Chapter 7 #2
“This childish silence. The attitude. If you’re angry, you say it to my face. Act like an adult.”
That gets her to spin around, cheeks reddening. In embarrassment or frustration?
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, voice sharp. “My mother practically throwing herself at you wasn’t exactly on my itinerary today.”
I feel my jaw lock. “So that’s what this is about.”
“What did you think it was about?” she fires back. “She does this with everyone. It’s embarrassing.”
“So are you mad that she acted the way she did, or because you think I encouraged it?”
She’s quiet, her brown eyes flashing in the half-light. It’s late afternoon, the sun dipping down on the other side of the guesthouse, painting Ryder in blocks of gold light and shadow. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” My voice drops, low and hard. “This will not be how our partnership works, Ryder.”
“We talk,” I continue. “We don’t sulk in corners and make assumptions like children.”
Her chin lifts defiantly, but there’s something brittle underneath it. “I’m not used to talking,” she mutters. “In this house you just… survive.”
The anger drains out of me at her words.
“Explain.”
She exhales, frustrated with herself. “Being back here messes with my head. I hate it. Even this place.” She gestures around. “When my parents fought, I used to hide in this guesthouse and lock the doors. I’d blast music so I couldn’t hear them screaming at each other.”
The image hits hard.
Little Ryder, alone in this house, hiding from her own family.
Something protective and violent curls in my gut.
“So when I saw her flirting with you,” she adds, quieter now, “I just… regressed. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say, then step closer until there’s barely any space between us.
“I felt the same. Once. When Kazimir asked me to go back to Prague with him.” I pause, pushing away the memories of feeling like a street rat again, even though I was the new Bratva leader’s right-hand man.
It’s not something I want to get into right now.
Ryder didn’t marry me to have to deal with my messy past.
“But you’re wrong about one thing.”
She looks up at me warily.
“I have no intention of touching another woman. Ever.”
Her brows knit together, like she doesn’t quite believe that’s possible.
“I’m not your father,” I continue. “I don’t collect women like trophies, and I don’t betray what’s mine.”
The last word slips out before I can catch it.
Mine.
Her breath catches. For a beat, I expect her to snarl and say she isn’t mine, reminding me that this marriage is nothing beyond a legal document. When she doesn’t, I step closer, closing the distance between us.
“I’m deeply uninterested in your mother,” I say, blunt and unflinching. “I’m interested in you. Only you.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and electric.
“In me?” she asks, looking up at me from under hooded eyes and thick lashes. That hot, curling sensation in my gut twists into something else; something obsessive, wanting.
Mine.
I let my gaze drag over her body slowly, deliberately, taking in every sharp line and stubborn curve. “Do you really not see what you do to me? You seemed to know that night in the safe house. Called me out on it, if I remember.”
Her lip’s part, but no sound comes out.
I step forward. She steps back, her shoulders hitting the wall.
The air changes. It’s heavy and charged now, and the argument is melting into something darker and far more dangerous.
“I’ve been trying to behave,” I murmur, voice rough. “Trying to give you space. Be honorable.”
Her pulse jumps in her throat.
“But watching you walk away from me in this house?” I shake my head slightly. “I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”
Her fingers curl into the hem of my shirt.
That tiny, unconscious grab snaps the last thread of my restraint.
She wants this just as much as I do.
My mouth brushes her ear. “You said this place is full of bad memories.” She nods faintly. “Good,” I whisper. “Then we’ll make new ones.”
Her shiver feels like a victory.
I catch her chin and tilt her face up, giving her one last second to pull away.
She doesn’t.
She leans in.
And everything breaks.
My hands shove her shirt up as my mouth covers hers, forcing her lips to part. My tongue delving in and taking ownership. She’s mine.
The sounds Ryder makes drive any logical thought from my mind. Her head tips back, accepting my dominance, and I yank her shirt up roughly. Underneath she’s wearing a sports bra and practical leggings that cling to her body. My cock jumps to attention immediately.
She’s not the kind of thin, delicate woman who usually shows interest in me. No, Ryder is real. Solid. Her body is built to work, to push, and I can feel it when I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her. Her thighs lock around my hips like a vice.
“Chto yakhochu s toboy sdelat’,” I grunt, rocking my aching erection against her core. She’s hot, needy, and bossy, grinding herself against me.
“What the fuck does that mean?” she gasps, giving me a glare.
A smirk twists my lips. I like to see her try to fight how badly she wants this. It turns me on, getting to pull the pleasure out of her; to see her shatter beneath my hands.
“The things I want to do to you,” I loosely translate. My mind is fuzzy as she grinds her pussy against me again, the friction making my cock jump.
“That a threat or a promise, old man?” she laughs in a huff. Then she cries out as I turn and set her on top of the broad oak desk that takes up most of the nook.
“Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?”
I try to take a controlled breath, but she’s going to drive me crazy.
I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, my heart racing, and my cock throbbing.
With a vicious yank, I pull her off the desk and turn her around, enjoying too much the way she fights against me.
There’s a frisson of fear up her spine as she straightens, realizing that I have the upper hand.
“Or I’m going to find something to shove in it and shut you up.”
I press a palm to her lower back. Reassuring, despite the warning. My other hand on her hip, lodging her against the desk, trapped between it and my demanding body.
“I told you,” I whisper in her ear, letting my hand travel lightly up her belly, to her chest, and wrap my fingers around her throat, “that you would enjoy this part of our marriage. And I intend to keep that promise.”
Without another word, I slide her leggings down messily, letting them bunch just below her ass. The black underwear she has on might as well be a thong at this point; it has ridden up so much in her struggle.
My mouth waters at the sight of her round ass cheeks.
Ryder’s still struggling, lightly wriggling against me.
I slap one cheek. Hard.
Hard enough to raise a red mark, to make her cry out.
“That’s for not trusting me,” I growl, raising my hand again.
“And this,” the sharp sound fills the small nook, Ryder’s hips pushing back even as she cries out again. Seeking pleasure in the pain, “is for your attitude.”
That shiver again, up her spine, pushing her breasts out. I want to turn her around and lave my tongue over her nipples, biting and sucking until she can no longer stay quiet or fight how I’m making her feel.
But there will be time for that later; we’re married, after all.
Instead, I hold her in place with one hand on her hip, murmuring reassurances in Russian as she whimpers.
I loosen my pants and pull my throbbing cock out, then slide it between her ass cheeks.
Her breath catches. She tries to push back against me again, and I use the shift in her position to slip a hand between her legs.
“You’re wet,” I murmur. “Soaked. All for an old man?”
She scoffs, but her mouth snaps shut quickly as I give her ass another tap with my hand. Light this time; a warning. My fingers sink into her tight pussy and I feel a hot pulse. “You like that, don’t you, Ryder?”
No answer.
Fine.
If she’s going to make me work for it, I’ll make her beg.
I twist a hand in her underwear and pull them down, leaving them a tangled mess between her legs, just enough space to slip my dick between her folds and rock against her.
Gathering that wet, slick heat. Making her whimper as she tilts her hips back, trying to catch my cock at her entrance, trying to find some relief.
“Tell me you want it.”
Ryder shakes her head. Reaching up, I gather her loose hair and wrap it around my fist, tugging lightly so that her ear is closer. I lick a line along the shell of it and then bite that spot just beneath where her pulse is beating hard.
“Fuck,” she cries out, grinding against me in earnest now, whining. “I want—”
“What?” I rumble when she goes quiet. “Tell me what you want, Ryder, and I’ll give it to you. That’s how this works; we’re a partnership. You ask, I give.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she finally gasps, practically shaking in my grip. “Please, Liev.”
She needs it.
Needs me.
And who am I to keep her wanting?
I bend her forward, wrap a hand around her hips, and use the other to slap her ass as I plunge into her.
Hard.
She cries out again, trembling as I pound into her, my handprint fading.
Her pussy is tight and practically pulsing around me as my cock drags in and out.
With her legs close together, I can feel her thighs slick too.
My vision blurs, and all my focus is on the sensation of fucking her, owning her, giving this to her.
Mine, mine, mine.
It’s a mantra I shouldn’t let myself have, but Ryder doesn’t have to know.
She pants, her hips slamming back to meet mine, the sounds between us obscene and wet. God, I haven’t gotten her off since that night in the safe house weeks ago. Has she touched herself, like I have? Or has she just been on edge, needing me, wanting this release?
The thought that I’m the only one who can give it to her makes my muscles tense and my balls tighten.
I’m too close. Not yet.
I need to feel her, hear her.
Reaching around her body, I drag two fingers through her soaked folds and rub hard at her clit. This isn’t the approach I’d normally take, but she’s so close and so wet that she doesn’t need me to be slow or careful or caring.
“Tell me what you want,” I grunt, hips stuttering as I feel my control start to slip.
Ryder whines, her body unsure if it should grind harder onto my cock or chase after my fingers. She’s trembling, about to lose herself, but not giving in yet.
Pulling back, I slap her clit lightly and tease her entrance by thrusting shallowly.
“Tell me.”
“I—want you to make me come,” she gasps, head tipping back as she finally gives in.
The dam breaks.
I lean forward, my body overtaking hers, pressing her closer to the desk as I fuck into her hard. Too hard, maybe, but I have no control over it anymore. My instincts take over and I can’t stop, losing myself in how her body’s heat and the cries from her pretty mouth drive me to the edge.
Her pussy clenches hard.
“Oh, fuck, Liev, don’t stop,” she begs, body going taut as the orgasm takes over. And that’s it—I’m spilling into her, driving into her hard over and over as I bury my seed as deep as I can, the words mine, mine, mine, on a triumphant loop.
* * *
When it’s over, we’re both catching our breath. Cum slides down Ryder’s thighs, sticking to her underwear and leggings. Her head is tipped forward so I can’t read her expression, can’t see if she regrets this or not.
But for the first time in days she’s not holding herself as if she’s waiting for the worst. Her muscles are softer, relaxed; her body leaning on mine as I brace us there.
Eventually she begins to straighten up—carefully, giving me time to gather myself and step away. I keep a hand on her hip until she extricates herself from the leggings and stands with them balled modestly in front of her.
“Here,” I grunt, eyes casting around the unfamiliar surroundings, desperate to get this right. “You should shower—”
So she’ll want to do it again, a traitorous voice whispers in my head. So she won’t fight this so much, so she’ll come to your bed willingly.
“I’ve got it,” she says quietly, sure, stepping around me and heading toward the bathroom.
A sensation of desperation rises in my chest watching her go.
But she glances back. Once, quickly.
It’s enough.