Chapter 13
ISABELLA
My new husband kisses me.
I let him.
It feels good to just let everything go for a little while, to relax and enjoy this. My eyes flutter closed, and his hand comes to the back of my neck. I’m not the type of girl who surrenders easily, but knowing what we have to do and who we are—I lean into this.
When we pull away, I’m all kinds of aroused, and I’m not the only one. “You’re beautiful. There’s something crazy that lights a fire in your eyes.”
I grin at him and wink. “Takes one to know one. Now do I get the grand tour or what?”
“Let’s settle for the mini tour. I just want to find our room and put our bags away for now.”
“Yeah, I need a shower after all that.”
“Bed would be nice.”
I look around. It is fucking beautiful here. I feel like someone handed me a glossy pamphlet at a travel agency, and I stepped right into the picture. I've never seen anything like this in my life.
Granted, I've never really been on vacation before, but God, we fucking earned this.
I reach for my bag, and Lev grunts and takes it out of my hand.
I frown at him. “Dude, you don't think I can carry my own bag?"
"Isabella," he says in a growl that makes my nipples hard.
Excellent. My new husband has the ability to turn me on with his voice. I guess that's his superpower.
“It’s not a question of if you can. Jesus, let me carry my wife’s bag.”
“Alright, alright.”
I give him a sidelong look as we head down toward the hall to where our room is marked on the map.
We have to have sex, that I know for sure. He mentioned something about a rivalry between him and his brothers having babies and whatnot as if they need to repopulate all of New York with virile Romanov genes. And logic tells me that sex is the way to get there.
While I'm not too thrilled with the idea of giving birth to children anytime soon, I wouldn't mind a few practice sessions.
Also, this is the God’s honest truth… He is hot. Like next level, light up my uterus, can I sit on your face, sir, hot.
I may have thought about being chained up in his basement more than a few times. And the way we harmonized on that helicopter—it was seamless. Beautiful. Thrilling.
We walk down the hallway. I would think it would feel odd to be in a vacant resort, like there are ghosts around here or something, but it doesn't feel odd at all. It feels kind of nice.
I like being alone with him.
"Are you hungry?" he asks. Our footsteps are noiseless on the thick carpet. They’ve obviously prepared for our arrival, as I can still see faint lines from the vacuum in front of us.
"Not really. You?"
"No. Shit. I just remembered we left the cake on the helicopter."
I shrug my shoulders. "Meh, I don't eat cake. It's fine. It was a nice gesture and all, but I’m sweet enough without the extra carbs.”
“Sure you are,” he snorts.
“And anyway,” I say, watching his reaction. “I just married my enemy, so it's really no cause for celebration.”
“Mmm. Good point. Honestly, this villa is pretty much like a prison. Looks just like one. You may as well be shackled in my basement still."
Why does that only make me want him more? I’m thirsty. Yes. I’m so fucking thirsty, and here I am, striding down a hallway toward the bedroom with New York’s ultimate thirst trap.
I swallow hard and try to look away, but I can't help admiring him. Dressed all in black, the defined muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge with the effort of carrying our bags, but he doesn't hunch over. His body is a masterpiece of masculine perfection, and I am so fucking here for it.
I don't have to fight him anymore. I don't have to hide from him. I need to convince him to partner with me. I need to convince him to jam together the well-oiled machine of his family and mine… and then make it all work.
I can do this. I must do this. I have no other choice.
“According to the map… this is ours.”
I turn the handle, and the door opens. I stifle a gasp.
"Dios mío. This is beautiful." The honeymoon suite at the island villa is a dream.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the ocean, so brilliantly blue it reminds me of an aquamarine necklace my mother used to wear.
Waves kiss the shore. Sheer white curtains billow with the ocean breeze.
A plush, king-sized bed made in crisp white linens stands in the center, a tray on the bedside table welcoming us with rose petals in the shape of a heart surrounding a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver bucket, two crystal flutes beside it.
I swivel my gaze around, trying to take it all in—a spa-like expansive bathroom boasts a clawfoot tub with a view overlooking the ocean and a walk-in shower encased in glass.
Thick white towels on a shelf beside glass bottles of lotions and soaps.
A basket of washcloths and more rose petals.
Every damn detail hints at luxury and peace.
"My God," I say, staring out at the expanse of the blue ocean from the balcony. "I can't imagine anything more beautiful."
A beat passes when his dark eyes meet mine. “Really?” His voice is a low purr. “I can."
I swallow hard. Is this where the Big Bad Wolf takes off his mask and devours me whole?
I remind myself—I am strong. I am fast. I can get in and out of tight spaces with ease. But logic reminds me, there's no escaping him now.
He was right. The best way to keep me shackled to him was to bind me with vows, and I’m sure Mikhail sending us to this island had more to do with keeping me hostage than it did giving us a honeymoon.
I can't run. Even if I could escape him in the middle of the night, what would I do?
Swim? To where? Both of our families know that I'm married to him now.
But I don't want to leave him, I remind myself. My instincts have always been to run. And now… the greatest challenge lies in staying.
I meet his eyes. Lick my lips.
“Mmm? What's more beautiful than this?” I ask, aiming for a seductive tone, but instead, my voice sounds small and a bit subdued.
"You. Naked.” He punctuates each word by removing an article of clothing. “On all fours in the middle of that fucking bed."
He tugs the end of his shirt straight over his head and whips it toward our luggage. Next, he unbuckles his belt. My mouth goes dry. I watch him tug it through the loops. When he snaps it in his large, capable hands, pressure and need build between my legs.
I need him. I want him.
“All fours? Like an animal?” I tease.
“Like my wife.”
“You like calling me that.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.”
His eyes are on fire, and when he pushes down his jeans, I can see the long length of his erection in his boxers. Holy hell, he's just as turned on as I am.
Lev’s eyes blaze as he stares at me, and the intensity of his gaze makes the pressure between my legs throb.
I stifle a moan. He steps closer, the muscles in his torso tight as he pulls me into him.
His body is hot to the touch, chiseled; the man’s a fucking paragon of masculine perfection.
His lips find my ear, the warmth of his breath fanning my neck.
"Strip," he orders, his voice low and commanding. I freeze. When I don’t obey immediately, he claps his hand on my ass. I squeal.
My hands shake as I reach for my top and pull it over my head. I let it drop to the floor as his eyes roam over my body. The heat of his gaze warms me like a physical touch.
I tug off my shorts and stare at him. “Do I get to touch, too?”
He narrows his eyes at me. His voice cracks like a whip. “What did I say?”
Oooh, Jesu. My pussy clenches, and I stifle a whimper. I’m so exposed in front of him like this.
I project myself as a confident woman, but the years of forced modesty were so beaten into me I can’t help but feel incredibly exposed.
I’m not used to being vulnerable in front of anyone, much less a man.
He’s my husband.
Shit.
“All of it, Isabella,” he rumbles.
I swallow and hold his gaze as I unclip my bra.
“Good riddance,” I mutter as I toss that to the floor.
Fucking hate those things. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my thong, sliding it down over my ass and my thighs.
His eyes darken with lust as he takes in every inch of my naked, vulnerable body.
"Good girl," he says, his voice a rough purr.
Oooh. Oh, I like that.
“Say that again,” I beg. “Please.”
He leans in closer and gathers my hair in his fist before he gives it a tug. His mouth to my ear, he whispers, “You like it when I call you a good girl? Do you like it when I tell you that you please me?” He trails hot fingers down my spine.
“I do.”
I do. What is that about?
“I love how feisty you are. I love how you fight. I’ve been hard since the helicopter.” He bends and kisses my jaw, his voice a low rumble. “Now get on that bed like I told you.”
I walk to the bed, holding his gaze, and climb on. Positioning myself on all fours as he commanded, a surge of arousal floods through me. The way he looks at me—like he’s starving and I’m his next meal—ignites me.
Yet he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, moving behind me. Circling me. Taking everything in.
I bow my head. I hear the rustle of fabric as he removes his boxers. The bed dips under his weight as he climbs on, his hands gripping my hips with a possessive strength that makes me gasp.
"Spread your legs wider," he demands, his voice brooking no argument.
I obey, spreading my knees apart until I'm completely open to him. I’m wet, so damn wet. His fingers trail down my spine, making me shiver, before one hand wraps around to cup my breast, squeezing hard enough to make me moan.
"You belong to me now, Isabella," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "And I'm going to remind you exactly what that means."
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” I smile to myself, but my sass earns me a sharp slap.
I moan.