Chapter Four
Viktor’s POV.
The time was 8:30 am, and the sun radiated with an orange flair that blanketed the room. For the first time in weeks, I inhaled the fresh air I had sought for a long while.
“This is it,” I said to myself. “I’m really doing this.”
It was Friday. The day I would be getting married. A marriage I didn’t have in mind 72 hours before.
“Your suit has arrived, boss.”
I turned to look at Dimitri, who had slipped in through my open bedroom door.
“And is she also getting ready?” I asked.
“Yes, boss. Julia is currently on her way to the bride's room with it.”
I nodded while I sat, wondering how she'd look in the dress I picked online.
Hopefully, I'd get to see her twice as beautiful as she was.
My mind went to the not-so-unconscious dream I had while I tried to sleep last night.
I saw myself undressing her after the wedding.
My hands trailed down her body while I kissed her.
It seemed crazy to think that my dream could give me a hard on, but it did.
Just the thought of her body was enough to make me hard.
I pictured how I'd kiss her and wondered what her lips might taste like.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself with my eyes closed.
The memory came in strong. I remembered how she kissed me in the dream, trailing from my chest ever lower, until she went down on me.
Her mouth accepted my cock with ease while she gave me the best head I'd ever had.
I imagined how she'd blossom for me like a flower. My left hand grabbed a hold of her neck while the other squeezed her butt. I’d nibbled her nipples, kissing her soft, protruding breasts until she was so wet for me.
Suddenly, I heard glass shattering on the floor, which brought me back to reality.
I walked out of the tub and stood beneath the faucet of the shower, quickly washing off the suds that rested on the surface of my skin.
I brushed my hair, lotioned my skin, and sprayed a lot of deodorant, which made me sneeze. The black suit was custom-made from Armani, and looking at my reflection on the large mirror, the realization dawned on me that indeed I was getting married.
I never really liked weddings, especially weddings with noisy receptions. Papa said loud weddings were nonsensical, too maddening for his comprehension.
“Good weddings aren't meant to be loud, but low-key,” he’d said to me when I was twenty-three. It was Pedro's wedding, which I reckon was the last wedding I ever attended.
“What do you think mafia men marry for, Viktor?”
“Love?” I answered, and he laughed at me almost immediately.