Chapter 17
Arkady
Her cunt is like a fucking vice around my cock.
A soaking wet vice that is squeezing me so hard, I think she’s going to snap my dick in half.
Her eyes are wild, desperate, her blonde hair coming loose from that sexy knot as I drive into her.
I can feel her getting closer with each thrust, her inner walls clenching around me as she climbs toward another release.
“Fuck,” I growl, tightening my grip on her thighs as I pin her harder against the wall. “You feel so fucking good, krasotka.”
She’s breathtaking like this—flushed, panting, the white silk of her wedding dress bunched around her waist, her legs spread wide for me. Mine. My wife. The thought sends a fresh surge of possessiveness through me, and I slam into her deeper, harder, claiming every inch.
“Arkady,” she moans, her nails digging into my shoulders through my jacket.
“Come all over my cock, wife.”
She shatters around me, her cunt clenching so tight it almost pushes me out.
I hold her in place, watching her face contort in pleasure, memorising every detail.
Her body convulses against mine as she comes, her inner walls gripping my cock in pulsing waves that nearly drag me over the edge with her.
I grit my teeth, fighting against my own release, wanting to make this last. Her head falls back against the wall, exposing the long line of her throat, and I can’t resist leaning in to bite the delicate skin there, marking her.
“Mine,” I growl against her neck, still thrusting into her relentlessly. “Say it again.”
“Yours,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, her body still trembling from her climax. “I’m yours, Arkady.”
The sound of my name on her lips, breathless and broken, is what finally undoes me.
I drive into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt as I come with a force that makes my vision blur at the edges.
I press my forehead against hers as I empty myself inside her, claiming her in the most primal way possible.
For several moments, we stay like that, pinned against the wall, breathing hard, her legs still wrapped around my waist. I hold her through the aftershocks until her breathing eases.
Then I ease her down, keeping my body pressed to hers so she doesn’t sway.
Her dress is wrecked. I enjoy seeing the proof of what I’ve done for her as our first act as man and wife.
Her lips are swollen, eyes blown wide and bright. Pride slices through me, sharp and cold. I did that. I own that. I stash my dick away, already growing hard just thinking about being inside her again.
“Upstairs,” I say, and scoop her up in the exact same fireman style I did to get her to hurry down the alley outside the club.
“Hey!” she cries out and kicks, her shoes fall off, and I step over them on my way up the stairs. “This is barbaric!”
I take the stairs fast, her curses drumming against my back, and kick the bedroom door open with enough force to bang it against the stop. I dump her on the bed and pin her there with a palm to her hip when she tries to roll away.
“Barbaric?” I say, breath still rough. “You married a Saranov, not a choirboy.”
I laugh under my breath and drag her down the bed.
Silk flies, white against black sheets, her hair half fallen from that strict knot like I planned it.
I drag the ruined dress up to her waist and press my palm to her pussy, possessive and steady, feeling the flutter there that tells me she isn’t done shaking.
She whimpers when I thrust two fingers inside her, pushing my leaking cum back into her. “This belongs in here,” I murmur, eyes on my task. “No other man will ever come near you again, krasotka. You will be full of my cum all day, every day. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she breathes, defiant and wrecked at the same time.
“Good girl.” I curl my fingers and press my palm harder over her mound, keeping every drop inside where it belongs. The sight of my cum on her thighs makes my jaw tick. I drag my hand up, smear the mess over her clit in slow circles until she trembles again.
“Arkady,” she whispers, half plea, half warning.
I pull out and lick the taste from my fingers, eyes on hers.
“Sweet.” I grab her ankles and throw them over my arms, bending her in half as far as the ripped silk allows.
Her breath catches. I bury my mouth between her thighs and give her a slow, methodical devastation.
I spell every Cyrillic letter with my tongue, tracing the beat of her pulse, working her until the fine muscles in her belly jump and her fingers twist the sheets.
She breaks with a short, raw cry, body arching, cunt fluttering around nothing.
I hold her through it, lips sealed to her, swallowing everything she gives me.
When she sags, I bite the soft inside of her thigh, sucking roughly to mark her.
I want everyone to know that she is taken, that her cunt is mine.
She gasps as I hurt her, but all it does is make me suck harder. My cock is bursting against my pants again, and I release her, standing up. “Get undressed and lie on the bed, face down.”
I step back enough to see her eyes when I give the order. Defiance flickers. Heat swallows it. She rises, tearing at the silk.
She strips. The ring sparkles as she climbs onto the bed and stretches out. Spine a perfect line. I take my time losing the jacket, undoing cuffs, rolling sleeves.
“Wrists,” I say.
She reaches above her head. I cross them and use my tie to bind. The silk bites, not cruel, just firm. I test the give. She pulls. It holds. A sound leaves her that isn’t quite a word.
“Do you feel safe?” I ask, plain and flat.
“Yes.”
“Do you want an out?”
“Do I need one?”
I chuckle. “No, but then my pain limit is higher than yours.”
“If I tell you to stop, stop.”
“Simple. Effective. I will.”
She relaxes a bit.
I press my palm to the small of her back and feel the tremor there.
My hand comes down on her arse. A single strike to set the rhythm.
She jolts, exhales, relaxes into it. I spank her, each strike a promise of possession, each bloom of red a signature on her flesh.
The sound of skin meeting skin echoes like a dark prayer as she surrenders in a way that makes my cock throb with violent need.
She squirms. I press her down and keep going until she gives me the sound I want.
Open, and honest. A raw, ruined sound that tells me the fight has tipped into submission.
I rub the heat until her breathing evens.
Sliding my hand between her thighs, I stroke slow circles over her swollen clit that I own, unhurried, precise, coaxing.
Her hips twitch. I pin them with my forearm and keep the rhythm, building her back up until her calves quake and her fingers flex helplessly against the tie.
I slide two fingers inside and twist. She sobs out a sound that lives somewhere between pain and bliss, and I fuck her with my hand until her cum runs hot over my knuckles. When she’s right on the edge, I stop.
A desperate curse flies out of her.
“Not yet.” I drag my fingers up. Control is a gift I give her and take away. It makes her mad. It makes her mine.
My gaze fixates on the tattoo that first caught my attention. Stripping off slowly, when I’m naked, I loom over her, hands either side of her hips and lick the base of the tattoo before I drag my tongue all the way up to the nape of her neck. She shivers, her body trembling under my touch.
The Cyrillic under my tongue is a prayer I don’t deserve and take anyway.
I murmur the letters against her nape and feel her shiver ripple under me, until her breath slips out in ragged little huffs that make my cock ache.
I drag my palm down, pin her hips, and line myself up. No fuss. No warning. I push in hard.
She cries out, and it runs through me like a live wire. Heat, slick, grip. I sink to the base of my cock and hold there, my chest bowed over her, my mouth at her nape, breathing her in.
“Take me,” I say, voice low. “Every inch.”
She does. Fuck, she does. Her body opens around me, tight and perfect, the kind of tight that makes a man savage.
I pull back slow enough to make her swear, then drive home, and keep that punishing rhythm until the tie bites and she’s straining against it with helpless little sounds I want to bottle.
“Say my name.”
“Arkady.”
“Louder.”
“Arkady.”
I wrap my fist around her half-loose hair and hold her in place, not cruel, just absolute.
I want her to feel owned in a way that sits under her skin and hums. I want tomorrow’s room full of killers to smell me on her and know what I’ve put my stamp on.
I want her to know my obsession with her only grows the longer I’m inside her. I made her mine in a matter of days.
See. Take. Fucking have.
I growl and pound into her.
She shifts, braced, body catching me deeper at a new angle.
“Be still,” I order.
She sobs, and I reward her, pushing deeper into her, holding her there until she’s shaking.
She goes over the edge with a cracked sound that tastes like victory.
Her cunt clamps down so hard it steals breath from my lungs.
I ride it out, and then I pull out, edging myself because I am not done with her yet. I want every hole she has.
Grasping her upper arms, I pull her up to her knees, settling her until she is comfortable on the bed.
She is quivering, her nipples like fucking torpedoes as her breasts jiggle with her ragged breaths.
“Suck me, wife,” I murmur, shoving my hand into her hair again.
“Show me what that clever mouth can do.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Submission and challenge at once.
She shifts forward until her lips brush my tip. I tighten my grip in her hair and guide her down, slow at first, letting the heat of her mouth swallow me inch by inch. My control hangs by a thread, but I hold it, feeding myself to her in measured pushes until I’m buried in hot, wet mouth.
“Khoroshaya devochka,” I rasp.
She hums like she’s pleased with herself.
Vibration drags a curse out of me. I set the pace, both hands in her hair now, using her, owning this.
Possession and filth in the same frame. Exactly how I like it.
My hips move, short and controlled, and she takes it, tears shining at the corner of her eyes, her bound hands in front of her.
I thumb the tears away, and push deeper. She relaxes on command. Fast learner.
“That mouth,” I grind out. “That’s mine too.”
She moans, and I feel it all the way down.
Pressure spikes. I drag her off, then push back in.
I fuck her mouth ruthlessly, my hips snapping just enough to make her gag and then ease so she recovers.
I use that rhythm until she’s shaking, and my control is a frayed wire.
When I’m right there, I pull back, edging myself again, panting, my cock jerking wildly, needing release.
“One more,” I say. “On your hands and knees, wife.”
She moves without a single word, turns, and arches for me, wrists bound, back a perfect line, arse lifted in invitation and defiance. I drag my palm across the red I put there, heat soaking into my hand. Mine.
I part her cunt with two fingers and soak them by thrusting inside her. I drag them up, and over the tight hole I’m going to stretch so wide, she will feel me for a week.
“Have you done this before?”
“No,” she whispers.
My cock bounces with lust as a groan rips from my throat. “Fuck, my little wife with her virgin arse.”
I push one finger in, slow, watching her body take it.
Heat punches through me at the way she breathes for me, at the way she opens because I told her to.
I work her until she gives, then two fingers, patient, yet merciless, stretching her, coaxing her to relax.
She whimpers, breath ragged, but every sound tips into want.
I spit on my fingers and work it in, and when she loosens just enough, I line the head of my cock to that tight ring.
“Mine,” I tell her, and ease forward.
She gasps, fingers flexing against the tie. I hold there until she breathes out slowly for me. I press further and wait.
“Breathe,” I murmur.
She does. I push deeper. The tight heat swallows me by degrees, and it makes my vision white out at the edges. My hand stays at her waist, steady and sure, until her hips start to move for me.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s perfect,” she gasps.
I sink the rest of the way, burying myself. We both groan. I hold still and let her body learn me there.
“Move,” she whispers.
I draw back an inch and slide in again, measured.
Again. Again. Her breath catches on every push, then evens, then turns greedy.
I keep one hand clamped at her waist, grind her down onto me, and fuck her arse in a slow, savage rhythm that builds like a drumbeat.
She opens for me. She takes me. Every filthy inch.
“Say who you belong to. Say it,” I growl, buried to the base.
“You,” she gasps, voice wrecked. “I belong to you, Arkady.”
The words detonate in my skull. I pull almost out and drive back in, slow enough to be cruel, deep enough to claim. Her tight heat wrings a curse out of me. I grip, I set a rhythm, unhurried and merciless. She breathes for me, opens for me, and the need to brand every inch of her turns savage.
“What’s your name?”
“Alina Saranova.”
“Louder, so the fucking pearl clutching neighbours know your husband has got his dick in your arse.”
“Alina Saranova!”
I press my finger against her clit and circle. She’s swollen and slick, and I feel her go liquid and wild. Her thighs tremble and she fights the tie like it offends her that I’m the one setting the pace. I keep her there, grind her down the last inch until I feel the shiver race up her spine.
“Come for me,” I order.
She breaks. I hold her through it, keep the push steady until the aftershocks kick, until she’s breathless and ruined.