Page 9
Story: Arranged to Marry the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #4)
Adrian stood in the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the subtle scent of spices wafting in from the nearby dining area. He leaned against the counter, trying to conceal the flicker of amusement that played at the corners of his mouth as he anticipated her entrance.
This really wasn't how he'd seen this morning going, but after he'd stepped into her warehouse to find her moaning his name under her breath, he'd been high-strung and on the edge. It was only made worse when he climbed into bed next to her and woke up to feel her snuggled up and burrowing into him, her warmth hardening his cock even when soft snores filtered through her mouth.
How the fuck she'd slept through that was baffling, but by the time dawn rose, he'd been forced to go to the bathroom to get rid of the ache in his balls.
His fingers scratched against the scruff on his jaw. He hadn't shaved, hadn't had the chance before she stumbled into the bathroom and caught him with his hand around his cock.
Satiated as he felt, his balls still tightened at the look on her face when she'd spotted him. That dewy glaze in her eyes as she glanced to where his hands were, then the way she'd told him to grip tighter and then licked her lips like she'd been imagining taking his cock into her mouth. Fuck, he'd exploded the second he realized.
He'd left her wet; he knew that. Call it cocky arrogance or simply the satisfaction of seeing her squeeze those pretty thighs, but he knew when he left that she'd been dripping and needy. Now, if only her mind could get on board with it all, too.
That's ultimately why he'd decided to give her a few moments to gather her thoughts, to let the adrenaline of their discussion wear off. In her frustration, she wouldn't stay away for long—she couldn't resist the pull between them. Adrian settled back into the chair, a subtle smirk crossing his lips as he thought about how stubbornly she fought against him, against the chemistry that crackled between them.
Their kiss just proved she wanted him, and that was enough. He could wait. His smirk grew, especially if it meant getting her to beg , just like he'd teased her with.
After all, the thrill of the chase only heightened the reward, and the fire that she brought into his life was a blaze he was more than willing to stoke. As he replayed the way her body had tensed and relaxed during their conversation, a part of him was already preparing for the moment when she would finally drop her guard. That moment would be worth the wait, and when it came, he would be ready to embrace her fully—mind, body, and soul.
Marching into the kitchen, Rhiannon glared at him, her expression flustered and fiery, and he couldn't help but admire her resolve. She locked eyes with him, her expression a mixture of determination and defiance as she declared, "You can go to hell."
Adrian hadn't been expecting anything less. Nonplussed, he responded with a teasing smirk, "Breakfast will be ready in a bit."
He knew Rhiannon was flustered by their confrontation, her emotions flying like confetti around them. It was a game they played—the push and pull of their exchanges, a dance that left both of them breathless. And somewhere beneath her fierce exterior, he felt there was an openness, a part of her that wanted to let him in, even if it was buried beneath layers of skepticism.
Following his lead, Rhiannon moved to the breakfast table and sat with a heavy thump, her expression marked with frustration. Adrian nearly grinned, and then, unable to stop himself from teasing her, he leaned across the table and murmured, "I really thought you'd take longer, Gorgeous. You do know the shower has a detachable head, right?"
Her cheeks burned, and her glare would've scalded him if she really meant it. "Fuck. Off," she snapped, and he let out a low laugh, settling back in his seat. "Your kiss wasn't that good."
Adrian laughed. That wasn't true, he'd seen how close she was to giving in, but if she didn't want to admit it then he wasn't going to force her. He wanted her on her knees for him. No matter how long it took.
As the silence between them grew, he couldn't help but notice how keenly she observed everything around her, her eyes darting between the perfectly arranged plates and the bustling kitchen. Her attention turned to Alina, his trusted chef, when she entered with a flourish, carrying a beautifully plated assortment of breakfast items.
Rhiannon would eventually give in; he felt it in the way her defenses flickered when she was genuinely interested in what he had to say. There was a moment during their argument when her resolve had wavered, when her fierce gaze softened just enough for him to catch a glimpse of vulnerability before she brought her walls back up. It was those moments that ignited his anticipation; they were proof that beneath her bravado, there were emotions swirling just beneath the surface.
"Rhiannon, this is Alina," Adrian introduced, watching as the two exchanged polite nods, and while his wife's face might've been blank, he could've sworn he saw relief in her expression when she saw the rotund, older woman. He'd meant what he said, he didn't need another woman now that he was married to her. Especially when she'd basically proven he just needed to wait a little bit.
"She takes care of everything around here. Feel free to let her know your preferences." “Alina," he purred, winking at the older woman as she gave him a scolding glance. "Meet my wife."
The woman blinked but quickly found her feet. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nikolai."
"Thank you," Rhiannon muttered, her face bright red as she stared at the assortment of food in front of them. "It's lovely to meet you too."
Once Alina excused herself to tend to the last of the meal preparations, Adrian felt the moment was finally right to discuss the ramifications of yesterday's events. He broached the topic lightly, hoping to gently ease them into a conversation that had been hanging over them.
"It's quite the place you have back there," he commented, a casual tone masking the seriousness of the situation.
Her scoff caught him off guard. "Well, not anymore."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips as their usual banter sparked to life. "That sounds like the opening line to a good story. Care to share?"
She rolled her eyes, but he could see the edges of a smirk trying to break through her facade of annoyance.
"I'm serious, Rhiannon. I'd be more than happy to have you included in the Bratva's dealings," he continued, steadying his tone. "In my family, the women aren't kept on the side unless they choose to be."
He could see he had her attention now; the slight tilt of her head indicated he was getting through.
"That means you need to work with me," he pressed, leaning forward slightly over the table. "Not pull off things like last night, especially after one of your own men tried kidnapping you less than a week ago."
The energy in the room shifted. He could sense her resistance bubbling to the surface, her expression hardening.
"I need you to be less impulsive," he urged, trying to temper his words with understanding. "Give this union of ours a chance. Trust me," he murmured, adding, "Over time," when her brow furrowed.
Rhiannon's disgust was palpable as she shook her head, her voice laced with bitterness. "You can wrap it up however you want, Adrian, but in the end, you still want to do the same as the men in my family—control me and keep me chained. You're just nicer about it, which makes you just as horrible and manipulative as my father."
The impact of her words hit him like a punch to the gut as all the progress they'd made blew up in flames. He watched in silence as she pushed her chair back, the scrape against the floor echoing in the tense air. Rhiannon stood up, a whirlwind of defiance and hurt, and stormed out of the room.
Adrian let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed, but damn, she was stubborn. As he gazed at the empty chair across from him, he couldn't help but feel an unshakeable affection for her tenacity, her fire. Their constant verbal sparring was exhausting and invigorating—a dance of dominance he found intoxicating.
He knew he needed to tread lightly. Rhiannon was a force of nature, and while her stubbornness often got under his skin, it was also a part of what drew him to her. As he contemplated how to bridge the growing divide between them, he realized that he had his work cut out for him. But he was up for the challenge; he just needed to find a way to reach her.
He could still feel the heat radiating from where she had just sat, the space between them charged with the remnants of their argument.
As he leaned back in his chair, he couldn't help but let out a frustrated chuckle. Rhiannon was a tempest of emotions, and today, she was at her most flustered—a whirlwind of passion and indignation that was both captivating and infuriating. The way her cheeks flushed with color, a deep shade of crimson that only flared more when she was riled up, only added to her allure.
He found himself utterly drawn to her fire, mesmerized by her spirit even as they clashed. He thought about how her eyes had sparked when she called him manipulative, how her words had cut deep yet stoked a fierce desire within him. This woman could dominate a room without even trying, and the very intensity that made her so adamant in their disagreements was the same quality that drew him in. He loved to see her fight back, loved that fierce glint in her eyes that spoke of strength.
Adrian took a deep breath, his mind drifting back to the moments before she had left. He could still see the way her hair had fallen around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly—the strands tousled in just the right way to enhance the wildness that danced in her spirit. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered in the air, mixing with the aroma of breakfast as he shifted in his seat, his body responding instinctively to the memories of her fiery presence.
She just needed time, he reminded himself. He could feel the tension crackling in the spaces between them. Each heated exchange only served to strengthen his attraction to her and thrill him with the possibility of what lay ahead. If only she could see that he didn't want to control her—he wanted to stand beside her, to fight with and for her, not against her. But he needed to find a way to communicate that, to show her that the partnership he offered was built on mutual respect.
Standing up, Adrian moved to the door Rhiannon had exited from, contemplating how to approach her next. Her fiery spirit was intoxicating, and while he enjoyed their verbal sparring, he was equally eager to coax her into a place where they could find common ground.