Page 11 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter ten

The Reckoning

A lexei

The moment Mila says she chooses me, something primitive and possessive roars to life in my chest.

She's mine. Completely, irrevocably mine. Not because I bought her, not because I married her, but because she's choosing to be.

The distinction matters more than I can put into words.

But there's still the matter of her escape attempts to address. Partnership or not, she tested my security, looked for weaknesses in my defenses, planned routes out of the fortress I built to keep her safe.

In my world, that kind of behavior has consequences.

"Mila," I say, stepping back to put some distance between us before I lose control entirely. "We need to discuss what happens next."

"I thought we just did. Partnership, working together, fighting Roman—"

"Before that." My voice is rougher than I intended, darker. "We need to discuss your punishment."

Her dark eyes widen, and I can see her pulse flutter at the base of her throat. "My what?"

"You tested my security. Looked for ways to escape. Planned to leave me."

"But I didn't—"

"The intention was there." I move closer again, watching her breath catch as I invade her space. "In my world, intentions matter as much as actions."

"Alexei, I wasn't actually going to—"

"Weren't you?"

The question hangs between us, and I can see her trying to decide whether to lie. To her credit, she doesn't.

"I might have," she admits quietly. "If things had been different. If you'd turned out to be the monster I thought you were."

"And what am I instead?"

"Complicated."

The word makes me smile despite myself. Complicated . Yes, that's one way to put it. "Complicated men still have rules, little wife. And complicated wives still face consequences when they break them."

I can see her processing this, trying to understand what I'm really saying. The heat in her eyes tells me she's not as opposed to the idea as she should be.

"What kind of consequences?" she asks.

Instead of answering, I walk to my desk and lean against it, crossing my arms over my chest. The position gives me a clear view of her, and her a clear view of exactly how serious I am.

"Take off your clothes."

The command hangs in the air between us, stark and uncompromising. Mila stares at me like she's not sure she heard correctly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Take off your clothes. Now."

"Alexei, we can't—not here—"

"We can, and we will. You agreed to partnership, Mila. That means accepting all aspects of who I am. Including the part that doesn't tolerate disobedience."

I can see her warring with herself—part arousal, part defiance, part curiosity about how far I'll push this. The combination is intoxicating.

"The door isn't locked," she points out.

"No one will disturb us. They know better."

"But—"

"Mila." My voice carries the authority I use when dealing with men who've forgotten their place in the hierarchy. "Don't make me repeat myself."

The shift in my tone does exactly what I intended. Her breath catches, her pupils dilate, and I can see the moment she decides to submit.

Slowly, deliberately, she reaches for the hem of the sweater she's wearing—one of mine, I realize, which makes something possessive purr in my chest. She pulls it over her head, revealing the lace bra underneath.

"Keep going."

The jeans come next, sliding down her long legs with deliberate care. When she's standing in front of me in nothing but matching black lace, I have to grip the edge of my desk to keep from crossing the room and taking her right there.

"All of it."

She hesitates for just a moment, then reaches behind her back to unhook her bra. It falls away, baring her breasts to my hungry gaze. The panties follow, leaving her completely naked in my study.

Beautiful. Defiant. Mine.

"Come here."

She approaches slowly, and I can see the way her body responds to my authority—nipples hard, skin flushed, the subtle way she presses her thighs together. She's as turned on by this as I am, even if she doesn't want to admit it.

When she's close enough to touch, I reach out and cup her face in my hands. Her skin is warm and soft, and when she leans into my touch slightly, something clenches tight in my chest.

"You understand why this is necessary?" I ask.

"Because you're a control freak who can't stand the thought of me having any independence?" The words are defiant, but there's heat behind them. Challenge. She wants to see what I'll do when she pushes back.

I'm happy to show her.

My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her dark hair. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to establish control.

"Try again," I say softly.

"Because..." She swallows hard, her breath coming faster. "Because I broke your rules. And in your world, that has consequences."

"Better. But not complete."

"Because I'm yours," she whispers. "And you need to remind me what that means."

"Perfect." I release her hair and step back, moving to the large leather chair behind my desk. When I sit down, she's left standing naked in the middle of the room, exposed and vulnerable and absolutely magnificent.

"Over my lap."

Her eyes widen. "Alexei—"

"Over. My. Lap."

The command leaves no room for argument. After a moment's hesitation, she approaches and positions herself across my thighs, her bare ass presented perfectly for what's coming next.

The position puts her completely at my mercy—helpless, exposed, trusting me not to go too far. The trust implicit in her submission makes my chest tight with emotion I'm not ready to name.

"Why are you being punished?" I ask, running my hand over the smooth curve of her ass.

"Because I looked for ways to escape."

"And?"

"Because I tested your security without permission."

"And?"

"Because I was planning to leave you."

"Good girl." My hand comes down sharply across her ass, the sound echoing in the quiet study. She gasps and tenses across my lap, but doesn't try to pull away.

"Count them," I order. "We'll stop at ten."

"One," she breathes.

The second smack lands on the other cheek, and I can see the red handprint blooming across her pale skin.

"Two."

By the fifth spank, she's panting and squirming across my lap, her arousal evident in the way she presses her hips against my thigh. By the seventh, she's moaning softly with each impact.

"Such a good girl," I murmur, rubbing the heat from her reddened skin. "Taking your punishment so beautifully."

"Alexei," she whimpers. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please... I need..."

"What do you need, little wife?"

"I need you to touch me."

The breathless confession makes my cock strain against my pants. But this isn't about my needs. This is about teaching her exactly what belonging to me means.

"Where?" I ask, my fingers ghosting over her heated skin.

"Everywhere. Anywhere. Just... please."

I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her wet and ready despite—or maybe because of—the spanking. The knowledge that she's as turned on by this as I am makes something primal roar to life in my chest.

"So wet," I murmur, circling her clit with light touches that make her buck against my hand. "Do you like being punished, Mila?"

"Yes," she gasps. "God, yes."

"Do you like belonging to me?"

"Yes."

"Say it. Say you belong to me."

"I belong to you," she pants. "I'm yours, Alexei. Completely yours."

The words snap the last of my restraint. I help her up and then I'm kissing her, hard and desperate and possessive. She responds with equal fervor, her nails digging into my shoulders as she clings to me.

"The desk," I growl against her lips. "Now."

She doesn't argue. She moves to my desk and bends over it, bracing her hands against the polished wood and presenting herself to me with trust that takes my breath away.

I'm out of my clothes in seconds, my hands already roaming over her heated skin. When I position myself behind her, she looks back at me over her shoulder with dark eyes full of need and trust and something that looks dangerously like love.

"Are you sure?" I ask, even though it's killing me to wait.

"I'm sure. I need you, Alexei. I need this."

I enter her slowly, savoring the way she stretches around me, the soft moan that escapes her lips. She's perfect—hot and tight and absolutely made for me.

"Good?" I ask when I'm fully seated inside her.

"Perfect," she breathes. "You're perfect."

I start moving, setting a rhythm that's deep and possessive and designed to remind her exactly who she belongs to. Each thrust drives her against the desk, and the sound of skin against wood mingles with her soft moans.

"Is this what you wanted?" I growl, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. "To be claimed like this? Taken over my desk like the beautiful, defiant wife you are?"

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, this is what I wanted."

"Then take it. Take everything I give you."

I drive into her harder, deeper, chasing the pleasure that's building between us like a storm. She meets every thrust, pushing back against me with desperate need that matches my own.

When I reach around to circle her clit with my fingers, she comes apart with a scream that probably carries through half the house. I don't care. Let everyone know exactly how thoroughly I'm claiming my wife.

Her climax triggers mine, and I bury myself deep as I spill inside her, marking her as mine in the most fundamental way possible.

We collapse together against the desk, breathing hard and trembling with aftershocks. When I finally pull out of her, she turns in my arms and looks up at me with eyes that are soft and satisfied and completely trusting.

"Was that... was that what you needed?" she asks quietly.

"It was perfect," I tell her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You were perfect."

"Even though I tested your security?"

"Even though. But Mila?"

"Yes?"

"Don't do it again."

She laughs, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet study. "I won't. I promise."

"Good. Because next time, the punishment will be much more creative."

"Promise?" The hopeful note in her voice makes me grin. This woman is going to be the death of me, and I'm going to love every minute of it.

"Promise," I tell her, sealing the vow with a kiss that tastes like forever.

My phone buzzes on the desk behind us, interrupting the moment. I glance at the screen and see Dmitri's name.

Roman making moves. Need to meet. One hour.

Reality crashes back like a cold wave, reminding me that our enemies don't care about perfect moments or the way my wife looks naked in my study.

"Business?" Mila asks, reading my expression.

"Always," I say grimly. "But Mila? This conversation isn't over. We still need to discuss exactly how you're going to help me protect you."

"I know. And Alexei?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For the punishment, for the partnership, for... all of it."

The simple words hit me harder than any bullet ever has. She's thanking me for disciplining her, for claiming her, for making her mine in every way that matters.

Christ, I love this woman.

The realization should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with a determination that borders on obsession. Roman Volkov wants to take her from me? Let him try.

He’s about to learn the hard way—I don’t lose what’s mine.

And Mila Morozov is definitely the kind of woman I’d reduce the whole world to ash for.