Page 16
Ivan
I stand at the altar, the weight of tradition and expectation heavy on my shoulders as I look at Sarah, my bride, soon to be the mother of my child. She stands before me in the dimly lit church, her expression a mixture of defiance and resignation. The vows have been exchanged, the formalities completed, and now, the final seal on this union—a kiss that binds us in front of everyone, making her mine in every conceivable way.
The priest nods toward me, signaling that it’s time. I step closer, taking in the sight of her. She’s beautiful, no doubt about that—dressed in white, with her bright blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her green eyes sharp and wary. It’s her expression that cuts deeper than anything else. There’s no joy in her gaze, no happiness. Only a quiet acceptance of the reality she can’t escape.
Sarah didn’t want this marriage. She made that clear from the beginning. She resisted, fought against it with everything she had, claiming she couldn’t accept this life, this union, but what she wanted never mattered. There was nothing for her to accept—this is her fate.
In our world, Bratva men don’t have bastards. Children born out of wedlock are a weakness, a crack in the armor that others can exploit. My child will not be a bastard. My child will be legitimate, a Sharov, born into power and fear, just as it should be.
I take a moment to admire Sarah as she stands before me in her wedding dress. The fabric clings to her figure in all the right places, the white of the dress stark against her fair hair. Her beauty is undeniable, even if her eyes betray the reluctance she feels about this union. She looks good in white, pure, even though there’s nothing pure about the world we live in.
The church is silent, filled with a few trusted men, those who needed to be here. The priest is not one of us, but he’s someone we trust—someone who understands the weight of the vows being spoken today, even if he’s not a part of our world. He stands before us, somber, as the ceremony unfolds.
“Do you, Ivan Sharov, take this woman, Sarah Williams, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?” the priest asks, his voice carrying through the quiet space.
I keep my eyes on Sarah, watching the way her breath catches slightly, the tension in her shoulders. She’s been fighting this every step of the way, but this is where it ends. This is where she becomes mine, in every sense of the word.
“I do,” I say, my voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. There’s a finality to the words, a promise that goes beyond the typical vows of marriage. This is not just about love or commitment; it’s about possession, about power, about ensuring that our child is born into the world with the Sharov name.
The priest turns to Sarah, his eyes gentle, as if he senses the storm brewing inside her. “And do you, Sarah Williams, take this man, Ivan Sharov, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until death do you part?”
She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for me to notice. Her green eyes flicker to mine, searching, perhaps for a way out, for something she won’t find. There is no escape, no other path for her now. This is her life, and I’m the one holding the reins.
“I do,” she finally says, her voice steady, though I can see the turmoil behind her eyes. She’s accepted her fate, at least outwardly, but I know Sarah well enough to understand that the fight in her isn’t over yet.
The priest nods, a small, solemn smile on his face as he continues with the ceremony. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I step forward, closing the distance between us. My hand reaches out, gently lifting her chin as I lean in. Her lips are soft, but they’re pressed together, unyielding, and I can taste the bitterness there. This isn’t the kiss of a joyful bride. It’s the kiss of a woman who knows she’s been conquered, bound by vows she never wanted to take.
“Say it,” I whisper against her lips, my voice low enough that only she can hear. “Say you’re mine.”
She pulls back slightly, her eyes flashing with defiance, but she says nothing. I let it slide, for now. The vows have been spoken, the kiss sealed. She may not say it yet, but she will. In time, she’ll understand that this is where she belongs—with me, by my side, as my wife.
The room is filled with the weight of what’s just happened, the finality of it settling over us like a heavy shroud. I take her hand in mine, turning to face the small gathering of men who have witnessed this union. Their expressions are solemn, respectful, as they nod in acknowledgment of the vows we’ve taken.
As we make our way down the aisle, the reality of it all begins to sink in. Sarah is mine now, legally, irrevocably. And while this marriage may have been born out of necessity, out of the need to protect our child and secure the future of the Sharov name, there’s something else simmering beneath the surface. A desire, a need that I can’t quite shake.
She’s beautiful, yes, but it’s more than that. There’s a fire in her, a strength that draws me to her, even when she’s fighting me every step of the way. I want her, in every sense of the word, and now that she’s my wife, I have every right to claim her.
As we reach the doors of the church, I pause, turning to her once more. Her eyes meet mine, a mix of emotions swirling there—fear, defiance, resignation. There’s something else too. Something that sparks a dark thrill in my chest.
“You’re mine now,” I say quietly, my voice firm. “You may not like it, but that’s the reality. This is your life, Sarah. You’d better start accepting it.”
She says nothing, her jaw tightening as she looks away. I can feel the resistance in her, the fight that hasn’t been extinguished yet. Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
As we step out into the cold air, I tighten my grip on her hand, leading her to the waiting car. This marriage is a necessity, a means to an end. As I watch her, feeling the warmth of her hand in mine, I can’t help but think that it might become something more. Something I never expected.
The wedding feels like a blur as we step through the door of my home—our home, now. The silence in the grand entryway is a stark contrast to the tension that’s been simmering between us all day. I shrug off my jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair, already feeling the weight of the evening starting to lift. The moment we crossed the threshold, the formality of the day began to dissolve. Now, it’s just Sarah and me, alone in the quiet of our home.
My phone rings, shattering the stillness, and I answer it with a sigh, nodding to Sarah as I gesture for her to go ahead. It’s one of my men with an update—a matter that requires my attention, but nothing that can’t be handled with a few terse words. Still, it takes a few minutes, and by the time I hang up and head to our bedroom, I find that Sarah has already taken a shower and changed.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in silk pajamas that cling to her curves in all the right ways. Her hair is damp, falling loosely around her shoulders, and she looks up at me as I enter, her expression unreadable.
“I won’t be long,” I say, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. The water is hot, almost scalding, and I let it wash away the remnants of the day—the ceremony, the vows, the weight of what we’ve just done. But beneath it all, there’s a simmering anticipation that I can’t ignore. I’ve been craving her, more than I care to admit. And judging by the way she’s waiting for me, I know she’s been craving me too.
When I step out of the shower, I towel off quickly and pull on a pair of loose pants, leaving my chest bare as I return to the bedroom. Sarah is still sitting on the bed, her legs tucked beneath her, her gaze following me as I cross the room. There’s a tension in the air, thick and electric, and I can see the way her breath catches slightly as I approach.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I take in the sight of her—beautiful, vulnerable, and undeniably mine. “You’ve been waiting for me,” I say, my voice low and teasing. It’s not a question. We both know it’s true.
She doesn’t respond immediately, but the way her body shifts, the way her gaze flickers down to my chest before meeting my eyes again, tells me everything I need to know. I move closer, placing a knee on the bed as I lean in, my hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.
“I know you want this,” I murmur, my lips grazing her ear. “Even if you try to deny it.”
A shiver runs through her at my words, and for a moment, I see the conflict in her eyes—the push and pull of desire and resistance, of wanting something she knows she shouldn’t. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, almost a whisper.
“You’re right,” she admits, her breath warm against my skin. “I do want this.”
The admission sends a rush of satisfaction through me, and I waste no time closing the distance between us, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. It’s not gentle; it’s possessive, demanding, everything I’ve been holding back all day. Sarah melts into it, her hands coming up to clutch at my shoulders as she pulls me closer.
I lower her onto the bed, pressing my body against hers, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin silk of her pajamas. My hands roam over her curves, exploring every inch of her, and she arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips as I tease her, my fingers slipping beneath the fabric to trace along her thigh.
“You’re mine, Sarah,” I whisper against her lips, my voice rough with desire. “I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
She responds with a gasp as I trail kisses down her neck, her body trembling beneath me. I can feel the tension building between us, the way she’s holding back, but I know she wants this as much as I do.
“Tell me,” I murmur, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below her ear. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she breathes, her voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s all I need.
With a satisfied grin, I pull back slightly, my hands working the buttons of her top, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. I take my time, savoring the way her body reacts to my touch, the way her breath quickens as I explore her, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts.
When she’s fully exposed beneath me, I lean down, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her stomach, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She lets out a soft moan, her fingers threading through my hair as she arches into my touch.
“You’ve been craving this,” I say, my voice low and teasing as I let my hand slip between her thighs, finding her already wet and ready for me. “Admit it.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her hips shifting beneath me as I tease her, my fingers moving with deliberate slowness. “I’ve been craving you.”
The confession only fuels my desire, and I reward her honesty by sliding my fingers deeper, drawing out a moan that sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. I watch her as I work her, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips parted in a silent plea for more.
I’m not ready to give her everything just yet.
With a wicked grin, I pull back, denying her the release she’s so clearly desperate for. Her eyes fly open, a mixture of frustration and need written across her face as she looks up at me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her body trembling with unfulfilled desire, and I can see the desperation in her eyes as she silently pleads for more.
“What’s wrong, Sarah?” I murmur, my voice low and teasing. “You want more? You want me to finish what I started?”
She bites her lower lip, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glares up at me, but the need in her gaze betrays her. “You know I do,” she breathes, her voice heavy with frustration.
I chuckle softly, trailing my fingers lightly along her inner thigh, making her squirm beneath me. “You’ve been such a good girl, taking everything I’ve given you. I think you need to earn it, don’t you?”
Her lips part, a soft whimper escaping as she arches her hips toward me, seeking the release I’ve denied her. “Please, Ivan….”
“Please what?” I press, leaning in closer, my breath hot against her ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, Sarah.”
“I want you,” she whispers, her voice shaking with the weight of her desire. “I want you to make me yours… completely.”
My grin widens, satisfaction coursing through me at her words. I trace a slow, deliberate path with my hand, letting my fingers graze her skin in all the right places, never quite giving her what she craves. “You already are mine, Sarah,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her neck as I speak. “I still love hearing you admit it.”
She shudders beneath me, her fingers curling into the sheets as I continue to tease her, my touch light and fleeting. “I’m yours,” she gasps, her voice strained with need. “I’m yours, Ivan… please.”
“That’s better,” I reply, my voice a low growl of satisfaction. I reward her by pressing my lips to hers, kissing her deeply, my hands finally giving her the attention she’s been begging for. The kiss is intense, heated, and I feel her melt against me, surrendering completely to the sensations I’m stirring within her.
My lips claim hers in a kiss that’s fierce, almost possessive. It’s as if the entire weight of the day, the vows, the promises, the expectations, all culminate in this one moment. She responds to me, her body softening against mine, giving in to the inevitable pull between us. Every resistance she had left melts away as I deepen the kiss, my hands roaming over her curves with a purpose I’ve been holding back until now.
This is our wedding night—her final surrender to the life she tried to escape, the life I’ve bound her to. There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing she’s mine in every sense of the word, that she can’t deny the connection that’s been growing between us.
“Sarah,” I murmur against her lips, the sound of her name sending a shiver through her. My hands slide up her thighs, pushing aside the flimsy silk of her pajamas, baring her skin to my touch. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Waiting for me to finally take what’s mine?”
She lets out a soft moan, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if to anchor herself. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mixture of need and surrender. “I’ve been waiting.”
“Good girl,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear as I continue to explore her body, feeling the way she arches into me, craving more of my touch. The silk of her pajamas slides easily under my fingers, and soon they’re gone, discarded on the floor as I focus on her, on the way her body responds to me.
I move down her neck, planting kisses along her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. Her breathing quickens, her body trembling with anticipation as I take my time, savoring the moment, knowing that she’s on edge, waiting for me to finally claim her.
“You belong to me now, Sarah,” I say, my voice rough with desire as I look up at her, holding her gaze. “Every part of you. You’re mine.”
She nods, her eyes dark with a mix of desire and something else—something deeper, something almost resigned but not entirely unhappy. “I’m yours, Ivan,” she whispers, the words barely audible but filled with the weight of everything that’s passed between us. “All of me.”
I grin, a surge of satisfaction flooding through me at her admission. She’s surrendered to me completely, and that knowledge sends a thrill down my spine. I capture her lips in another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, letting her feel the full intensity of what I’m offering—of what I’m taking.
As I trail my hand down her stomach, teasing her, she gasps, her hips rising to meet my touch. She’s desperate for more, and I’m more than willing to give it to her, but on my terms. I want to draw this out, make her feel every moment, every sensation until she’s lost in the pleasure I’m giving her.
I slide into her slowly, savoring the way she gasps, her body arching against mine as I fill her. Her hands clutch at my back, nails digging in as she pulls me closer, needing to feel every inch of me. I move with purpose, my pace steady and unyielding, letting her feel the full force of our connection.
“You’re mine,” I whisper again, my voice a low growl as I thrust into her, each movement claiming her more thoroughly than the last. “Every part of you, Sarah. You belong to me.”
“Yes,” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and surrender. “I’ve wanted this for weeks .”
The admission fuels me, and I pick up the pace, driving us both toward the edge. Her gasps and moans fill the room, mingling with the sound of our bodies moving together, the heat building to an almost unbearable intensity.
She’s close, I can feel it in the way her body tightens around me, in the way she clings to me as if she’s afraid to let go. I’m not far behind, the pressure building inside me until it’s impossible to hold back any longer.
“Come for me, Sarah,” I murmur against her lips, my voice thick with desire. “Let go.”
She cries out, her body shuddering beneath me as she reaches her peak, and I follow her over the edge, the pleasure crashing over me like a wave. For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of us, locked in this perfect, intense connection, and then we’re collapsing together, our breathing heavy and uneven as we come down from the high.
I stay above her for a moment, catching my breath as I look down at her. She’s beautiful like this, flushed and breathless, her eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction. I brush a strand of hair from her face, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before rolling off her and pulling her close.
As she curls into my side, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of our union, I feel a sense of completion settle over me. She’s mine now, in every way that matters, and I’m not letting her go. This is where she belongs—by my side, in my bed, as my wife and the mother of my child.
I hold her close, my hand tracing idle patterns on her back as her breathing evens out, and she drifts off to sleep. The room is quiet now, the only sound the soft rhythm of her breath, and I find myself content for the first time in a long while.