39. Sandrine
Sandrine
After Nadia takes Violet to bed, Kirill’s hungry gaze sets on me. With his hand in mine, we move toward our bedroom. Inside, my husband pushes me against the back of the door and lays several minutes of intense kissing on me. When he touches my face, I notice a bandage on his hand.
Thinking that he broke a glass sometime in the evening, I ask, “What happened to your hand?”
“Blood oath,” he rasps, kissing my neck. “My men. It begins, officially. My reign. Tonight.”
When his hands glide over the heavy satin of my dress, he growls. “I have to get you out of this gown.”
I show him my back, and within seconds, the laces of the corset are unraveled, and he’s pushing it off my shoulders. The dress was so tight, they gave me a slip and nothing else.
“Turn around, Sandrine Volkov,” he says in a low, dangerous voice.
Shaking, I face him. Face the anointed and unstoppable pakhan of the Russian Bratva.
“You are beautiful. And you’re mine.” He leans in, his lips on my cheek. “Forever. Say it, Sandrine. You’re mine forever.”
“Forever. I’m yours, Kirill.” I clear my throat. “Pakhan.”
Smiling, he brings my hands to the front of his shirt. “Now do me.”
The entire ceremonial garb made him look powerful and even a little scary. This shirt is thicker than the others he usually wears day-to-day.
And it’s stained with blood.
Swallowing, I undo all the buttons, not showing any fear.
With the shirt open and my hands on his chest, feeling his pectorals, he tears off the jacket and the bloodied shirt, tossing both with urgency.
Bare-chested but still in his trousers, a feral look gleams in his eyes.
I’m lifted and tossed face down onto the bed.
Every nerve in my body wakes up. My brain starts to slip offline from the sudden movement, the feeling of falling, of danger.
But I breathe through it. This is my life now.
This is what my husband wants. It’s what I want, too.
Kirill’s big masculine body that will power-fuck me into this mattress comes with the scent that I have grown to trust. And grown to crave. This has to be the old me.
“Kirill, please,” I whimper, squirming against the mattress for friction.
He pushes his stiff erection along the seam of my ass cheeks. “Please, what? Fuck you here?”
“Did… Did we ever?” My sight goes hazy as a finger brushes my back hole.
“A few times before you were pregnant,” he says, gravel in his voice, as if he’s remembering every detail.
I can practically visualize the memory. Looking over my shoulder, I see his lustful gaze is so powerful right now.
“Did I like it?” I ask.
“You loved it,” he says definitively. “I never did that with any other woman. You were my first, Sandrine.”
That admission puts into perspective just how much of a sex kitten I’d been at one time. The moment I saw him again, even with a gun to my head, my core throbbed for him.
“Now. I want that now.” I take a breath. “Conquer me, Pakhan. I’m sure a maiden was taken that way long ago by pillaging brotherhood leaders.”
“Fuck.” Kirill strokes my hole with a wet thumb. “You asked for it. Any other night, I might have been tame. I would have taken you like this gently. Not tonight. Not with the blood of my brotherhood on my clothes from their loyalty.” He hauls himself off the bed. “Don’t you fucking move.”
Footsteps stomp into the bathroom, and he comes back with something in one hand. He repositions himself between my legs as his knees kick my thighs apart.
“Just how wet are you for me, moya zhena?” One finger teases my center, the other hand massaging my hole again with something oily and slick.
From what I can feel dripping down my thighs, I’m very wet. He groans, stroking my slippery lips. The dual sensation is making me see stars already.
“You’re right. Men with my blood indulged in filthy sex.” He sinks two fingers past my ring of nerves, shooting a sensation right to my core. “Jesus, this tight hole drove me crazy.”
I’m ready to engage in the same sexy banter, but I gasp a moan hearing his belt buckle jingle. One hand is pleasuring me anally, and I picture his other hand reaching into his pants to take out his cock.
“God, you’re gonna come so hard.” His raw silk trousers rub against the outside of my thighs, but he doesn’t take them off. He’s going to fuck me with his pants still on. God, I find that so sexy.
I lose control and start to hump the comforter, feeling how dripping-wet my pussy is. He uses more oil, really slicking me up. The wet sound mixed with the rhythm of his fingers fucking me there makes me ache for him to the point I’m ready to pass out.
I breathe through it. I need this. I want this. I want to give myself to him this way.
“Hold on, moya zhena. This is what you get when you give a man like me permission to ruin you.” He removes his fingers, and both hands grip my waist.
Steadying me. Steadying himself, maybe, as the swollen head of his cock nudges up with my rear hole entrance.
“Hold on, baby,” he growls, sliding right into me.
Slowly, inch by inch. The pleasure is unbearable.
“Christ,” he mutters.
I feel so full, but then he slides back out, and it’s just as good. Then, without warning, he rams into me with one powerful stroke, going balls-deep.
I gasp, and feel tears prick my eyes. I lower my face into the wetness on the bedsheets, letting the pleasure consume me.
Kirill’s hands leave my waist and then slide up my arms until he’s got my wrists pinned. He falls into a rhythm while I sob in the pleasure of it. All while I’m held down on the mattress, being fucked in the ass by the Bratva Pakhan.
Who is also my husband.
“Don’t stop,” I mutter, lost in a decadent haze of euphoria.
“I won’t.”
My dark and lethal husband, who makes men shake with just a look, fucks the crap out of me. His enormous cock, drenched with the lube, makes a mess of my ass. We’re both groaning and grunting. God, I hope no one can hear us out in the hall.
“Come for me, wife.” Kirill’s one hand slaps my ass.
A shocked memory comes back to me. It’s so clear. I’m bent over the arm of a sofa, completely naked, and Kirill is taking me hard, slapping my ass with his belt.
Come for me, you little slut. You love my cock…
In that moment, nearly our whole sexual history uploads into my brain from somewhere. That’s who we were. This is who he made me. A slut for his cock.
I loved it then. I love it now.
I… I loved him then. I feel it. I know it.
And I think I love him now, again.
Things turn raw, and I start to slide over the edge.
“Kirill,” I moan.
“Fuck, yes. Say my name. Men chant it. But hearing it drip off your mouth while I’m inside your ass does so much more to fuel my power.”
“Kirill.” I cry out as I climax all over the bed, my clit throbbing.
As my walls tighten, the muscles clamp down around his thickness and length buried inside of me.
“That’s right, you come for me. Only me. I own you.” He thrusts a few more times and then pulls out.
My muscles go slack. Warm cum shoots across my back, punctuated by Kirill’s signature growl.
Then it all turns quiet, except for the sound of our breathing. I want to turn over, but he made a mess of me. A few seconds later, the bed stirs, and I see Kirill step into the bathroom, shirtless, his pants hanging off his ass.
God, he’s so sexy.
Next, a warm washcloth is cleaning me up, and he’s kissing the back of my neck.
“You did perfect, wife.”
When I feel clean, I turn over. I’m completely naked, and he stares at me with a feral smile.
“You were supposed to marry Tamara?” I ask, my voice shaky.
He’s a dangerous man…
Kirill stops in the middle of cleaning his dick.
“Have you been thinking about her this whole time?” He sounds horrified.
“No,” I say with a quick shake of my head. “But I was anxious when I saw you with her earlier. Ksenia told me about the arrangement.”
“Yes, my father arranged for us to be married when we were younger,” he admits with no hesitation. “But the minute I saw you, I wanted you. I never wanted to marry her. That’s why I put it off. That’s why I was thirty and still single.”
“What did you and her speak about tonight?”
“I reminded her who my wife is.” His words give me chills. “I made it clear to her, to her face, once and for all, that I chose you. I chose you when you weren’t even here. I continued to choose you.”
“But you used her. You paraded her around.” I can’t believe I feel the least bit sorry for her.
Kirill looks away. “I did that for you. For us. So I could find you. And a few nights on the town with me isn’t any kind of promise. I never let her think it would lead to anything.”
He steps out of his pants and gets into our bed, tucking us both under the covers.
He pulls me against his chest and kisses my forehead. “It’s you and me, Sandrine. That’s all I ever wanted.”
Deep in my brain, I know that’s all I wanted, too.
I fall asleep smiling, unable to believe this is my life.
Like I’m sure I did five years ago, when I did something to make it all fall apart.