Page 12 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter eleven

The Seduction

M ila

I spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of restless energy, replaying what happened in Alexei's study until my skin feels like it's on fire.

The way he commanded me to strip. The heat in his eyes as he positioned me over his lap. The careful control he maintained even as he claimed me against his desk like some kind of primitive conqueror.

I should be embarrassed. I should be horrified at how easily I submitted, how completely I gave myself over to his dominance.

But it’s not like that all. I keep thinking about doing it again.

By evening, I've made a decision. If we're partners now—if I'm going to help him fight Roman Volkov and navigate whatever dangers come next—then I need to understand exactly who I'm dealing with.

I need to see past the careful control he maintains, past the protective walls he's built around his heart.

I need to seduce my husband. Get him close and learn everything I can about him.

The plan forms as I watch Irina prepare dinner. Something elaborate, she tells me—beef Wellington with roasted vegetables and a wine reduction that probably costs more than my old monthly salary. It’s food designed to impress, to show off the wealth and sophistication of the Morozov household.

Perfect.

"Irina," I say casually, "would it be possible to serve dinner in the small dining room tonight? Just for Alexei and me?"

She looks up from her chopping with interest. "Of course, Mrs. Morozov. A romantic dinner for two?"

"Something like that."

"And shall I select the wine?"

"Please. Something that pairs well with seduction."

Irina's laugh is knowing and warm. "I have just the thing."

Two hours later, I'm standing in front of the mirror in my dressing room, evaluating my appearance with the same strategic focus I used to apply to hacking into secure servers.

My dress is perfect—black silk that skims my curves without being obvious about it, with a neckline that hints at cleavage and a hemline that shows just enough leg to be interesting.

My hair is down in soft waves, and I've applied just enough makeup to enhance without looking like I'm trying too hard.

I look like a woman who knows what she wants. A woman who's planning to get it.

The small dining room has been transformed into something out of a romantic movie. Candles flicker on every surface, casting warm light over the polished mahogany table. Crystal glasses catch the flame, and the scent of roses from a fresh arrangement mingles with the rich aroma of beef and wine.

Irina has outdone herself.

I'm arranging myself in what I hope is an alluring position when I hear Alexei's footsteps in the hallway. My pulse picks up, and I force myself to breathe normally as he appears in the doorway.

He stops dead when he sees me, his pale green eyes taking in the scene with the kind of careful attention he usually reserves for potential threats.

"This is unexpected," he says slowly.

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

"That depends on what you're planning."

I stand and move toward him, putting a deliberate sway in my hips that makes his gaze drop to my legs. When I reach him, I rise up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'm planning to have dinner with my husband," I say innocently. "Is that allowed?"

His smile is slow and dangerous. "Everything is allowed, little wife. The question is what you want in return."

"Can't a wife simply want to spend time with her husband?"

"She can. But you're not simply anything, Mila."

He's right, of course. I'm not doing this just to be a good wife. I'm doing this because I need to understand him, need to get past his defenses, need to see the man behind the careful control.

And because the memory of his hands on my body this afternoon has been driving me slowly insane.

"Sit," I tell him, guiding him to his chair before moving to pour wine from the bottle Irina selected. "Tell me about your day."

"My day?"

"Your meeting with Dmitri. The business you had to handle. The usual husband-and-wife conversation." I lean over to fill his glass, making sure he gets a clear view down the front of my dress. His sharp intake of breath tells me the tactic is working.

"Roman is moving faster than we anticipated," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "He's been reaching out to families who've had conflicts with us in the past, building alliances."

"What kind of alliances?"

"The kind that end with bullets and bloodshed."

I settle into my own chair, crossing my legs in a way that makes my dress ride up slightly. "And what's your plan to stop him?"

"Cut off his resources. Eliminate his allies. Make it clear that targeting my family comes with consequences."

"Your family meaning me."

"My family meaning you, yes."

The simple words make warmth bloom in my chest. Family. When did I become his family? "What can I do to help?" I ask.

"I told you this afternoon. Your computer skills—"

"I know what you told me. I'm asking what you need from me. Specifically."

Irina appears with the first course—something that looks like art on a plate—and retreats discreetly. I take a bite and make a soft sound of appreciation that has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the way Alexei's eyes darken.

"Roman runs his operation through a network of shell companies," he says, visibly struggling to maintain focus. "If you could trace the money flow, find the real accounts..."

"I could do that." I take another bite, letting my tongue linger on the fork longer than necessary. "What else?"

"Communication networks. He's been careful since Viktor exposed him to the FBI, but there have to be weak points."

"Encrypted channels?"

"Most likely."

"I love a challenge."

The conversation continues through dinner, but there's an undercurrent of tension that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the way I keep finding excuses to lean forward, to touch his hand when making a point, to let my foot brush against his leg under the table.

By the time we reach dessert—some elaborate chocolate creation that probably took hours to prepare—Alexei's control is visibly fraying.

"Mila," he says as I take a spoonful of dessert and close my eyes with exaggerated pleasure. "What are you doing?"

"Eating dessert."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

I set down my spoon and fix him with my best innocent expression. "I'm having dinner with my husband. Getting to know him better. Learning about his work."

"Is that all?"

"What else would I be doing?"

He leans back in his chair, studying me with those pale green eyes that see too much. "You're trying to seduce me."

"Am I?"

"Yes. The question is why."

I consider lying, giving him some easy answer about wanting to be a good wife or being overcome with desire. But we promised partnership, and partnership requires honesty.

"Because I want to understand you," I say simply. "The man behind the control. The person you are when you're not being the Bratva prince or the perfect husband or the careful strategist."

"And you think seducing me will accomplish that?"

"I think it might reveal some interesting truths."

His laugh is low and rough. "Such as?"

Instead of answering, I stand and move around the table until I'm standing beside his chair. Close enough to smell his cologne, to feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Such as whether you always have to be in control," I say softly. "Whether you ever let yourself just... want something without calculating the cost."

"Mila—"

"Whether you want me the way I want you, or if this is all just about duty and protection and keeping your promise to Viktor."

The words hang in the air between us, more vulnerable than I intended. Because the truth is, I need to know. Need to understand whether what happened between us this afternoon was about power and possession, or if there's something deeper there. Something real.

"You want to know if I want you?" he asks quietly.

"Yes."

"Stand up." The command is soft but unmistakable.

I straighten, suddenly nervous about what I've started.

"Turn around."

I do, facing away from him. I can hear him stand, can feel him move closer until his body is almost touching mine.

"Do you feel that?" he asks, his hands settling on my waist. "The way my hands shake when I touch you?"

I do feel it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the careful way he holds me like I might break.

"Do you hear that?" His lips brush against my ear. "The way my breathing changes when you're close?"

My own breath catches as his mouth moves to my neck, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin there.

"Do you understand," he continues, his voice rough with need, "that I've wanted you since the moment I saw you on that stage? Not because of Viktor, not because of duty, but because you're the most beautiful, intelligent, brave woman I've ever met?"

"Alexei," I whisper.

"I've been going slowly because I thought you needed time.

Because I thought you needed space to adjust, to accept this marriage.

But if you want to know how much I want you.

.." His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me back against him.

I can feel exactly how much he wants me, hard and ready against my back.

"I want you every second of every day," he growls. "I want to strip that dress off you and take you right here on this table. I want to hear you moan my name while the candles burn down around us."

My knees go weak. "Then why don't you?"

"Because once I start, I won't be able to stop. And I need to know that's what you really want, not just part of whatever game you're playing."

I turn in his arms, looking up into those pale green eyes that see straight through me. "It's not a game," I tell him. "This is me choosing you. Again. Every day, every moment, every time you give me the option."

"Mila—"

"This is me seducing my husband because I want him, not because I need something from him."

The words seem to break something in his control. His mouth comes down on mine, hard and hungry and desperate. I kiss him back with equal fervor, pouring all of my desire and growing trust into the connection between us.

When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"The table?" I suggest breathlessly.

"Too uncomfortable." His hands are already moving to the zipper of my dress. "The couch."

The silk pools at my feet as he lifts me easily, carrying me to the leather sofa by the window. The candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the scent of roses and wine creates an atmosphere that's purely romantic.

He lays me down gently, then steps back to shed his own clothes with efficient grace. In the flickering candlelight, he's beautiful—all hard muscle and golden skin and barely restrained power.

When he comes to me, it's with a reverence that takes my breath away. He maps every inch of my skin with his hands and mouth, murmuring words in Russian that sound like prayers.

"What are you saying?" I gasp as his mouth moves lower.

"That you're mine," he translates, his lips against my breast. "That you're perfect. That I never want to let you go."

"Then don't."

When he finally joins us together, it's with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. This isn't about dominance or punishment or proving a point. This is about connection, about the growing bond between us that I'm no longer trying to fight.

"I love watching you," he murmurs as he moves inside me. "The way your eyes go dark when I touch you. The way you arch against me like you can't get close enough."

"I can't," I admit. "I want more. I want everything."

"Then take it. Take everything I have to give."

The climax builds slowly, sweetly, like nothing I've ever experienced before. When it finally crashes over me, it's with a intensity that brings tears to my eyes.

Alexei follows moments later, my name on his lips as he buries his face in my neck.

We lie tangled together afterward, the candles burning low around us and the remains of dinner forgotten on the table.

"So," I say eventually, tracing patterns on his chest. "Was my seduction successful?"

His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Dangerously so."

"Good. Because I plan to make a habit of it."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

He tightens his arms around me, and I can feel some of the careful control he maintains starting to soften. This is what I wanted—this glimpse of the man behind the walls, the person he is when he's not performing the role of Bratva prince.

"Mila," he says softly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For choosing me. For staying. For being exactly who you are."

The simple words make my chest tight with emotion I'm not ready to name. "Thank you for being worth choosing."

Outside, the estate settles into quiet for the night. But here, wrapped in Alexei's arms with the candles burning down around us, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong.

Tomorrow, we'll start working together to bring down Roman Volkov. Tomorrow, we'll face whatever threats and challenges come next.

Tonight, there's just this—the two of us and the love that's growing between us, one seduction at a time.