Page 12 of Hostage with Benefits

I was married by an Elvis impersonator in Vegas on a Sunday. I was watching my new husband slip a wedding band next to the engagement ring he'd given me less than twenty-four hours earlier.

“By the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada,” the impersonator drawled, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Mikhail's lips found mine with surprising tenderness, his hands cradling my face.

“I love you,” I whispered as we pulled apart. It was the first time I’d vocalized it, and fuck… I could see that it nearly brought my husband to tears.

“Mrs. Volkov,” his lips brushed mine.

“That's going to take some getting used to,” I replied, but found myself smiling despite my best efforts to maintain my cynicism.

Dmitri, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to serve as our witness, looked distinctly uncomfortable in the chapel. He handed Mikhail the paperwork to sign.

“Congratulations, boss,” he said stiffly. “Mrs. Volkov.”

“Thank you for the heartfelt sentiment, Dmitri,” I said dryly.

The corners of Mikhail's mouth twitched. “You're dismissed, Dmitri. Ensure we're not disturbed for the remainder of the evening. ”

The implications of that order sent a rush of heat through me. Dmitri nodded once and disappeared, leaving us alone with the Elvis officiant, who was already preparing for his next ceremony.

“So,” I said as we exited the chapel into the neon-lit Vegas night. “That was... efficient.”

“I told you Vegas was going to be practical.” Mikhail guided me toward the waiting car, his hand possessive at the small of my back. “One-stop shopping.”

“I can't believe I just married you. I got engaged and then married in the span of twenty-four hours.”

He pulled me closer, his lips brushing my temple.

The suite Mikhail had arranged was obscenely luxurious, with views of the Strip stretching out below like a river of light. Champagne waited on ice, alongside a spread of food I was too keyed up to consider.

“Does Galina know we did this?” I asked, kicking off the heels I'd bought specifically for the occasion.

“She's already planning a proper reception,” Mikhail confirmed, loosening his tie. “She called me several colorful names in Russian when I told her our plans.”

“I bet she did.” I moved to the window, taking in the view. “Your family?”

His reflection in the glass darkened slightly. “They've been informed. We'll deal with them when necessary.”

“That sounds ominous.”

He came up behind me, arms encircling my waist, chin resting on top of my head.

“Nothing you need to worry about tonight.”

“You know, for a criminal mastermind, you're surprisingly evasive about your family.”

His chuckle vibrated against my back.

“Should I be concerned?” I asked more directly.

“No.” His arms tightened around me. “You're mine now. Legally and officially. No one will challenge that, not even my family.”

“I look forward to meeting them, then. ”

He turned me in his arms, expression suddenly serious. “Any regrets?”

I considered the question honestly. Three weeks ago, I'd been a burnt-out graphic designer with crushing student debt and an empty apartment. Now I was married to a Russian criminal who looked at me as if I hung the stars at night.

By any rational measure, I should be having a complete mental breakdown about all of this.

Instead, I was strangely... content. Certain in a way I hadn't been about anything in years.

“Only that we had to come all the way here,” I said finally.

His eyes darkened with memory. “We will return home tomorrow.”

“Home,” I repeated, testing the word. “Is that what the mansion is now going to be for me?”

“Yes, and home for me is now wherever you are, Natalia.” The simple sincerity made my heart ache.

“That was almost romantic, Mr. Volkov.”

“I have my moments, Mrs. Volkov.”

His hands made quick work of my wedding dress. It slid to the ground, leaving me in the lingerie I'd bought in a rush specially for tonight.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, eyes traveling over me with naked appreciation. “My wife.”

I reached for him, undoing the buttons of his shirt with unsteady fingers.

“Husband,” I replied, testing the word on my tongue. “That's also going to take some getting used to.”

“We have time.” He captured my hands, bringing them to his lips. “A lifetime.”

He guided me backward until my legs hit the bed. He urged me to sit, then kneeled before me. My breath caught as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my legs slowly.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his accent thicker with desire. “Having you as my wife. Making it official.”

His hands parted my thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of my inner legs. I shivered under his touch, already embarrassingly wet just from this.

“Mikhail,” I breathed, reaching for him.

He caught my hands, pressing them back against the mattress. “Not yet. Tonight, we do this my way.”

“Your way?”

His smile was predatory. “Yes, I will take my time.” His thumb brushed against my core, a feather-light touch, making me whimper. “Until you say exactly what I want to hear.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, breathing hard already.

“You’ll know when you say it.” He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. “Think of it as a game.”

Before I could respond, his mouth was on me, his tongue tracing through my folds. I arched against him, a moan escaping me at the sensation.

He knew my body already: where to lick, when to suck, exactly how much pressure would drive me wild without making me cum. It was exquisite torture, being brought to the precipice only to have him pull back just as release seemed imminent.

“Please,” I gasped after the third time he’d denied me, my hands fisted in the sheets.

He looked up at me, chin wet with my arousal. “Please what, Mrs. Volkov?”

“Let me come.”

His smile was wicked. “Not until I hear what I’m waiting for.”

“I don’t know what you want!”

“Yes, you do.” He pushed two fingers inside, curling them just so while his thumb circled my clit. “Think, Natalia. What did you tell me for the first time today?”

My mind raced, clouded with pleasure and frustration. What was he looking for? I’d called him husband. I’d agreed to marry him. I’d?—

Oh .

“I love you,” I whispered.

His fingers stilled. “What was that?”

“ I love you ,” I repeated, louder this time.

“That was it.” The simple admission was followed by renewed attention from his mouth. “Say it again.”

“ I love you .” The words fell from my lips as he finally, finally let me fall over the edge, my release crashing through me in waves as he held me steady.

Before I could recover, he was standing, shedding the rest of his clothes. He joined me on the bed, his body covering mine, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded me as aftershocks of pleasure still rippled through my system.

“I love you too,” he murmured against my lips. “More than I thought possible.”

When he pushed inside me, the feeling was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t the rough, desperate sex that I usually craved. This was something else entirely.

“Remember our first time?” he said against my ear. “You asked me to fuck you like I hate you.”

“This is how I fuck you when I love you,” he continued, his pace steady and deep, his eyes never leaving mine.

The intensity in his gaze was almost too much. I tried to look away, but he caught my chin, holding me there.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me again.”

His hand slipped between us, finding my clit. It was overwhelming, building me toward a second peak so fast.

“Mine,” he growled against my neck, his thrusts becoming less controlled as his own release approached. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasped. “Always yours.”

“And I’m yours. Only yours, Natalia.”

My second orgasm hit like a tidal wave, my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. He followed immediately after, filling me with his cum me as he pressed his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

Afterward, as we lay tangled in the sheets, his hand settled possessively on my lower abdomen.

“Soon,” he murmured, half-asleep, his accent thicker still. “Soon you'll be carrying my child.”

I covered his hand with mine, surprising myself with how right the idea felt. “Is that a request or a prediction, Mr. Volkov?”

His lips pressed against my shoulder. “Both, Mrs. Volkov. Definitely both.”