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P iotr

M y wife’s face is exquisite. Her nose is long and straight.

Her bow-shaped lips pout so prettily, and they looked incredible wrapped around my cock.

What really draws me in, however, are her eyes.

They’re blue like the ocean and as tumultuous as any sea when she’s upset.

She has the longest lashes I’ve ever seen.

Right now, they’re lowered as she looks down at her tablet, reading some book.

Olivia was up remarkably early this morning.

We didn’t get back from Sev’s apartment until well after midnight, and then I fucked her twice.

The first time was over the hall table. I made her watch in the mirror as I plowed into her from behind.

The second time was in our bed, where I took my time to explore every inch of her before fucking her on all fours.

She had only five hours’ sleep before slipping out of bed, putting on her silk robe and coming through to the kitchen to read. Whatever she has in front of her, she’s completely engrossed. She barely acknowledged me when I came in.

As I pour myself a cup of tea from the pot, she finally speaks.

“Have you ever considered piercing your tongue?”

I set down the teapot and meet her gaze across the table. “Have I ever considered piercing my tongue?”

“Yes, you know.” She sticks her tongue out and waggles it at me.

Chuckling, I motion toward her tablet. I imagine the unexpected topic of conversation has something to do with her book. “What on earth are you reading?”

“It’s an MC romance.”

“A what?”

“A romance where one of the main characters is in an MC.” Her tone is imbued with the sort of patience people use when explaining something to a child. It makes me itch to spank her ass. “You know, a motorcycle club.”

I barely restrain myself from pulling her over my lap for a couple of swats. “Yes, I know what an MC is.” I’ve had dealings with several of the unruly fuckers in the past, but none of them have been what you’d call romantic encounters.

“Well, the main character has a tongue piercing and a Jacob’s ladder and he knows how to use them.”

She raises her eyebrows and nods suggestively toward my crotch. Is she for real? Olivia only lost her virginity a couple of nights ago, and now she’s fantasizing about having all sorts of weird piercings rubbing against her pussy.

“Piercing is not my thing, Olivia.”

“Aw!” She pouts adorably. “But it could spice things up a bit.”

Spice things up? “We’ve only been married for two days, malyskha . If you’re bored already, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh, I’m not bored yet.” Olivia sets her tablet down. “But I was thinking, in years to come, things are bound to get a bit dull.”

“It will never be dull between us.” That I can be sure of. With a wife like Olivia, I’ll have no trouble keeping our sex life interesting.

“Well, you know…” She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip. “Something to think about.”

She grins wickedly over the rim of her cup and I realize she’s been trying to get a rise out of me. Little minx. Again, I get the urge to spank her ass, but I’m afraid she’ll become immune if I dish out punishments for every little thing.

I pour my tea and then add a splash of milk and a spoonful of honey.

“That’s not how I expected my big, bad Bratva hubby to take his tea.”

My wife appears to be in a mischievous mood now that she’s got her nose out of that book.

“After a comment like that, I never want to hear you call me or any of your brothers sexist again.”

“Was that sexist?” Olivia muses. “I didn’t say the drink was unmanly, did I?”

“It was implied.”

“Maybe.” She screws her nose up. “And when have I ever called you sexist?”

She doesn’t deny referring to her brothers as such. Sexist pig is one of her favorite descriptions of Antonio and Leo in particular. I consider whether she has made that accusation against me. In the past she has flung some harsh words at me, but I don’t actually recall sexist being among them.

“You’re in fine form this morning,” I remark.

“Well, I’m on a bit of a high.” She leans across the table and lowers her voice as if she’s sharing some great secret. “You see, I went to a delightful dinner party last night. I met some good people, had great food, and I fucked a demigod.”

“Only a demigod? I must be slipping.”

Olivia flicks her hair back in what I’ve come to realize is one of her signature moves when she wants to show confidence. “I’m trying to stop your ego from getting out of control.”

“You do it so well.” I raise my cup in a toast to her.

Olivia laughs, and then her expression sobers. She sits back in her seat, suddenly deflated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everyone knew what we did in the laundry room.”

“And that bothers you?”

I already know the answer. When we joined the others at the dinner table last night, Olivia was quiet at first. Withering under the scrutiny of Damiano and Lorenzo, she clung to my hand under the table, seeking my support.

She answered every question with monosyllabic responses until Evie Lenkova, who sat on her other side, finally drew her into conversation and helped her regain her voice.

“Yes, it bothers me. Did you see the way Mila looked at me? She was disgusted.”

Disgust is not what I saw. It was fascination. Mila studied Olivia as if she was a butterfly pinned beneath a microscope. She likes to get under a person’s skin, to see what makes them tick.

“Mila practically mounted Niko in front of everyone. Us fucking in a cupboard isn’t something she’d care about.”

“Laundry room.” Olivia corrects me as if the venue really matters. “Maybe she didn’t care about that, but she hated me. She picked on everything I said.”

“She was trying to discover your worth.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “You impressed everyone last night, Olivia.”

I’m not saying it to make her feel better.

Massaging egos isn’t my thing. When I tell her everyone was impressed, I mean it.

She held her own on every topic of conversation and showed great insight when Niamh asked her about whether Gio might make a suitable husband for the Cameron girl.

Olivia even suggested how they could win Antonio’s support for the idea by helping with a problem he’s been having with the Irish on one of his Midwest supply routes.

“Maybe,” she concedes.

“Why is it so important for Mila to like you, anyway?”

“It isn’t,” she denies.

I suspect my wife has a bit of a girl crush on Mila. She certainly made a bigger effort to speak to her than anyone else last night.

“Really?”

Olivia glances at the clock on the wall behind me to avoid answering. “Didn’t you say you have things to do this morning?”

I didn’t share my plans with Olivia, but she’s right. There are several important matters that require my attention, especially after last night’s meeting. I need to do my part to ensure the Albanians who’ve been messing with our business in Marseille are put in their place.

“I do.”

Olivia nods curtly, her disappointment palpable. She quickly covers it with a tight smile. “And I have a big day planned, so I’d better get ready.”

As she gets up and heads for the door, she brushes past me. I grab her arm and pull her back.

“Where’s my goodbye kiss?”

“It crawled up my ass and died along with everything I was stupid enough to wish for.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” Olivia yanks her arm out of my grip.

She leans down, getting right in my face.

“If you want me to be a good little wife who kisses her husband goodbye and welcomes him home with open arms, then act like a husband and not some asshole who fucks me, then puts me back in my box.”

I’m so stunned by the vitriol in her voice, I don’t react.

Olivia storms off and a few seconds later, the bedroom door slams shut.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she took it off the hinges.

Fuck, my wife is magnificent. I don’t know what’s got into her, but as I wonder what to do about the raging boner she’s left me with, I realize something.

This woman’s going to be the death of me. What a sweet way to go.