuver.
Watching her face light up during the ceremony and the emotional hug she gave me afterward hit me like a punch to the gut. She thinks this is real love instead of calculated necessity, that she’s just gained a sister. And for that, I feel like shit.
I’m just grateful Dinara played along.
Today blurs every line I thought I’d drawn between strategy and feeling, and if I’m not careful, I’ll lose sight of which side I’m standing on entirely.
I drain the glass but it does nothing to settle my thoughts. I pass her room on the way to my own, and I find the door cracked open.
She’s tossing and turning, the fine Egyptian cotton twisted around her thighs. Her T-shirt has ridden up to her waist, exposing the soft curve of her stomach and black lace panties. Her skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.
I lean against the doorframe a moment longer, letting my hunger build as she shifts restlessly. We’re both going to be miserable until we get relief.
“Oh, princess. You can’t sleep, can you?”
She startles, her eyes flying open. “What are you doing here?”
Her gaze drags down my body slowly. I’m wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else, and even in the low light filtering through the windows, she’s drinking in the view.
Her eyes linger on my bare chest, the tattoos winding across my ribs and shoulders, before dropping lower to where my cock is already half-hard and visible through the thin fabric.
“Looks like you’ve been restless all night.” I push off the doorframe and step into the room.
Her jaw clenches but she doesn’t deny it. Can’t deny it, with the evidence written all over her flushed skin.
I sit on the edge of the bed and the mattress dips under my weight. One hand lands on her ankle and slides up her calf, slow and deliberate. Her breath catches.
“Let me give you what you need.”
“I told you, we’re not consummating this marriage.”
“We won’t consummate anything. But you’re not going to sleep like this, Dinara.” I take my time with her real name, enjoying how it rolls on the tongue. “Your body is still worked up from the other night. You need relief. This is scratching an itch.”
She bites her lip and looks away, torn between pride and desperate need.
Finally, she gives a small nod, too worked up to form words.
I stand and grab the leather cuffs from the dresser. “But we’re doing this my way. Arms above your head.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes go wide.
“Because you want this, but you don’t give up control easily. So let me take it from you.” I move closer, dangling the restraints where she can see them. “And I like seeing you helpless. Spread out for me, completely at my mercy.”
She swallows hard, staring at the restraints. For a moment I think she’ll refuse. Then her arms slowly rise above her head in surrender.
The sight of it makes my cock throb.
I secure her wrists to the headboard, checking the fit is snug but not painful.
I move to the foot of the bed. “Spread your legs.” She hesitates, and I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
Her thighs fall open slowly. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and drag them down her legs, tossing them aside. The sight of her exposed and glistening makes arousal spike through me so hard my cock aches.
Her breath quickens as I fasten each of her ankles to the bed frame, spreading her wide. She can’t hide, can’t close her legs, can’t do anything except take what I give her.
It’s fucking perfect.
I strip off my sweatpants and climb onto the bed between her spread thighs. Her eyes drop to my cock and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Eyes on me,” I command.
Her gaze lifts to mine.
I trail one finger through her folds, barely touching. Her hips chase my hand. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
Silence. She presses her lips together stubbornly.
“Dinara.” I withdraw my hand completely. “Answer me or I walk out of here right now.”
“You already know the answer,” she says, breathless.
“Say it anyway.”
“You.” The word barely makes it past her lips.
“And who am I to you?”
Her eyes flash with defiance as her body trembles with need. “You’re an asshole who drugged me and forced me into marriage.”
I lean down to her ear. “Try again. Who. Am. I.”
She turns her face away. “Kirill.”
“Keep going.”
“My...” She swallows hard. “My husband.”
“Good girl.” I slide two fingers inside her as a reward, and she cries out. “Say it again.”
“My husband,” she gasps. “You’re my husband, Kirill.”
Satisfaction roars through me. Damn right.
“So fucking wet,” I growl, pumping slowly, her walls clenching around my fingers. “You’ve been lying here aching for this, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
I curl my fingers and hit that sensitive spot that lights her up. Her hips rock but the restraints keep her still, keep her exactly where I want her.
My thumb finds her clit and she gasps. I circle slowly, studying her face, memorizing every expression. The way her breath hitches. The way her eyes glaze over with need. The way her lips part around soft moans she can’t control.
Tonight, with my ring on her finger and her body responding to mine like we were made for this, something has shifted. Like we crossed a line I didn’t know was there.
I pull my fingers out and trail them lower through her wetness, until I find the tight ring of muscle below.
Her body stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Shh. Trust me.”
I press one finger slowly into her ass. The resistance gives way and she gasps as I push inside; her body tenses at the unfamiliar sensation. Her pussy clenches on nothing. She likes this, even if she’s surprised by how intense it feels.
“That’s it,” I murmur, working my finger deeper into that tight heat. “My dirty girl likes being filled in both holes, doesn’t she?”
“It’s a first, actually.” Her voice is breathy, overwhelmed.
“Good.” The satisfaction in my voice is unmistakable. “I’m glad I’m the one taking this from you too.”
I slide two fingers back into her pussy while continuing to work her ass. Now she’s full, stretched, claimed completely. The dual sensation has her pulling against the restraints, desperate sounds breaking from her throat, making my cock leak.
I lower my head and flick my tongue across her clit once, and she nearly comes off the bed.
“Don’t come yet,” I warn. “Not until I say you can.”
Then I devour her. Tongue and fingers working in tandem, no mercy, no chance to catch her breath. She’s shaking, thighs trembling against the restraints, so close to the edge I can feel it building in the tension of her muscles.
“Kirill, please.” Her voice breaks. “I can’t hold it.”
“You can.” I increase the pressure with my thumb. “You will.”
“I hate you for this.”
I lift my head enough to meet her eyes. “No, you don’t. You hate that you want me this badly. That’s not the same thing.”
“Semantics,” she gasps.
“Is it?” I curl my fingers deeper. “Because from where I’m kneeling, my wife is begging for my cock. That doesn’t sound like hate to me.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? It’s what you are.” I press a kiss to her inner thigh. “Dinara Baronova. My wife. Mine.”
“You don’t own me.”
“Maybe not. But I do own your pleasure.”
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard, curling my fingers just right.
She shatters with a scream loud enough to wake the entire floor. Her body convulses, pulling against the restraints as the orgasm tears through her like a storm.
I work her through it, not letting up until she’s sobbing, until her body slackens, trembling. When she finally comes down, I slowly withdraw my fingers.
“That was one,” I say, watching her try to focus through the haze.
Her eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy. “One?”
“That was one orgasm, wife. You’re going to give me much, much more than that.”
DINARA
Before I can catch my breath, his tongue pushes inside, working me with slow, devastating strokes. The intensity steals my breath, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive from the first orgasm.
The wet sounds of his mouth on me fill the room. Everything is so much more intense. From the scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs, to the way his hands grip my hips to hold me exactly where he wants me.
It’s overwhelming and perfect and I hate how much I need this, how thoroughly he’s wrecked me.
We’re married.
This is my husband.