Chapter 3 Pyotr
Pyotr
The hot water pounds against my back, but it does nothing to ease the tension coiled in every muscle. Forty-eight hours until I can finally take what's mine.
My cock is so hard it's painful, jutting out obscenely as I brace one hand against the tile.
I've been hard since I collected her yesterday.
Since I watched her climb into my car with those wide, frightened eyes.
Since I felt her warmth beside me all night, kept her locked in my arms so she couldn't run.
She's sleeping in my bed right now. In my shirt because I dressed her last night after she showered, too exhausted to fight me. The image of her small body drowning in my clothes makes my cock throb.
I wrap my hand around myself, groaning at the contact. I've jerked off thinking about her hundreds of times over the past two years, but knowing she's just through that door makes this different. More desperate.
I stroke myself roughly, no finesse, chasing release. Images flood my mind: Vera beneath me, legs spread, virgin pussy taking my cock for the first time. Her belly swelling with my baby. Those innocent eyes looking up at me while I breed her over and over until she can't remember being empty.
"Fuck," I grit out, pumping faster. My other hand slaps against the tile, bracing myself. "Vera. Verochka."
I come hard, painting the shower wall with thick ropes of cum. It takes longer than usual to stop shaking, to get my breathing under control. And I'm still half-hard when I finally shut off the water.
I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist, running another through my wet hair. When I open the bathroom door, steam billows out into the bedroom.
She's awake.
Vera sits on the edge of my bed looking small and lost in my t-shirt. It falls to mid-thigh on her, covering everything but somehow more tempting than if she were naked. Her dark hair is messy from sleep, and she's staring at her hands folded in her lap.
Those big eyes lift when I enter. They widen slightly taking in my bare chest, the water still clinging to my skin, the wolf prowling across my throat.
Good. Let her look. Let her get used to what's hers.
"Good morning, malyshka," I say, moving to the closet.
She doesn't respond. Just watches me pull out clothes with that wary expression, like I'm a dangerous animal that might strike.
She's not wrong.
I dress slowly, aware of her gaze tracking my movements. When I turn back, she's still sitting there, frozen.
"Breakfast," I say.
She nods obediently.
***
The kitchen is flooded with morning light. I guide her to a chair at the island and watch her sit. She folds her hands in her lap again, that same defeated posture.
Something in my chest tightens. I don't want her defeated. I want her surrendered. There's a difference.
I make eggs and toast, pour coffee. When I set the plate in front of her, she just stares at it.
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway." I lean against the counter across from her, arms crossed. "You didn't eat dinner last night. You need strength."
Her eyes flash. It’s the first sign of fire I've seen this morning. "Strength for what?"
"For adjusting to your new life." I take a sip of my own coffee, never breaking eye contact. "For dealing with me. For surviving the next two days without driving yourself crazy thinking about what comes after."
She picks up her fork with trembling fingers. "You mean the wedding."
"I mean the wedding night." I let my gaze drag down her body deliberately. "When I take that virginity you've been saving. When I make you mine in every possible way. When I breed you until you're carrying my child."
The fork clatters to the plate. "Stop."
"Stop what? Telling the truth?" I round the island, coming to stand beside her chair.
She stiffens but doesn't move. "You need to understand something, Vera.
I'm not going to pretend this is a normal relationship.
I'm not going to court you or seduce you gently.
I claimed you. You're mine. And in two days, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, until my cum is dripping down your thighs, until there's no question whose woman you are. "
She's breathing hard now, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath my shirt. I can see her nipples peaked against the fabric. Her body knows what it wants even if her mind is still fighting.
"Eat," I say again, softer this time. "Or I'll feed you myself."
She eats.
***
After breakfast, I take her hand, ignoring her small sound of protest, and lead her through the estate. Might as well show her the cage she's living in.
"Library," I say, opening double doors to reveal floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. "You like to read. I made sure you'd have plenty."
She stares at the thousands of books, and I see something flicker of surprise in her expression. It's quickly buried.
"Music room." Next door down. A piano, guitars, sound equipment. "I don't play, but if you want to learn, I'll arrange lessons."
"How do you know I don't already play?" The first real question she's asked.
"Because I know everything about you." I lean against the doorframe, watching her process that.
She says nothing.
I straighten, continuing down the hall. "Pool through here. Indoor and outdoor. Gym in the basement. There’s a garden outside—you can go there anytime, but there are guards. Don't try to run. They have orders to bring you back. And I won't be gentle if you make me chase you."
She follows silently, taking it all in. The beautiful prison I've built for her. Every luxury, every comfort. Everything except freedom.
"You can have anything you want," I tell her as we reach the main staircase. "Books, music, art, clothes. Just ask. The only thing you can't have is escape."
"What if that's all I want?"
I stop on the stairs, turning to look down at her. She's one step below me, which puts us almost eye to eye. Close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat.
"Then you'll learn to want other things," I say simply. "Like I said, I don't give you choices, malyshka. I give you certainty. Structure. Everything your mind is screaming for even if you won't admit it."
Something shifts in her expression. Fear, yes. But also recognition. She knows I'm right. Knows that some part of her craves exactly what I'm offering.
That's when I take her upstairs.
The nursery is at the end of the hall, door closed. I've been saving this moment, anticipating her reaction.
"One more room to show you."
Her brow furrows. "What?"
I open the door.
Pale yellow walls. White furniture. A crib already assembled in the corner, mobile hanging above it with little stars and moons. A rocking chair by the window. Changing table stocked with supplies. And painted above the crib in elegant script: Baby Maksimov.
She freezes in the doorway. Completely still, not even breathing for a long moment.
"You prepared a nursery." Her voice is flat with shock.
"For our children." I move past her into the room, running a hand along the crib rail. "I want at least four. Maybe more if you're willing. But we'll start with one."
"Four?" She's still frozen. "I'm twenty years old."
"Exactly." I turn to face her. "Young. Fertile. Perfect for carrying my babies. You were made for this, Vera. That body," My gaze drags over her again, hungry. "Those hips. Those tits. You're going to look so fucking beautiful pregnant."
She backs up a step. Her back hits the doorframe.
Wrong move.
I'm there, caging her against the wood with my body. Not touching yet, but close enough that she can feel my heat. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
"Let me tell you exactly what's going to happen," I say, voice low and rough.
"On our wedding night, I will take your virginity.
And I don't stop until you're pregnant with my child.
I'm going to breed you, malyshka. Fill that sweet virgin pussy with my cum until it takes.
Until you're round with my baby. Until everyone who looks at you knows you're mine. "
Her breathing is ragged now. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat. And lower—fuck, she's pressing her thighs together. Aroused despite herself.
"I'm forty-five years old," I continue, leaning in until my lips brush her ear. "I don't have time to waste playing games. I want a wife. I want sons. I want YOU carrying them. And I'm going to have exactly that."
"I," Her voice breaks. "I can't."
"You can. You will." I press closer, letting her feel every hard inch of me against her soft curves. "Your body already knows it. Look how you respond to me. How you get wet when I talk about breeding you. How your nipples are hard right now, pressed against my shirt."
"Stop." But it's weak. A token protest.
"I'll stop when you're pregnant." I drop my hands to her hips, grip her through the thin fabric. "Actually, no. I won't stop then either. I'll just fuck you more carefully. Keep you full and satisfied and mine."
"Please."
"Please what?" I grind against her, letting her feel how hard I am. "Please fuck you now? Please breed you? Please take away all those scary choices and just make you mine?"
Her eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide. She's panting, tiny desperate sounds escaping with each breath.
"Say it," I demand. "Say you want this."
"I don't."
"Liar." I grab her wrist, drag her hand down to press against the front of my pants. Let her feel exactly what she does to me. "Feel that? That's what you do to me. That's how hard I get thinking about claiming you. About ruining you for anyone else. About putting my baby in your belly."
She whimpers. Actually whimpers, fingers curling involuntarily around my cock through the fabric.
Fuck. Fuck.
Every ounce of control I've built over two years of waiting threatens to snap. I want to tear those panties off, sink into her right here against the doorframe, virgin or not, wedding or not. Want to feel her tight pussy clenching around me while she screams my name.