Chapter 14
Peighton
Itremble, Gustav’s words making me feel small and na?ve despite my long held promise.
He’s a force of madness, and surprisingly, logic.
He’s right. We are married. I’m in freaking Russia.
Given away by my own dad. To this mobster.
I have no friends here. No family. No escape.
Just him, guards, and an endless forest.
My eyes flutter shut and my hands rise. I unhook the bra. It falls. Then the underwear. They slip to the floor. Every inch of me is exposed.
“Knees,” he says.
A picture flashes: his shaft choking me.
That’s too much. Too fast.
Oh God. My pulse rockets and my forehead sweats. I’m still trembling, half from fear, half from anger, when something inside me snaps into clarity.
Fuck this.
I run for the door like I have a plan, powered only by adrenaline.
A large hand grabs my arm and flings me backward. I fall, my ass and palms hitting a rug.
Gustav looms above me, dark and ominous. He cocks his head and glares down like I am his mouse about to be stepped on.
On the floor, the glint of a blade catches in the low light. It’s the knife that sliced through my dress buttons. I snatch it. Swipe at his shin.
He hops back just in time.
He grabs my wrist and twists, bending my elbow in the wrong direction. I open my hand. The knife falls with a clank on stone.
“Tsk, tsk,” he taunts, then repeats firmer. “Knees.”
I sniffle softly. I’m so torn. I don’t want to be this woman. Scared. Weak. His servant. I control nothing. Absolutely nothing.
No.
I freeze, suddenly considering what I can control.
Me. How I react. That’s it. But it isn’t nothing.
After all, this is my wedding night. Focus on the positives. This man is gorgeous. He has a lot of qualities I like, especially loyalty and protectiveness. He saved my life. Twice. Love isn’t in this room, but there’s potential. A mafia king and his queen.
But not his servant.
I look up through my wet lashes, knowing I won’t get any mercy from this man. My sniffles stop. My tears too.
I move to my knees, my palms resting lightly on my thighs.
“She obeys,” he says and claps mockingly.
Something in his tone coils heat low in my belly. He’s arrogant. Sure, I like that. I want a confident man. But I want to be arrogant with him. His equal.
Think, Peighton. Make him respect you. Want you the same way you want him.
I lift my chin. “Your turn to undress. Your slacks.” Boldly, I reach out and tug on his belt.
His smile quirks.
“Come on,” I say cooly. “I want to see what my husband has to offer me, besides unfounded confidence.”
“Is that so?” He grins, but it’s far too wicked.
The ting of his belt. The teeth of his zipper. The rustle of his pants.
There it is.
My eyes blow wide.
First dick I’ve seen in person, and it steals my breath. It’s long and hard, with raised veins along the side. Horrifying. Too big. It won’t fit.
He chuckles once more. “Does my bride like? Want to feel it down your throat?”
“What? No!”
“Let’s practice.” He snatches my jaw and slides two fingers into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue.
“Suck, mishka,” he orders.
Whoa!
A shiver rolls through me, but I don’t back down. I wrap my lips around his fingers and do as he asks, gazing up at him while warmth blooms in my chest, sinful and slow. Unexpected.
His eyes darken. A quiet growl rumbles in his throat.
“Don’t enjoy it.”
Now I smile and pull back.
“Too bad. I do,” I purr, then take his fingers deeper.
His eyes narrow as if I just challenged him. His other hand lowers and tightens around my throat, applying just enough pressure to keep me perfectly still.
“Okay, foolish mouse. Open wider,” he murmurs.
I obey. My breath shakes through my nose.
“Good.” His voice drops lower. “Now look at me while you suck.”
I do.
I see it. A flash of surprise in his eyes. He likes it.
His breathing grows rough. He watches me as if he is memorizing every tremble of my lips, every flick of my tongue, every tremor that rolls through my body. A dangerous hunger flares behind his eyes.
And then, just when my pulse becomes a wild drum, he slides his fingers free, letting it trail down my chin in a slow, humiliating streak.
“Pretty little mouth,” he says. “Made for obeying... and fucking.”
I feel dizzy, aroused, terrified.
I grip his wrist with both hands, keep eye contact, and lie.
“I’m not scared of you.” I deep throat his fingers as far as they will go. “I’m ready baby. Enough practice.” I open my mouth and glance from his cock to his eyes.
I can’t believe I just said that. Him too. But I did. Why am I pushing him? I was just scared of this. I guess, I’m either competitive or this man has an effect on me.
I must affect him as well, because his eye twitches.
Yes, I’m getting to him. It’s working.
Not so powerless.
I grab his length like I know what I’m doing. Wow. It’s heavy and smooth. Real heavy.
I place the tip in my mouth. A bead on the tip coats my tongue, warm and salty. I didn’t expect that. It makes my mouth salivate. I cradle his length and feed him past my teeth.
This is way harder. Way thicker. My eyes flick up. He’s watching, stunned, but curious.
Don’t let him see you struggle.
I keep going, inch by inch. The back of my throat spasms when the crown touches. I gag. Fight it. Look up.
And smile with his cock in my mouth.
His eyebrows draw together, defiant. Challenge accepted. His hand cups the back of my head and his hips lean forward, his girth presses forward, stretching my tender throat.
It hurts, but I don’t waver. I’ll be as arrogant as him. I beat him to it and lean in until my nose touches his front.
The scent of body wash and a uniquely masculine aroma fills my nostrils, and I love it. I glance up, eyes curving with mischief.
“I told you not to fucking enjoy this,” he growls.
Too bad.
I suck. I bob. I stare. Defiant.
My throat is also on fire and apparently, my gag reflex can be turned off with serious willpower. This time, I keep my eyes on his, showing him my determination.
For a moment he watches me, gaze darkening, pupils swallowing the gray until they look almost black. Because damn it, I know he likes it and he’s fighting not to admit it. Fighting to stop me and take over in a much cruel fashion.
Then something changes.
His eyes drift. His muscles go rigid. His breath turns sharp. The tension in his jaw pulses, and the hand not in my mouth lifts toward his temple, slow and trembling, as if pulled by invisible strings.
Oh shit.
He is spiraling.
Hard.
He mutters something in Russian under his breath, voice low and ragged.
He presses his palm to his temple like he wants to crush something.
The roots of my hair scream as he grips my head as panic or rage rises inside him.
For a second, I think he will black out completely and I’ll be collateral damage. It scares me.
Just before I predict a full-on nuclear meltdown, I react.
I bite and drag my teeth along his thick shaft until it drops from my lips.
His breath stops. His entire body freezes. His eyes lock onto mine with a stunned, feral focus that hits me like a blow.
He stares.
Then a slow, dark smile curves the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t mind being scalded by flames, do you?”
I shake my head. “I’ll pull you out of any fire. I’m your wife now.”
His chest rises, one sharp inhale, as if my words hit broke through steel armor. Then his thumb traces the wet shine across my bottom lip, dragging it slowly, almost reverently.
“You bit me,” he adds quietly, astonished. “My little bride has teeth.”
Respect reflects in the gleam of his eyes.
I’m not torn anymore. I love that look. My stomach flutters with butterflies and heat spirals low in my belly.
Okay, I’m still scared, but that look is addictive and I want more.
Before I can move, he grips my jaw and forces my gaze up. His head tilts. His eyes rake over me, naked and kneeling, shivering in front of the firelight. His chest rises in one slow, controlled breath. Something unreadable flickers across his face.
He squints.
“Oh. I get it. The mouse is fucking with me.”
My fate hangs between his next breath and his next thought.
And I do not know if he will be gentle.
Or break me.