Page 18 of Darkest Craving

VICTORIA

E katerina Rykov is supposed to be a fifty-something-year-old woman. And like any woman her age, at least a few faint lines should carve her face, telling the story of a life well lived. But this isn’t the case.

Her features are tight, pulled back as if her skin hasn’t matured at all. Or, as if every time it tried to follow the natural progression of collagen loss, Ekaterina found a way to keep it glowing.

That, together with the jewels hanging from her ears and neck, plus the Louis Vuitton pleated dress, makes her look like exactly what she is—the wife of the most powerful criminal in the country.

I saw her briefly at the wedding ceremony, but I was too stressed to take her in fully. Now that she’s here, though, smiling at me with her white veneers, there’s no way I can ignore her.

“Don’t let it get to you. This is what he does when something entirely unrelated bothers him…” She sighs, taking a seat next to me. Fresh coffee is brought for her, and I swear the staff are even faster this time around.

“Who says I am letting it get to me?”

“Oh, darling, you’re not a very good liar. Your face tells me more than your words ever could.”

I nod bitterly, not knowing what else to tell her. I feel sick to my stomach, and I can’t imagine eating anything right now. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.

A warm hand touches mine, and I jolt a little at the strange sensation. No one has touched me with kindness since I got here. Not truthfully, anyway.

“You’re going to be alright.”

I glance at her with glassy eyes, wanting to believe her.

“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’ve been where you are.”

“You were… forced into marriage?”

Her hand retracts and her lips press into a thin line. “Forced. Used. Manipulated. All the above. And let me tell you, darling, we deserved better.”

“And you’re still here? After all these years, you could’ve…”

“What? Left?” She gives a short, amused laugh. “There’s no leaving a Rykov man. He will hunt you down and drag you right back where you belong, even in death. But…” She smirks. “You can play him like an instrument if you learn his weak spots.”

“I doubt Wolfgang has any. If anything, he’s been the one playing me all along.” I shake my head. “Why are you telling me this, anyway?”

Ekaterina clicks her tongue, raising the cup of coffee to her lips. “Every single man has one. And it’s usually the very thing you’re upset about right now.” She sips, and I snort, amused.

“So you overhead the entire conversation, then.”

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to.”

I shrug and remain silent, lost in thought as I peer through the large windows overlooking the front yard. Two armed men do their rounds, securing the perimeter. This entire property is so big I rarely see anyone around. But down here, in this wing, seems to be where everything happens.

“Tell you what,” Ekaterina says, getting my attention. “Why don’t you come shopping with me today? You look like you could use some time away from this house.”

“Shopping? Like… to the mall?” My brows rise.

“That’s usually where the clothes are, yes.”

There’s no way in hell Wolfgang would let me leave the house with her. Those goons he has scattered around the property would drag me right back.

“You’re a Rykov now,” Ekaterina says, reading my mind. “And it gives you plenty of rights. Before, you were the daughter of a traitor—and that only granted you a room with a lock on the door.”

That explains why I was left to my own devices this morning. I hate that my change of name is what granted me back my liberties. But at least I have them now.

I nod, and Ekaterina puts down her coffee, calling out for someone over her shoulder. Moments later, a man—another goon—shows up behind her.

“Be a good man and bring the car around. Victoria and I are going out.”

She pushes back her chair, dragging across the floor with a groan as she flashes me an enthusiastic smile. I leave the table to freshen up, dabbing at the probably smudged mascara under my eyes.

And as I take the corner to go back to the staircase, Mikhail is there, blocking my way.

I halt, jolting almost, sensing the shift in energy. Sensing the danger exuding from him, from that scar across his left eye and all the tattoos that suggest a dark, perhaps tragic past.

What is he doing here? Was he spying on me? On what we talked about? As big as this house is, there doesn’t seem to be much privacy.

Inhaling, I square off my shoulders and move to walk past him, wanting him to know I’m not afraid. If he can see through me, he doesn’t show it. Yet, once again, he shifts and blocks my way.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to talk to you,” I say.

“Too bad. Because you’re still going to hear it. My mother…” His eyes squint. “Stay away from her. She’s not your fucking friend.”

“What is this? A warning? Or a threat?”

“Think of it as a suggestion.” His shoulders rise on the last word.

“Right. A suggestion… from you. I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”

I step to the side, and he extends a hand between us, stopping me. I look down at it, then dare to look him in the eye.

“Do what you want. But if you’re going to ignore it, the least you could do is watch your back.”

WOLFGANG

I should walk away.

Like the night I raked my eyes over Victoria’s perfect body when I first brought her here, I should turn my back and fuck my fist to take off the edge.

I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the prize—not because Father warned me a few nights ago, but because I know he wasn’t entirely wrong about the reason I shot that asshole at the wedding. I fucking hate it.

Still, the way I left things with my wife doesn’t sit right with me.

No matter where I go or what I do, she’s in my head. Her presence lingers. My body begs me to sink into her again, to taste her, to remind her she’s mine.

Staying away only makes it look like she’s the one who owns me, not the other way around. So my coming to her room right now has nothing to do with my “feelings”—it’s about setting the record straight again.

Her room, yes. Because over the past few nights, we’ve been sleeping separately.

She took her stuff out of my bedroom and fled back to her prison willingly. At first, it made my blood boil. It took everything in me to let her go, to resist tying her to my bed and watching her squirm. But she’s been distracting me lately, and I shouldn’t have let her.

Upon entering, I take in all the clothes and toiletries she brought back from whatever shopping she did with Ekaterina.

My eyes trail up her naked thighs, beneath the oversized t-shirt that covers her hips. It’s gotten so hot outside that I’m surprised she’s not sleeping naked.

I approach her bedside, seeing her chest rise and lower with quiet breaths. A lock of hair lies across her plump lips, and I bring my hand to her face, gently pushing it away.

She looks so peaceful right now.

It’s hard to remember she actually hates my guts. That’s alright. I don’t plan on changing her mind about me, but she still might when she wakes up with my tongue all the way up her sweet cunt.

Placing what I brought with me on the bed, I take both of her wrists and pin them above her head. She stirs a little, but it doesn’t wake her up. Not even when I wrap my belt around them and secure the length of it to the hooks installed on this bed and mine.

I pry her legs open with my knees, making sure she won’t be able to close them up.

As I pull her panties to the side, I pick up a butt plug.

I slide it up and down her pretty slit, stroking her gently until beads of arousal glisten at the entrance of her cunt.

Then, I simply push it between her walls and start gliding it in and out.

The metal grows slicker, her pussy swallowing it up. A small whimper leaves my wife’s chest, her face scrunching.

I smile, imagining the kind of dream she’s having. Wondering if she’s bouncing on my cock, demanding that I beg for her forgiveness.

If she asked me, I would.

When the plug is wet enough, I swirl it out of her pussy and take the bullet vibrator, bringing it to her slit. I turn it on at the lowest level, securing it by pulling her panties back over it.

A soft buzzing sound fills the room, and Victoria’s head moves to the other side, stirring more this time.

Taking the wet plug back in my hand, I move her panties away, only above her asshole so the vibrator stays in place. I push it inch by inch inside, watching the motion. Her face contorts some more under the new sensation, her hips rocking into the object.

My cock throbs, asking for her. It won’t be tonight, but I can’t wait to fuck her in the ass.

When I look back up at her, her blue eyes are wide open with a deep frown.

“ You ,” she seethes, her voice laced with pure hatred and a hint of the pleasure I’m inflicting on her.

I smile, loving the conflict splayed on her pretty face.

“Yes, love,” I say, pushing the plug deeper into her ass. “I hope you weren’t expecting someone else.”

She sucks in a breath and pulls on her hands, realizing she’s tied up.

“Maybe I was. Maybe Mikhail and I were planning on some alone time.”

Hearing another man’s name coming from her lips makes a muscle tick in my jaw.

Do I deserve it? Maybe. But I won’t admit that.

I push the plug all the way, then cover it up with her panties. She stirs beneath me, writhing softly as if she’s trying to deny herself the pleasure. I lean above her, bringing my face close to hers.

“Ah, I know. I’m an asshole. And I hurt you.”

Whimpering and pulling down on her restraints, she struggles to roll the words off her tongue, “You didn’t hurt me. You annoyed me. There’s a difference.”

“Then let me make it up to you,” I whisper against her lips, aching to touch them with mine.

“You don’t deserve me after what you did.”

“I don’t. But you deserve to feel good right now. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I bring my hand between us, stroking the objects pressed against her cunt and ass. A moan rumbles from her chest, and her body sags, no longer resisting the restraints. Fuck . She’s so goddamn perfect when she falls apart.

“What is that…” she breathes out. “What did you do?”

“This? Just a small plug I pushed inside your ass. And this.” I move my hand higher up. “You know what this is. Haven’t you used one before?”

She shakes her head, her whole body warming beneath my fingertips. I love how embarrassed she gets when I tell her how things are. I smile above her lips, satisfied that I get to teach her everything about her own body. That I’m the only one she’ll ever need to make herself come.

“Are you telling me you’ve never touched this pussy with anything other than your hand?”

“So what if I haven’t? I wasn’t interested in”—she moans—“stuff like that.”

My fucking God.

Unable to contain myself anymore, I press my lips to her soft mouth, my tongue darting out to find hers. To my utter surprise, she finds mine first, and I groan, feeling the same sleek and sweet flavor of hers that I only ever tasted back in the church.

I stroke her gently, in waves, mimicking the motion I’d inflict on her pussy if I were kissing her between her legs. Her back arches, and it doesn’t take long until she shatters under me. Her body trembles, legs twitching as her orgasm washes out of her, taking her by surprise.

I bring my hand to the hem of her t-shirt, snaking it underneath, cupping her round breast. Her nipple is hard, and my mouth waters, wanting to pull it between my teeth.

I want to taste all of her. I want to feel her until I’m satisfied.

But no matter how many parts of her I possess, I’m starting to believe that feeling will never come.

She’s fucking mine, and nothing else should matter. It shouldn’t, yet it does.

And if I had any sense, I’d stop this now… before I’m too far gone.