Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lucia
Iwoke slowly, pulled from sleep by warmth that surrounded me on every side.
For a few seconds, I stayed still beneath the heavy blankets, my body thick with exhaustion and soreness in places I had never known could ache.
The dull throb between my thighs reminded me immediately of what had happened the night before, of the man who had taken my virginity without hesitation and without apology.
The realization settled into my chest before my eyes were fully open. Every small movement carried the memory of him, and the lingering sensitivity deep inside my body made my breath catch as awareness returned all at once.
My pussy felt swollen and tender, still sticky with the dried mixture of his cum and my virgin blood.
Then I felt his hand. It rested low on my stomach, large and steady, the weight of it firm enough to keep me anchored against him. The slow rhythm of his breathing pressed against the back of my neck, warm and even controlled.
The steady heat of his body threaded and wrapped around mine made it clear he hadn’t left my side. He held me as though keeping me close had been his intention all along, not simply the result of sleep or habit.
My eyes opened gradually, and the quiet luxury of the room came into focus around me.
Morning light filtered through the tall windows casting pale gold across the dark wood furniture and silk sheets.
The scent of him lingered in the air, sharp and masculine, mixing with the faint trace of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it.
I had already come to recognize that scent as uniquely his.
The steady rise and fall of his chest against my back made my pulse quicken while the memory of what we shared last night followed closely behind it.
I shifted carefully, testing the ache in my hips and thighs and especially between my legs. That small movement made him stir behind me almost instantly. His grip tightened, fingers sliding from my stomach to my waist as though instinct alone had guided the reaction.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and low against my ear.
The sound of it sent a shiver down my spine, not from fear but from the deep, masculine certainty in his tone. I swallowed slowly before answering, my throat dry as the full weight of last night returned to me.
“Yes,” I said softly.
The word had barely left my lips before he moved, sliding his hand along my side in a slow, leisurely path. The contact was steady rather than urgent, yet the simple pressure of his touch made awareness bloom again beneath my skin.
The soreness between my thighs pulsed sharply as I adjusted against him, and the quiet sound that escaped me gave away more than I intended.
Of course, Alexei noticed immediately.
His hand moved lower, fingers brushing along the inside of my thigh in a careful, assessing touch that felt both possessive and controlled. He traced the sticky evidence of last night where his cum had leaked from me, rubbing it into my swollen folds like a brand.
The contact lingered just long enough to make my breath hitch, and the slight tightening of his grip told me he understood exactly how I felt.
I hadn’t expected this gentleness from him… not from the Russian Butcher of the Bratva.
“You’re sore,” he said, his voice calm and certain.
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation delivered with the same authority he used when issuing orders, yet there was a quiet edge of concern beneath the words that made my chest tighten unexpectedly.
“I’m okay,” I breathed out as he continued to rub me between my thighs.
My body ached deeply from what he had done to me, from the stretch of him and the force of his possession.
The reminder of that pain carried a strange sense of ownership alongside the discomfort.
I had given myself to him completely, and he had taken me without hesitation, marking me in a way that could never be undone.
I knew the white sheets would be stained red.
He growled softly, lips brushing my ear.
“I like knowing my cock left you this tender. Every time you move today, you’ll remember who owns this pussy now.
” He shifted again, sliding his hand beneath my chin and turning my face gently toward him until our eyes met.
The sight of him this close stole my breath.
His dark eyes were slightly heavy-lidded from sleep, and the sharp lines of his face looked less severe in the soft morning light.
The tiny scars along his jaw and cheek stood out more clearly now, visible reminders of the violence that had shaped him into the man he was.
Yet, there was something different in his expression this morning. The brutal edge that usually surrounded him had softened slightly, replaced by a quiet satisfaction that made heat rise in my chest.
He looked at me like I belonged to him. Completely.
“You were perfect,” he said.
The praise came quietly, spoken with calm certainty, and the approval in his voice sent a warm flush through my body despite the soreness still lingering beneath my skin. I held his gaze, unsure how to respond to the simple statement yet unable to deny the way my heart reacted to it.
Without warning, Alexei pushed himself up. The movement had the blankets slipping from my body, exposing me as well as his bare body. I couldn't stop myself from admiring his broad shoulders and powerful muscles that shifted beneath his tattooed and scarred skin.
He noticed me staring at him, probably sensing how much he turned me on. I saw it in his dark gaze as he looked at my face then lower to my breasts, along my belly, and settled between my spread thighs.
“Mmm,” he hummed and dragged his thumb along his lower lip as if he were remembering the taste of me on his tongue. “Look at you… still dripping with my cum. Spread those thighs wider for me. Let your husband see what he ruined last night.”
And then he rose from the bed in one smooth motion. My gaze followed him automatically, drawn to the sheer strength in his frame and the memory of how that strength had pinned me beneath him last night as he made me orgasm.
Heat pooled low in my stomach before I could stop it, but the spell was broken when he crossed the room without hesitation, completely unashamed of his nakedness and the fact his cock was semi-hard.
He opened the bedroom door and bent to pick something up.
When he shut the door and turned, he held a tray of food.
The rich scent reached me immediately, aromas of warm bread, freshly cooked eggs, bacon, and strong coffee filling the air.
My stomach tightened with sudden hunger as he set the tray on the bedside table.
“You should eat,” he said. “You’ll need your strength,” he added in a low, deep voice, as if picturing exactly why I’d need sustenance.
He reached for me before I could move, sliding one arm behind my back and the other beneath my legs, lifting me from the mattress as though I weighed nothing at all.
The sudden motion startled me, and I grabbed his shoulders instinctively, my pulse jumping as he carried me to the table, sat down, and placed me on his lap, both of us stark naked.
“What are you…” I didn't know what to say.
“Shh, let me spoil you,” he said, his voice steady as he stared at my face. “Tolko moya.” Only mine. “Ty prinadlezhish mne.” You belong to me.
I knew some Russian, a necessary tool in our world, but I wasn’t familiar with the terms Alexei just said. But the way his voice deepened and his gaze became heavy-lidded told me whatever they were, they sounded deeply possessive.
The room was neither hot nor cold, but I felt my skin flush being pressed against Alexei’s hard, warm body. And when he picked up the fork and held it in front of my mouth, my pulse jumped.
“Open for me,” he murmured. The command was quiet, yet there was no mistaking the expectation behind it.
I obeyed, unable to look away from him and the magnetic pull he held.
Alexei fed me slowly, one bite at a time, watching my mouth with careful attention as though he were mesmerized by the way my lips formed around the fork.
The intimacy of the moment felt overwhelming in a way that surprised me. This was the same man who had taken me with ruthless force only hours earlier, yet now, he handled me with steady patience, making sure I ate and drank as though my comfort was as important to him as his own satisfaction.
After the final bite, he set the fork aside, pushed the tray away, and studied me again, his gaze moving slowly over my face before dropping to my naked body.
His hand slid possessively between my thighs again, two fingers stroking my sore entrance as if checking that his claim still remained. “No one else will ever touch you here. I’d burn the world down first.”
Before I could ask what happened next, he carried me toward the bathroom attached to the suite. He set me on my feet, and I curled my toes against the cool stone sending a chill up my legs.
I was silent as I watched Alexei go through the motions of starting the shower, gathering the towels, and selecting the toiletries he’d use. Steam quickly rose, filling the space, but my sweating had nothing to do with the humid room.
It was Alexei’s raging hard-on for me that had me hot and wet.
“Idi ko mne.” Come to me.
He crooked his finger, and I didn't need to understand him to know what he wanted.
Me.
When I was close, Alexei pulled me against his hard body, curled his hand around my nape, and led me into the shower.
He held me in his arms, keeping me steady beneath the spray.
Relief spread through my body almost immediately, loosening the tightness in my hips and thighs, easing the lingering ache between my legs.
He kept one arm firmly around my waist while the other reached for the soap.
His hands moved slowly over my skin in slow, careful strokes as he washed me almost reverently.
I closed my eyes as he slid his fingers along my shoulders and down my back before moving lower, washing me with the quiet focus of a man tending to something that belonged to him.
And when his hands reached the inside of my thighs, my breath stuttered before I held it in.
His slick fingers parted my folds gently under the water, cleaning the stickiness of last night from my swollen pussy with slow, possessive strokes. Two thick fingers slipped just inside me, not fucking, just feeling the tender heat of where he’d ruined me.
His touch was gentle, far more careful than the night before, and the warmth of his palm soothed the soreness of my pussy rather than aggravating it.
He pressed me against the shower tiles and watched my face closely as he cleaned me, his expression serious, as though measuring my reaction to every movement.
“God, you are so fucking perfect,” he hummed in approval, and I couldn’t help but gasp at the praise.
He dropped to his knees, and before I could suck in a breath, his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue dragging slowly over my sore clit before licking deeper, tasting the mix of us that was no doubt still left inside of me.
“Still so fucking sweet,” he growled against my pussy. “Even after I made you mine last night.”
With one more lick to my pussy, he rose and reached for the shampoo next, working it into my hair with slow, steady movements that eased the tension from my scalp.
This simple act felt deeply personal, far more intimate than I expected, and a quiet sigh slipped from my lips as his fingers massaged carefully through the strands. He stilled briefly at the sound.
His gaze settled on me, dark and steady, but something in it shifted, something deeper than hunger, something that felt a lot more dangerous.
His hand slid from my hair to the back of my neck, fingers curling there, not tight but firm enough that I felt it.
Felt him.
“And now you’re mine,” he murmured. “Forever. My Italian princess. My wife. My obsession.”
This wasn’t something that would fade because whatever this was between us… it was only just beginning.