Page 10 of Her Rustanov Husband (Ruthless Bullies #2)

Volf

YOM

The night of the engagement party

Yom held the door open for his fiancée so she could enter their hotel suite first. But that was where all gentlemanly behavior ceased.

Letting the door swing closed behind them, he openly ogled her backside.

She looked even more alluring than usual tonight in a floor-grazing, sequined, pastel rainbow–striped evening dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.

She’d received many compliments from her soon-to-be fellow Rustanov wives on her attire throughout the evening. (Rustanov men knew better than to even appear as if they were looking at one of their family members’ wives.)

Shame he would have to destroy such a pretty dress when he ripped it off her body. But a Rustanov had to do what a Rustanov had to do.

Mouth practically watering, he commanded, “Tell me your safe word, zayka ,” before she could advance too far into the room.

Lydia stopped and slightly turned to throw him a worried look over her shoulder. This gave him a perfect view of the swell of her plump breasts framed by the dress’s plunging crossover neckline.

“Suitcase,” she answered him, tone rightfully suspicious. “But why are you?—”

He shoved her into their hotel suite’s door before she could finish asking, grasping at that lovely but fragile neckline to tear it apart down the middle.

Sequins went flying everywhere as he informed her, “It is necessary for us to have another rough conversation, zayka .”

Rough conversation —this was what he called brutally dominating her with sex until they both knew at a bone-deep level that she belonged to him.

She didn’t protest the ruin of her dress.

Only moaned when he shoved up the back of it and yanked aside her panties.

Perhaps his zayka had suspected what was coming after he caught her voice texting her brother at the party. Maybe even anticipated it.

When his fingers slid between her thighs to prepare her for his claim…

“You are already drenched,” he growled into her ear. “Bad zayka …”

The want of her slammed into him like a punch to the gut. And it hurt nearly as much. So insecure his zayka was, but if she could feel how she affected him, her head would become as swollen as his supermodel cousin’s.

And rightfully so. His cock throbbed, jerking pre-cum and threatening to punch through the fly of the new tuxedo he’d bought to replace the one he ruined the last time he had her alone in a hotel room. He had to unhook and unzip with one hand, freeing himself to give his trapped dick some relief.

The wet clench of her around his two fingers made it hard to remember why he had shoved her up against the door with the skirt of her destroyed dress hiked up around her waist, as opposed to unwrapping her like a pretty gift as he did most nights before they went to bed.

Still, he let no emotion seep into his voice as he continued to work her pussy. “So, you are already knowing that you are deserving this rough conversation tonight.”

It was not a question, but she answered it with a breathy, “I was just trying?—”

This earned her a slap across the ass he loved to lick and bite. “No excuses, zayka . Only apology.”

“But you don’t understand?—”

Another slap. Then another. Then another until she was gasping, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” with the sting of his hand on her ass and his fingers shoved into her pussy.

“Good zayka .”

He pulled his fingers out of her sweet cunt and shoved them into her mouth as he lined himself up to give his fiancée her reward for finally acquiescing.

He fucked her against the door with cold intent until she came in a series of increasingly urgent cries.

Normally, he’d reserve his own finish until the rough conversation was done, but the feral instinct to mark her was riding him too hard.

He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting inside of her, harder and harder, until he released with an angry, possessive growl.

But that didn’t mean their rough conversation was done.

He dragged her over to the sitting room part of the suite.

“Take off panties and get on knees,” he commanded, taking a seat in a wingback chair. Leaving his cock, spent and still glistening with her essence, to hang over his open tuxedo pants, he spread his legs wide so that she would have plenty of room to kneel between them.

Of course, his zayka cast a guilty look toward the room’s tiled carpet. “But, if I?—”

“Zayka, I am promising you will not like what happens if you argue with me about this instead of trusting that I will leave big enough tip to make any extra cleanup service a happy job for maid.”

She hastily slipped out of her panties and got into position between his legs.

The sight of her in her ruined dress, tits and pussy exposed as she leaked his cum load onto the carpet—exactly as she’d feared when she protested taking off her panties—nearly made his cock jump and beg to abandon the conversation. His cock could be prideless and greedy when it came to her.

At the end of the day, all it wanted was to be buried inside of his future wife.

But this rough conversation had to be executed. Understood . Gripping his cock, he fisted her locks and commanded, “Make me ready to claim you again.”

This time, he didn’t wait for her acquiescence, just pushed his pussy-wet cock into the warm cave of her mouth.

He did not indulge in rough conversation with her often. It was both mentally and physically taxing on his zayka , and he hadn’t wanted her end-of-year performance in school to suffer as she often took such matters as America’s arbitrary letter-grading system personally.

But after catching her leaving that voice text, a rough conversation felt necessary. For his sanity, and for his future dealings with Paul Carrington, who was most likely not-so-patiently waiting for his arrival in the basement of the Tourmaline.

Yom wanted him to suffer—for weeks, possibly months—not mere hours. But without having this rough conversation with Lydia first, he knew he would not be able to hold himself back from beating her adoptive brother to death for daring to show his face here.

“You understand, nyet ?” He watched his zayka choke on his dick, mouth stretched, tears of strain leaking from her eyes, breasts heaving as she did her best to take his larger-than-average length.

“You understand… the load dripping out from between your legs onto hotel room carpet—that is punishment fuck for making Yom mad and voice texting your no-contact brother.”

His fingers tightened in her hair to tip her face back so that she could take even more of his angry cock down her throat. “Suck harder if you understand.”

She moaned around his staff, and not only did she hollow out her cheeks to suck harder, she brought her no-longer-quite-so-innocent hand up to his balls, squeezing them just as he’d taught her.

A Russian curse word tore from his mouth. His zayka was too good a learner. She knew how to bring the only activity that did not provide her any pleasure to a swift end.

He didn’t want to blow again so soon. He had no choice but to tug her off his cock and toss her face down onto the bed.

She tried to rise up to her hands and knees, and as much as he admired her good girl instinct to present for him, he could not let her.

“ Nyet !” Yom bit out. He pushed her face down into the pillow with one hand and brought her hips up just enough for him to ram into her wet cunt from behind with the other.

“I cannot be gentle with you tonight, zayka ,” he informed her after the fact, when he’d already fallen on top of her and begun rutting her with the merciless force of an animal uncaged. “You know why.”

“I’m sorry!” she cried, words muffled by the pillow.

Her hands clawed at the sheets, and her body squirmed beneath his heavy weight, trying to escape his invasion, even as her cunt gripped him tight. So tight, she felt like a gift that had been custom-made for him.

“Sorry is not good enough.” Yom gripped her hips, feverish and wild with lust for her, unable to get enough, even as he rutted her into the bed.

Paul hurt her—hurt her! Rage surged, tangled with the need to swallow her whole. He would do anything—anything to protect her. Keep her. Earn her. Cage her. Throw away the key.

“Beg for my forgiveness.” The sick, desperate darkness pressed in, threatening to consume him. “Tell me you will not sneak behind my back again to voice text your no-contact dumbfuck brother. Promise… promise me you’ll be good.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, gasping against the pillow. “Sorry for texting him, for making you angry, Volfie—sorry for everything…”

Volfie . That was what she’d proposed calling him instead of “baby”—which he did not like.

He did not like Volfie either, but he understood the instinct to nickname him after a predator as he drove into her with heavy, punishing strokes, crushing her with both his body and words.

“Tell your volf you will not be doing this again. Tell your future husband what good supruga you will be from now on. Never making me angry like this again.”

“Yom… Volfie , I’m sorry!” she cried, her words breaking apart. “I’ll be good—I’ll be such a good wife…”

Her voice became glassy. “Please forgive me! I swear, I’ll be good. I’ll be… oh… ohhhh!”

The squeeze of her cunt as she climaxed cut off her next words with a choked scream.

Yom wished he could enjoy this, wished he could draw her sensual punishment out like he planned to draw out her brother’s torture.

But the perfect stillness of her captive body beneath his as he commanded her into breathy surrender…

the hot clench of her pussy as she orgasmed and submitted to him at the same time…

He loved her, and moreover, he liked her too much to continue being mean. He captured her lips, needing to taste her screams and moans as she fell apart.

She was his. His . And there was nothing she or Paul Carrington could do about it.

“ Volfie ?” Less than an hour later, when they’d both showered and climbed into bed, Lydia’s soft question pierced the dark of their hotel suite. “Are you awake?”

Of course he was. He never allowed himself to fall asleep until his zayka’s steady breaths let him know that she’d already done so.

Also, the Paul Carrington package was still waiting for him in the basement of the hotel.

He’d merely been biding his time until Lydia succumbed to her exhaustion and he could safely creep out of their room.

She should have already passed out.

And he wondered out loud, “Should I eat your pussy until you are too tired to worry about whatever is making you continue to think thoughts that are keeping you up?”

She laughed, and the sound twinkled like stars over his black night of a soul. “No, I just…”

She flipped from her back to her side to face him, and he felt rather than saw her reach out for him.

He didn’t make her search for even a moment.

“What is it, zayka ?” he asked, taking her hand and pulling it through the hair she liked to stroke. He’d even gotten into the habit of blow drying it after his shower so she wouldn’t be deterred from petting him like this.

“I just want you to know you were right.” Her hand combed through his hair, sending soft shivers through him.

Her gentle touch was almost painful, it felt so good.

“I had no business voice texting Paul about a party I didn’t even want him to come to.

Yes, my mom was sad, but I can’t let whatever gambling hole he’s fallen into be my problem anymore.

I just wanted to thank you for protecting me from myself and my worst instincts. ”

She stroked his hair so softly. As if he were a bunny, too, not the wolf she’d correctly assessed him as when she suggested her silly nickname.

He loved that she petted him like this, giving her predator a soft, tender anchor.

“I love you,” she whispered in the dark, her voice husky with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I am loving you so much, too, zayka .” He turned his face to kiss the inside of her wrist. “And I will do anything to protect you. You are knowing this.”

“I am knowing this, da ,” she affirmed, her tone light with mock Russian gravity. But then it became serious again. “And I’m grateful. Thank you. I can’t wait to call you my…”

She hesitated. “If I’m going to be your supruga , what’s the formal Russian word for husband. Not that I know the informal one, either.”

She let out a wry chuckle.

Without any idea that she’d completely melted Yom’s heart. “In just few more weeks, you will call me suprug . And after we marry, you can call me, muzh , and I will call you zhena , the same as Uncle Nikolai calls his wife.”

“ Suprug .” He could not see her, but he sensed her cute smile as she repeated the word while petting him like bunny. “I can’t wait to call you my suprug. ”

Her sweet words filled his heart with peace and light. And he happily received her petting until her hand went limp, letting him know she’d fallen asleep.

He placed her hand on his warm pillow, then carefully climbed out of bed and pulled on the trainers and T-shirt he’d let her assume he was laying out for their flight back to Gemidgee.

Not once did it occur to him not to go downstairs to beat Paul until he passed out in retaliation for daring to come to their engagement party—and everything Yom suspected he’d done to Lydia in the past.

Nor did he think breaking his promise to her would yield any lasting consequences.