Page 7
Story: Arranged to Marry the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #4)
Adrian and Rhiannon returned from the wedding less than an hour after her brothers' taunting remarks. Though other weddings lasted longer, neither of them seemed inclined to stall the inevitable any longer. As they stepped into the apartment, the silence enveloped them like a thick fog, charged with unspoken words and tension that crackled in the air. He closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing in the vast expanse of the living room. They were now sealed within this space—married, yet still strangers. He didn't know what to do with that.
Adrian glanced at her from the corner of his eye, observing the way she moved cautiously across the marble flooring, her gaze roving over her surroundings. Despite having stayed here for a week leading up to the wedding, she seemed just as uncomfortable and suspicious as she'd been when she first woke up on his couch. He'd done his best to keep himself out of her way in the hopes that she would become more comfortable in the apartment—something he'd never really considered doing for anyone else. Though it hadn't seemed to have helped. He caught the slight furrow of her brow as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"Home sweet home," he finally said just to break the tension in the atmosphere. It didn't work, and she glanced at him with a strange gleam in her eye. That look heated his blood, though he doubted that's what she intended as she turned to look around once more.
"You've really outdone yourself with the décor," she remarked, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm as she surveyed the plush furnishings and carefully curated artwork. "A real palace fit for a king."
"Perfect for a princess, then." He raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the urge to jab back. "Unless… Would you prefer a dungeon instead?" he drawled, hiding his pleasure when the discomfort broke with a snap and she looked at him with that same arrogant curl of her lip she had the first time she was there.
"It wouldn't make a difference, would it?" she snapped back just as quickly.
He hid a grin. "I guess not, considering the state of your apartment." Adrian had been shocked when they arrived at her place to fetch her things. He'd always known it was rundown, but stepping inside had revealed a place that felt more like a prison. Mold on the ceilings and scuff marks on the floors—it was a wonder her father had allowed her to remain there. Yet, despite everything, her family left him with more questions than answers.
At his words, Rhiannon's lips pursed, and he savored the initial spark of fire in her eyes. But then that moment passed, replaced by a flicker of doubt as she weighed her next words carefully. It was intoxicating and infuriating all at once. He didn't want her carefully thinking anything, when he could have her just as she was instead. Something about that seemed so much more intoxicating.
"Some of us have to work for it," she finally said, her glare cutting him to the bone. It shot a bolt of lust through his veins, but he hid that, pretending to consider her slowly.
"You know, it's going to be a hell of a marriage if we can't even get along in the little time we've had together," he stated, and he didn't bother to hide his leering gaze. She was beautiful. He'd noticed it from the beginning, but here in his living room, with his ring on her finger, he couldn't help himself from the possessiveness unfurling within him.
"Some fucking marriage," she snorted, crossing her arms. "I don't even know you."
"That can be amended," he said slowly as he stepped closer to her. The air thickened with tension, and his gaze dropped to her lips as he reimagined what they tasted like earlier: soft and sweet. She'd given in so prettily. He wanted to see her do that again. She was on the precipice of yielding, and he could sense it.
"This isn't about your father, Rhiannon." Her name rolled off his tongue. "You're here now. We're in this together. He doesn't really have a say in what happens after the wedding."
Her breath hitched, a moment of hesitation crackling between them, filling the space with electricity. "Together? Is that what you call this? Because it feels more like a trap."
"Does it?" He leaned closer until her back was pressed against the wall, until there was barely any distance between them, and when her breath hitched, his dick tented in his pants. A smirk curled across his lips. "Why's that?"
"I—I don't know," she swallowed, licked her lips, and he nearly groaned. What would it take to get her to drop to her knees? To put those pretty pink lips around the head of him?
Something must've shown in his expression, something about the way he felt with her so close and yet so distant. Because the heat in her gaze nearly dropped him to his knees, and fuck, if she wasn't about to go down on him, then he'd be more than happy to give her a good reason. Starting with his mouth on her cunt.
His eyes dragged down, feeling heavy-lidded as he thought about it. About how wet she'd be. And if the way she squirmed right then was any indication of what she was trying to hide, he was more than tempted to rip that dress off of her and check.
"I know my dad wants something out of this," she said, breaking him from his thoughts, and when Adrian met her eyes again, her chest was heaving. Pleasure turned to cocky arrogance within him as he realized he'd done that, just by standing in front of her.
Yes, Lucian had been very specific, even pulling him aside at the wedding to remind him of what they'd agreed on. Shares in the business, an heir to seal the deal. He knew all about it. Didn't mind the baby-making part, though he wasn't really a fan of being a father so soon.
"Of course he does, but that doesn't mean what you want has to be sidelined," Adrian purred, his eyes locked onto hers. He'd been watching her from the beginning, he knew his wife was ambitious. He wouldn't mind making her his queen, especially if it meant throwing it in the face of her idiot-brothers. And if she thought to reward him for that, he wouldn't mind that either.
"Tell me what you want, Princess."
He knew what he wanted. Her, naked and writhing, in his bed. What would she want in the bedroom? The intriguing mixture of resolve and hesitation spilling across her features drew him in. The kiss that they'd shared at the altar sent sparks down his spine, and his balls tightened almost painfully.
He'd more than give it to her if he could. He reached a finger to curl around a lock of her hair. "Power?" he remarked casually, dipping to touch his nose to her jaw, breathing in the scent of her. "You're married to me now, Gorgeous. That comes with the position."
"And what do you want in return?" she stammered, her voice breathless.
Her, was his only thought—and what a fucking addicting thought it was.
Adrian leaned back to stare down at her, his tone teasing and deep with arousal. "For you to stay, for one. It won't be easy convincing your father to continue with this agreement if you aren't here."
She held his gaze defiantly, yet he could see the crack in her armor. Beneath that bravado lay the seeds of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of what lay ahead. It cleared the desire and replaced it with logic. Jesus. Fucking. Wept. "Do you really think I'd run?" The anger in her voice was palpable, but beneath it, he felt the uncertainty surging like a live wire. "It's not like I have much choice in this."
"I'm not accusing you," he drawled, tugging her hair a little harder before letting it go. Her eyes darkened, and his blood heated further. "Just telling it how I see it."
"Well, I see it as a fucking prison sentence," she hissed, her eyes flashing. "I don't know you beyond your reputation, Adrian. And there's nothing about that to make me any less worried for my safety, regardless of whatever deal you made with my father. I wouldn't be the first mafia wife to drop dead after I've given you what you need."
He nearly frowned. That was so far out of any way that he would act. "What if I told you I wouldn't hurt you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with meaning. He wouldn't have, even if she hadn't brought it up, but he could see it bothered her. "What if I told you that you could be more than just what your father intends you to be? I'm not looking for a housewife, Princess. Though, I wouldn't say no to you making me breakfast in bed."
Time seemed to stretch as he watched her eyes shift, acknowledging the tension that simmered between them. Every instinct urged him to close the distance, to explore the potent energy that enveloped them, but he halted, needing to respect her boundaries, even if that was all he could give her at the moment. The rest would come later; he'd make sure of it.
Rhiannon's breath caught again, the flicker of vulnerability brightening her features before she masked it with steely resolve once more. "Even if you say so, I wouldn't believe it. Trust is earned, Adrian," she said, her voice firm but strained, the underlying fear simmering just beneath the surface. "You can't expect that to happen overnight."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." He challenged her with unwavering intensity. "But we can start by being honest. About each other, about this… arrangement."
"Honest about what? When you want to fuck me?" she scoffed, her laughter derisive. "You aren't subtle and I'm more than fucking sure my father's already made his demands regardless of what you want in a wife."
Her brows furrowed, reflecting the silent battle waging within her. He could almost feel the distance crackling between them, a magnetic pull that seemed to defy logic, and the tension hovered dangerously close to snapping.
The air felt electric, charged with a palpable force that dared them to cross the line. He could sense her breath hitching as defiance warred within her. For a split second, she seemed ready to lean into him, to allow the connection to bind them, but then she pulled back.
"Let's just get it over with, shall we? Whatever this is supposed to be," she snapped, waving her hand nonchalantly as she turned on her heel, breaking the tension like a wave crashing against the shore. His dick throbbed even while he gritted his teeth in annoyance.
"Do you want me here?" she taunted, her eyes blazing with anger that contradicted how her body trembled. Not with lust, though, and that's what stopped him. She might've been a damn good actress, but her body gave away the fear she was trying to ignore. "Like this?"
She arched an eyebrow as she pulled herself up onto his dining room table, spreading her legs, a hand sliding down to pick up the edge of her dress. He caught a glimpse of the black thong she wore underneath and he stifled his groan, his eyes eating up the sight of her sun-kissed and slender legs splaying open for him.
"Are you going to make me scream your name, Adrian?" she continued to taunt, her lips pulled into a sneer. And maybe if he were a lesser man, he could've done exactly what she wanted and fucked her on his dining room table. But he wasn't, and he could see her attempt for what it was, a desperate attempt at regaining some of the power she thought she'd lost. But that wasn't the kind of desperate he wanted from her, and he was more than happy to wait until he got it.
"Next time, Gorgeous." Adrian let his smirk deepen; as frustrating as it was, it would take time to earn her trust.
And with her staring at his back in shock, he turned away, slipping his keys into his pocket. "I'm heading to the office. Make yourself at home," he called over his shoulder, trying to ignore the heat of attraction that roared through him like wildfire, making the distance between them feel unbearable. Fucking hell, he should've opted for a shower first. Not like he could turn back now. As much control as he had, Rhiannon tested every bit of it.
Twenty minutes later, he entered his office feeling a bit smug about the glare Rhiannon had focused on him as he left.
It was entertaining, this dance they were engaged in—the push and pull, the undeniable chemistry that wrapped around them like smoke.
Whistling under his breath, he wondered what it would take for her to snap that little bit of rigid control she was holding onto so dearly. He snagged some of the paperwork scattered across his desk, eager to finish up what he'd been busy with that morning before the wedding, but Rhiannon lingered in his thoughts, captivating and complicated.
No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, unease began to stir within him. His instincts prickled; what was she up to now? For some reason, he couldn't see her getting comfortable as he'd instructed, and that, out of everything, left him on edge. If she was desperate enough to try and throw herself at him, just to get the upper hand, what else would she do if left alone long enough?
She wouldn't run, would she?
She'd told him she wouldn't, and he'd known better than to believe that. So why did he think it would be okay to leave her alone? Pulling out his phone, Adrian accessed the camera feeds he had installed around his apartment. They had been a necessity for security, but now they offered a welcome tether to his little wife.
The view flickered to life within seconds, and his brow furrowed when he noticed nothing but empty air staring back at him.
Where was she? Panic unfurled in his gut, pushing aside the smugness he had previously felt. He furiously scrolled through the angles, frustration building with each empty shot.
Annoyed, Adrian flicked back to around the time he'd left, and then, just as he thought all hope was lost, she flickered into view right where he'd left her. Eyes narrowed, he watched what she did next, then let out a growl under his breath when Rhiannon stepped out of his apartment, striding toward the elevator. The time on the camera felt like it was mocking him. She hadn't even waited ten minutes to make sure he'd actually left.
A few minutes later, his whole body bristled again as he watched her break the window of his Camaro and drive off. Good intentions be damned, he was definitely going to punish her for that.
The one fucking time he'd chosen to take the SUV. Adrian's pulse pounded as he gritted his teeth. For fuck's sake.
His heart raced; disbelief twisted into determination as he lunged up from his desk, actions propelled by instinct. He might've been happy to show her how much power she really had in this situation, but there was no way in hell he was letting her leave—and with his fucking car, no less.
As he stormed out of his office, his mind raced with the implications of her departure. Was she really that naive to think she could outrun him? Or was she testing him? The thrill of the unknown both irritated and intrigued him. Rhiannon was a puzzle he had yet to solve. It was a good thing he loved puzzles.