Page 11

I didn’t like it.

Not the dress, the tears. They just kept rolling freely, and Klavdia had already warned me to wipe them off and not ruin my makeup. Somehow, she reminded me of my grandmother. She died of a stroke when I was six. I didn’t remember much about her except that she was low-key stuck-up, had long white hair, and never smiled. And she gave great advice, like telling a six-year-old, “ Whatever you do, don’t get knocked up before you get married.”

Needless to say, years later, I didn’t have to do much to follow that advice.

Klavdia seemed like the type, too, but I doubted that we’d ever get to the stage where we’d share bits and pieces of our lives over cups of tea and biscuits, and I’d get to know if she had grandchildren.

She also said I wasn’t supposed to let my soon-to-be husband see it. He’d already made it very clear that he found tears sickening.

Carefully dabbing the tears off under my eyes, I fixed my mascara and eyeliner, aiming to reappear brand new, like a gift wrapped with yards of white lace and a sparkly tiara. After all, we didn’t want the lord of the manor falling sick at the sight of me.

A gentle but heavy knock resounded on the door, and I stepped away from the full-body-length mirror. The silence at the other end of the door told me it was Klavdia, quietly reminding me that I was fifteen minutes late for my own wedding.

Clutching my bouquet as though it were my savior, I stared at my reflection, refusing to acknowledge how beautiful and dreamy I looked, like a princess. If I acknowledged it, it meant I was ready to fully accept what this day symbolized. And I wasn’t fully ready. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.

Although, I did have to exit the room at some point.

Sniffling, I walked over to the door, my heart suddenly saddled with the painful reminder that I had no one waiting for me on that field. I had no family, no one to walk me down the aisle or watch me legally march into the arms of my husband.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Jayden since the last time I saw him that night, tied up, bloodied, and unconscious.

“Hurry. He’s waiting.”

At least he was waiting.

I joined her, following quietly as she led me down a winding staircase, past a grand foyer, and finally to the back of the house. There, the view of the vast green estate looked even more cinematic, with white chairs arranged neatly in rows on the green grass and a floral pattern for extra decoration.

For a loveless marriage, they sure invested hours into making the scene appear authentic.

Probably for tabloids and the news, I thought, starting my slow walk down the petal-filled aisle.

It wasn’t long before I stood before him. Before Timur Yezhov.

As already noted, he was handsome in an unreal way. He had a neatly trimmed buzz cut, determined lips, and a dark tuxedo that looked off on a man like him but strangely suited him.

His frame loomed over me, forcing my head up to gaze at him.

I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a thick fog. My heart raced, a chaotic drumbeat echoing in my ears as I glanced around the beautifully adorned field. Soft sunlight streamed through the trees, pouring its warm rays on us, but it did little to brighten the heaviness in my chest.

It took a moment before I really acknowledged that we had a clear sky on our wedding day. No rain. Even the weather seemed to approve of this mismatched union.

I was overwhelmed with a mixture of nerves and sadness. Today, I was marrying a man I had to teach myself to respect and admire, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing on the precipice of a life I hadn’t chosen for myself.

My thoughts drifted to Jay, the reason I was here, and it hurt me that he wasn’t even here to witness the sacrifice I had to make.

I had accepted my fate as his wife, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I could truly make this work. Could I find happiness in a marriage born from obligation rather than love?

Timur’s deep, steady voice broke through my spiraling thoughts as he vowed to cherish me, to support me through the ebbs and flows of life. I felt his gaze piercing through my uncertainty, grounding me in the moment.

His words were as stiff and rigid as the look in his stone-cold eyes. I had no doubt that he’d picked his vows from the internet. Maybe, if he could make it possible, someone else would have eased him of the stress, saved his time, and said the vows for him.

Heaving, I repeated my vows, the very same traditional strings of words Klavdia had helped me memorize.

My pulse quickened further as the officiant announced it was time for the kiss—the moment that would seal this new chapter of my life for good.

Timur leaned down, and I felt his warm breath against my skin, mingling with the scent of his cologne—a blend of cedarwood and something earthy that sent shivers down my spine.

I shut my eyes and felt myself waiting.

Waiting for the moment, the impact, the proof I needed to convince myself that living with this statue of a man would be the worst mistake I’d make.

I expected my skin to crawl.

Then, the moment came.

As his lips brushed softly against mine, the kiss was gentle, almost reverent. In that fleeting moment, I felt the walls of my heart begin to crack, and I wasn’t sure at the time, but something in me wanted more.

****

We went into the house at separate times for a quick shower and a change into something smoother. Klavdia practically had to force me out of the room when all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep the rest of my life away.

He had some of his people set up and organize one of the large halls in the house to be decorated. Before now, I didn’t even know such a chamber existed in the same building, and slowly, it started to sink in, what Klavdia said about being the lady “… of all of this.”

I could hardly believe it as I stepped into the grand ballroom. It was jaw-dropping magnificent. The air was thick with the intoxicating blend of expensive cologne and the sweet aroma of floral arrangements. Russian laughter— if there ever was such a thing —and music surrounded me, echoing off the high ceilings as shimmering chandeliers reflected a warm glow over the sea of darkly dressed guests.

My husband was the center of attention. It was almost charming to watch as he commanded the room with his confident presence. He wore a tailored suit that hugged his form, his trimmed hair catching only a glimpse of light. I wasn’t going to deny it; the man was smoking hot.

Maybe too hot.

But what reeled me in more was the carefree slight of a slight smirk playing on his lips. It was the most genuine resemblance to a smile I’d seen on him since…ever.

He seemed relaxed and less uptight as he mingled with three men, two of whom resembled him more than the other. They were real-life photocopies of Timur, sporting the same jawlines, cold eyes, and intimidating posture.

One of them was the man who tried to kill us.

Later, I learned from one of the maids that he was Rafayel, “the master’s” brother.

Looking away from him to rid myself of the painful memories and back to the man who was now legally mine, I felt drawn to him, an invisible tether pulling me closer, even as the music swirled around us.

Like he felt someone watching, he paused mid-conversation, and his eyes drifted away from his family to mine.

The moment our eyes met, the world faded into a blur, leaving only a burst of immediate heat between us. Slowly, it began licking its way up to my core.

My heart skipped too many beats, and I turned away, more like a child that had been burnt by the touch of fire. It was the first time I had ever felt such a thing.

What was that?

Slipping through the crowd, weaving past chatty guests and clinking glasses, the weight of anticipation built in my stomach. The laughter grew louder, the music more pulsating, but all I could focus on was him .

Brown eyes.

Midnight and ice.

Scary tattoos on his fingers.

My breath caught in my throat when it hit me.

Tonight, those fingers were going to touch me.

He was a force of nature, and a thrill of submission washed over me. After that night, bound in ropes in that dark room, when he presented the offer, I accepted this fate, to be his. Now, the thought terrified me.

As the evening wore on, I found myself on the dance floor, enveloped by the rhythm of the music and his electrifying presence.

Then, it was time for the couple’s dance.

The sea of guests parted, ushering us forward to each other. He took my hand, pulling me closer until our bodies brushed against each other, igniting a spark that left me breathless. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and I surrendered to the moment, my heart pounding in sync with the beat.

Dropping his face to my ear, he murmured softly in Russian and pulled back. The darkness covered his eyes again like a shield as he stared straight ahead.

But I didn’t worry about that.

The warmth of his breath on my skin, his low and sultry voice, his smell—everything sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach. I couldn’t help but blush under the intensity of his sharpshooting gaze.

We danced as if we were the only two people in the room, the world around us blurring to nothing.

With every turn, with every press of our bodies, I felt my resolve slipping away. The music swelled, and so did that burst of heat hovering between us.

****

Wedding day. ??

After party night. ??

Wedding night….

I swallowed, dispersing my mental checkbox with a hand on my chest as we stepped into the room together. His room, which had now become ours.

The guests were gone, the maids retired for the night, and the skies were pitch dark and starless outside. And it was just us. Two souls, in the middle of flickering scented candles, with rose petals decorated on their matrimonial bed, ready to mingle.

At least he looked ready.

I was just about frozen.

He turned his back to me, facing the window while his fingers moved over his buttons. Broad shoulders rolled under white fabric, and piece by piece, that once-taut fabric loosened over his skin. The shirt came off, and under the dim lighting, my gaze touched the visible stretch of firm muscles, skin, and ink climbing over one shoulder.

My pulse quickened.

How could he just walk in and prepare for this like it was an exam he had to take? Like there was really no time to waste?

I did a double-take.

Of course, he could. This had to be easy for him. A man like him had women worship the ground he walked on. He must’ve had many experiences, like a mighty king had many conquests. One after the other…and then he’d go again.

On the other hand, I had spent twenty-two years of my life soaked in the pool of family conquests. From loving two parents to having one, having none, and caring for my brother.

There was no time or space to accommodate anyone else besides the children I taught. There was no time to watch a man’s muscle flex or see what lay beneath his shirt or below his belt….

When he turned around, I was more conscious of the fact that I was still fully clothed.

Timur’s eyes were guarded, but he regarded me with a lifted brow of incredulity and unbelief. “Is your face blue?”

“I-I’m not entirely sure….”

“Are you panicking?”

Overwhelmed, I nodded frantically. I knew that I had accepted my fate, but knowing that I would be giving myself— yielding to this man—filled me with an unspeakable need to breathe first.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us, and reached for me, his fingers gently grazing my skin. A gasp escaped my lips as his touch reignited that flame that had set my body alight with desire on the dancefloor.

It had to be desire.

Why else would I immediately turn to a puddle in his arms?

His eyes bore deep into me, and he lowered his lips to mine. “Serena.” He said my name like he pronounced an exotic fruit.

My eyes dropped to his lips. “Y-Yes?”

“I want you to think of three things while we’re doing this—because we are fucking doing this, do you understand?” His jaw clenched, and I couldn’t decipher why he felt the sudden need to emphasize that he was going to devour me tonight.

Was he having second thoughts?

I didn’t know. I could barely read the man.

He was all man and no emotions, with a very inviting chest, a chiseled torso, and a mouth that held back nothing. Whenever Jayden cursed, it sounded dirty, but the same words pouring out from this man sent tingles to my toes.

Nodding, I gulped. “I understand.”

“ Want me. ” His fingers brushed my cheeks so lightly as his eyes stared into the depth of my soul. “ Have me. Need me. Those are the only things I want you to think about. I’ll handle the rest.”

Want me.

Have me.

Need me.

I was already breathing fast, and my clothes were still on.

This moment between us reminded me of the first time I had welcomed the sixth graders to class. Only now, he felt like the teacher and I, the new student. And this was like class.

He was going to handle the rest, he said. All I had to do was immerse myself in the waves of tumultuous passion for this man, whose gaze licked the length of my body as though it were a delicious lollipop.

“Are you okay now?”

Startled, I looked back at him, rattled on my rocker that he would care if I’d stopped panicking.

Maybe panicking women ruined the fun.

Nodding again, I murmured. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Then, with a force of instant collision, his lips met mine, and the world around me dissolved into nothingness.

Want me.

He moved against me, and my palms flew to his chest for support. I realized I wanted this. This experience of having him kiss me over again. Cautiously, my fingers moved from his smooth chest to his biceps, and he didn’t stop me. Not even when I ran my palm over some jagged bumps of flesh under his elbow or intertwined his long, slender fingers with mine.

Scars. I knew they were.

Jayden had one just like that when he was—

“Concentrate.” His growl reeled me back to the present, and I knew it was a low warning to not allow my mind to wander or stick my nose in his business.

The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve ending and awakening a hunger I had never known. He tasted like wine, danger, and promise, and I surrendered to him completely, my body responding instinctively to his every movement.

His tongue flicked against mine, and sharp teeth nibbled on my lower lip. I surprised us both with a guttural sound, a deep groan of pleasure and satisfaction.

He guided me toward the luxurious bed and laid me between the red petals on the silk sheets. But he didn’t let go. His weight hovered over me, pressing me in, and I felt his hands explore my body. They played with the hem of my dress, and for a moment, he was calm.

Suddenly….

The sound of expensive fabric ripping made me gasp. He tore my clothes with his hands. But most importantly, I now lay in nothing but pieces of sequin and lacy lingerie.

At the sight of my bare thighs and nipples poking through the sheer material, his gaze went dark. Darker than I’d ever seen. The thought that I did that to him thrilled me, a heady mix of exhilaration and satisfaction swirling within me.

“Aren’t we…um…. Aren’t we going to use protection?”

His answer was fast. “No.”

Okay. That was obviously unarguable.

“But I…we—”

“ Need me , Pchelka ,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, and the tingle it sent down my spine instantly shut me up.

A rush of warmth flooded me when his fingers settled between my thighs and traveled upward. I jerked, my eyes rolling to the back of my head when he pressed his thumb and index finger against the lacy panties, cupping my sex.

“Serena…” he rasped, his husky voice floating like it was from a thousand miles away. “This pussy belongs to me.”

More fire bathed my skin, and I wasn’t prepared for the invasion.

When he shifted the panties aside and rubbed his fingers on my—

“Say it.”

Stars dotted my vision, and the pulse between my legs throbbed faster as he rubbed gently. My hips jerked in rhythm to his touch, and my nipples peaked, aching with every brush of the bra against the pebbled flesh.

“Say it,” he repeated.

“Say…what?”

One of his fingers slipped inside me, maneuvering through my sleek tightness, and I released a strangled moan.

“This pussy belongs to me.”

With his finger going in and out of me, I could barely form words. Was this what ecstasy felt like? To experience pure bliss? My head lolled backward; all I could think about was how good he felt inside me.

I stuttered. “I belong—”

“ This pussy .” Growling, he lifted himself so his mouth hovered over mine, and his eyes mirrored mine. “Go on.”

Maybe it was madness, or the rush of adrenaline, or this so-called ecstasy. But whatever it was, and for whatever it was worth, I abandoned my moral training, my definitions, and my beliefs of right and wrong and responded to this man in the way he deemed fit.

“ This pussy belongs to you. ”

It sounded foreign, rather strange, coming from me, and—I yelped. A shock of pleasure rippled on my skin.

Because, for some reason, he found it funny, chuckling while he slapped his pussy.

To rid myself of the heat of embarrassment, I accidentally pleaded with him to kiss me. And I got another smack. This time, it was as hard as the time he’d slapped my cheek, with the same expression of annoyance when he warned me not to beg.

I twisted in pain and slowly relaxed when a burst of pleasure shot in ripples through my body. I was pathetic; I couldn’t even find it in me to get mad at him.

His lips brushed mine, and he flicked his tongue out to taste them. I shivered. That was officially the hottest thing I had ever experienced. “Try again.”

Mimicking his confidence was not as easy as I expected it to be. With his finger still inside me and his thumb rubbing circles on my— his pussy —I mumbled, “Kiss me.”

“Again.”

His finger plunged deeper, and my lips parted with induced boldness. “Kiss me, Timur.”

Hearing his name must have activated a switch. He didn’t just kiss me; he devoured me like an animal feasting on prey. He took his time exploring every inch of me, his hands deftly untying the knots of my inhibitions. I reveled in the sensations, each touch sending ripples of pleasure coursing through my veins. I was lost in him, consumed by the intensity of the moment, each caress and kiss drawing us closer to the inevitable climax of our union.

The dry sound of a zipper sliced through his guttural groans and my sighs, and…off went his pants and briefs. He pulled his finger out of me, lifting his hand to my chest to unpin my bra.

The second the fabric was off, he snatched a nipple with his hot mouth.

If I thought I’d felt pleasure before, now…now, I floated in clouds of delight. My legs went around his waist, and my hands skimmed through the soft hairs on his head.

Something hard and big poked my thighs, and I gasped when he kissed my navel and lifted his head. Mirth danced in his eyes when he said, “Didn’t expect you to be this eager. Relax a little; this part might hurt.”

My cheeks turned scarlet. I didn’t expect myself to be this eager, either, but he didn’t give me a sliver of time to react. His definition of relax was pinning my wrists above my head and spreading my legs as he readied himself to ease into me.

The mirth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an inferno of undiluted desire. Without looking at me, he recited the third piece of our own secret mantra.

“ Have me.”

The tip of his veiny erection—which was very hard and big—rubbed against my sex before easing into me. My eyes fell shut, shock waves rolling down my body as I tensed, my walls clamping around him.

“Fuck…” he cursed, a smooth roll of Russian pouring from between his lips. Almost resisting him, I clenched down on him so tightly, struggling to adjust to his full size, and his jaw flexed. He caressed my bare ass, muttering incoherently in his foreign accent while he squeezed gently.

Finally, with gritted teeth and holding back a drop of tears, I relaxed.

He watched me, his eyes boring deep into my soul as we moved together. I felt my world shift. I was aware of every gasp, every sigh, every flicker of pleasure that danced between us. I surrendered to the fire that burned brightly within, trusting him to guide me through the threshold of passion.

Timur closed his eyes for a second, and I gripped him tightly, slowly rocking against him while he paused for me to adjust. He gave me more, pulling out long enough to make me miss him before pushing all the way back in. And he did it again.

Then, his gaze flickered between my legs, hovering over the point where we were joined together, and he stopped like a fast-moving train with its brakes screeching on the tracks. I wasn’t prepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth.

“There’s blood on my cock.”

When his eyes met mine, I saw the dawn of realization in them. He truly hadn’t known. Not when he gave me the speech about “handling the rest” or saw my face with anxiety and embarrassment. Struggling, I arched my back, trying to get away from him, but his weight over mine didn’t permit me to budge.

“This is your first time?” he asked in his most Timur-way, cold and straight. But no matter how rigid it was, I heard the gruffness of annoyance lingering in his tone. I just didn’t know who it was directed at.

“I thought you knew.”

“I deal with direct information, not assumptions. Even if you look like Clara Barton, who’s to say you’ve not rolled in the mud before?”

Okay…I decided to ignore the fact that he’d subtly misjudged me and focused on the more obvious point. “You asked if I was panicking.”

“You were about to fuck a complete stranger. What was I supposed to think?”

That made sense, but having me nude and spread-eagle below him while he hung above me, firing questions that made it seem like an interrogation session, was uncomfortable. And although my skin still tingled with the awareness that his slick tip pressed against my entrance, I wanted to get this over with.

I looked away from him. “You could have asked.”

Cupping my chin, he brought my face back to his. “I don’t fuck virgins, Pchelka. You should have said something.”

I wasn’t about to admit that hearing that stung worse than a bee would have, so I blinked back the unnecessary salty tears and held my head high. At least, as high as I could, being in that position. “Well, then, you should get off me since you don’t sleep with virgins.”

“I said fuck , not sleep with , and technically, you’re not one anymore.”

Ignore the first part.

“What does that mean now, about not being a virgin anymore?”

Strangely, it didn’t feel like I’d been stripped of a title, but it did feel like I’d given something priceless and precious to a man who didn’t care what it was worth.

He lowered his mouth, and the corner of his lips made the smallest curl to the side. “It means I’m not getting off until you fucking come.”

And before I could say anything else, he drove into me harder. My back arched off the bed, and he grabbed my hips and spread my legs wider, plundering into me until all I saw were flames on scented candles and brown eyes. He hissed in my ears, fisted his nails into my skin, and trailed wet, biting kisses from my neck to my breasts. He squeezed one of my nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and I grew restless.

Pressure built at the base of my spine, rushing to the center of my core and settling between my legs. Groaning, he allowed me to move against him for a moment before whispering into my ear, “Do you want to come?”

I believed I was. I’d read books about it, watched it in movies, heard my peers talk about it—this… coming . But I’d never experienced it before—until now.

It was a high, a climb, a mounting pressure that just pushed me further off the edge, and I searched for a liberating release from this burden.

I nodded. “Yes.”

And he kissed me, slow and intentional. He sucked on each lip like they were dessert. I shuddered when his tongue touched mine, when he grabbed my wrists above my head. His lips were so firm and hard, I felt saddled with the burn to penetrate. So, I mimicked his style, kissing him as fiercely as he kissed me, tasting the corners of him and submitting completely to him.

He stiffened above me, and after one short lick of my tongue over his lips, a white, hazy vision blinded me; an explosion rattled my bones, causing me to cave in. Jerking above me, he hid his face between my neck and flooded me with hot, fiery bursts.

We collapsed onto the soft sheets, breathless and intertwined. A part of me looked forward to watching him sleep, but exhaustion pulled me under. I went deeper and deeper, but not until I felt warm, big arms draw me in.