Page 24 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

I stand at the bottom of the grand staircase and check my watch. I had sent Svetlana up almost three hours ago, and Indigo is about to be late.

Not surprising. Defiance seems to be her preferred language, even after what felt like a breakthrough the other night at dinner.

My attention is drawn to the sound of her door opening upstairs. I look up, preparing to say something to her for keeping me waiting as she appears at the top of the stairs in what used to be the cream dress that I sent her.

Except it looks nothing like the original now.

Where the original went down to her feet, this version barely covers the curves of her ass even as it cleverly hides the scars on her inner thighs.

The once-modest neckline has transformed into a deep V that accentuates the valley between her breasts.

The fabric clings to every curve of her body like it was painted on.

And to complete the outfit, she’s chosen a pair of white heels that contrasts against her bronzed caramel skin. But it’s her hazel eyes that pierces me right to my black soul. They’re still soft with that air of innocence I can practically taste.

But now there’s a challenge in them. And with every step down, she sashays her hips just enough to send another burst of blood rushing towards my dick.

Fuck.

My mouth goes dry and I grip the banister to steady myself as she comes closer and closer.

"What’s wrong, Tolya?" she asks when she’s close enough, voice honey-sweet with mock innocence. “Not what you were expecting to see?”

I force my face back to neutral, even as heat beats a steady drumbeat in my body. My guards line the foyer, and every single one is staring straight ahead, jaws clenched, doing their damnedest to not look at my wife while simultaneously failing miserably.

I glare at them all, suddenly filled with the need to hit something.

And to my disappointment, they keep their eyes forward.

"This isn't what I sent you," I say, my voice low and dangerous when she reaches the bottom step.

"It’s not." She tilts her head, blue hair falling across one shoulder. "But I thought I'd make some improvements."

“Improvements?” I climb the stairs and position myself in front of her but she takes a step back to keep us both at eye level. "You practically ripped this dress to shreds."

"What else did you expect from a britvochka, Tolya?"

My jaw clenches tight enough that my teeth might shatter at any moment.

Clever girl.

I grab her by her elbow, and pull her close.

In the process, I catch another whiff of her floral scent and feel my pulse coming alive as if a shot of liquid fire had been poured into me.

She doesn’t shy back. It’s taking every last fiber of restraint in me to not move my hand down from her arms down to her back and around the curve of her ass.

But she can’t look like this, no matter how much I want her to look like this.

Not today.

I lean in again, resisting the urge to bury myself in her hair and whisper quietly enough so only she can hear me as my eyes rake over the scandalous dress one more time.

"You need to change.” My voice takes on a renewed urgency. “Now.”

She looks directly at me through her lashes, defiance smoldering in her hazel eyes as she misinterprets my urgency for weakness.

"You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear.”

“Actually, as your husband, I can.” My gaze hardens, but she refuses to intimidate. “Go change into something appropriate.”

"Or what?" She leans in. "Are you going to make me?"

Goddamn it! This woman.

A dark thrill thrums through my body.

She’s testing me. She’s actually fucking testing just how far she can push me.

I mean, do I want to rip that dress off her?

Yes. Fuck yes, I do. I want to drag her upstairs, tear apart this sorry excuse for a dress with my bare hands, and remind her exactly what happens when she tries to push my fucking buttons.

If I do that, then she wins.

But if I don’t do that, then there’s going to be hell to pay.

I step up the stairs and my hand tightens around her arm. But before I can haul her over my shoulder and carry her back to her room myself, I hear the distinct sound of the front doors opening behind me.

The heavy oak creaks on its hinges, followed by the clacking of heels on marble and a familiar voice that makes my spine stiffen.

"Tolya!"

Fuck!

The timing couldn't possibly be worse, and I’m swearing internally at how long it took Indigo to come down the fucking stairs.

If she’d been here an hour earlier, we could’ve avoided this mess.

But now?

Now she has to face my family like this.

Indigo shifts behind me, and she looks up at me with sudden shock as she sees the frustration on my face.

“Who’s that?” she asks, the bravado from earlier now all but gone.

I look back in annoyance and snarl. “My mother.”

"Your mother?" she whispers, voice suddenly small. Her eyes dart past me toward the entrance.

"Yes,” I reply. “Which was why I told you that you needed to go change."

Indigo looks down at herself, finally comprehending the full magnitude of my words. The dress that was meant to provoke me now seems to horrify her as she realizes just how badly she miscalculated.

"I didn't know," she breathes, all bravado gone. "You didn't tell me—"

"I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Indigo's fingers clutch at my sleeve. "What do I do?"

"There’s nothing you can do now, britvochka. Here."

I shrug off my suit jacket in one fluid motion, and drape it over Indigo’s shoulders. She slides her arms into the sleeves without hesitation, and I adjust the lapel as best I can to try and retain a hint of modesty.

It doesn’t do a goddamn thing about her legs, but at least her top isn’t going to be giving everyone a good fucking look anymore.

My hands linger on the jacket perhaps a moment too long. The gesture is intimate, far more intimate than when she sat in my lap at dinner, and more intimate than when I feasted between her legs after our wedding.

The sound of my mother’s clicking heels approach closer and closer, and I slip my hand into Indigo’s and feel her grip it back with desperation.

She clings to me like I’m the only lifeline she has.

I give her a small nod and squeeze her hand back.

Then, we walk down together to greet my family.