Page 13 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

She snorts, her eyes narrowed. “That’s ripe coming from you. Brash has been nothing but kind and generous with me.” There’s a defensive note in her voice. “I’m in more danger with you than the Rostovs.”

Blyad’ . She has it backward, but I don’t know how to make her see that. I have to wait until she trusts me more than she trusts him.

“Did you end things with him now that you’re married?”

She stiffens and whirls to face me. “Fuck off.”

I dial down my control issues and switch gears. She’s never going to trust me if I can’t make her fall in love.

“Uh-uh.” I close the distance between us. She flinches when I reach for her, but all I do is pull her into my arms. “We don’t talk to each other that way.”

“ We just did.”

I back her up until her ass hits the dresser and then cradle her nape to lift her face to mine. “We don’t.” I murmur the words against her cheek as my thumb caresses her cheek. “Is that how you want me to speak to you?”

She doesn’t answer. Her body trembles against mine–whether it’s from fear or desire, I can’t be sure.

I know from the dungeon that both can work in my favor.

I slide the hand behind her back down to explore the curves of her ass and squeeze. “Hm?”

“Get off me,” she whispers.

I hesitate. My experience as a dom tells me this is a moment to push, not to give her sovereignty. But she’s not a consenting sub.

She’s also not a consenting wife, but we’re married just the same. Breaking down her barriers and forging something tender between us is the best–possibly the only–way I can keep her safe from Brash.

“Should I show you what Melinda wanted from me?”

I catch that confusion swirling in her eyes again. “What is it?”

“Turn around,” I murmur, at the same time I gently rotate her.

Miraculously, she lets me.

“Hands on the dresser.” I pick up one hand and flatten it on the surface of the dresser then the other.

I unzip the back of her skirt and let it tumble to the floor.

Lara

I look over my shoulder, starting to straighten, but Baron pushes my torso back down. “You said you didn’t have sex with her,” I accuse.

I don’t know why seeing Baron with that woman set me off, but it did. I know she’s an ex-girlfriend or at least someone he’s slept with, I can tell. Call it women’s intuition.

“I didn’t,” he maintains.

I’m shivering, my knees quaking, my breath quick. I wish Baron wasn’t so damn seductive. I don’t know how I ended up standing in my panties, bent over a dresser when I was resolved to not even let him kiss me.

He slaps my ass, hard.

I shriek and try to turn, but he holds my hip in place.

“This is what Melinda wanted from me.”

I stop struggling, listening.

He slaps the other cheek equally hard.

I squeal again. Heat rushes between my legs. My pussy tingles, moisture gathering.

Baron stops and rubs my stinging flesh. “She’s a masochist who uses pain to cope with the stress of overachievement.”

I remember the girl at the cafe asking about a dungeon. Is this what she meant? There’s a BDSM dungeon at Baranov House?

That’s…wild.

He delivers a flurry of light, quick slaps. They don’t hurt, but they warm my ass.

It feels wonderful. Not the first two spanks–they were stingy. But this…I can see the appeal. Every slap sends a jolt of sensation straight to my core. The mixture of danger and pleasure, of pain and seduction, intoxicates me more than the champagne I drank.

Baron knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. With that woman.

“Did you fuck her?”

I guess I’m jealous. Even more so after hearing he’s done this with her.

“Never, malyshka . I haven’t even kissed her.”

“Kiss me .” Funny how I was determined to refuse his touch, and now I’m suddenly demanding it.

Baron rotates my hips, turning me to face him, then picks me up and sets my heated ass on the top of the dresser. He pushes my knees wide and invades my personal space, grabbing my ass with both hands and yanking my core right up against his body as he dips his head for the kiss.

My core contracts, knees clamping around his waist as his tongue delves into my mouth.

This time I’m eager for it. I kiss him back, my lips sliding over his. My hands come to his chest and coast over his pectoral muscles. I work the buttons on his shirt.

He catches my wrists, and I go still, catching his gaze to interpret why he stopped me.

“Good girl,” he praises. My belly flutters in response. I shouldn’t love it, but I do. “Now lean back on your elbows.”

I try to figure out what he means. He puts a finger in the center of my chest and pressed backward. I fall on my hands first, then, finally understanding, lower to my forearms.

“That’s it, malyshka. So fucking beautiful.” He slides his hands under my knees and reaches for my ass, forcing my legs wider, dangling over his biceps. One firm yank, and my ass is right at the edge of the dresser.

I gasp at the sudden movement then gasp again when he yanks the gusset of my panties to the side, ripping the pink lace. “Oh.”

I’ve had sex before. I’m not a blushing virgin bride, but this is something different.

Baron has the skill and confidence of a man who’s had a hundred lovers. And I hate all of them.

Except the moment his tongue makes contact with my lady bits, I’m grateful for his skill. He traces my inner lips, sucks the outer ones. He finds my clit and laves it with his tongue.

I cry out, tension building. My inner thighs shake and tighten against his shoulders.

He takes his time, dropping to his knees to improve the angle, penetrating me with his tongue. When he manages to suck my clit, it’s too much. I rock my hips, pressing my wet heat into his face for more.

But then some part of me doesn’t want to shatter. I don’t want him to succeed. I need to maintain my strength.

“How many?” I demand.

He lifts his head, his mouth glossy with my juices and raises his brows in question.

“How many women have you…done that with?”

His lips twitch with faint amusement, but then his expression returns to the serious, inscrutable one he usually gives me. He slowly rises, and I regret my interruption. I want his mouth back on me, teasing me, winding me up to orgasm.

He steps in close, and I start to sit up. “Ah ah,” he tuts.

I freeze, caught in his commanding brown gaze, then ease back down to my forearms.

“Good girl.” He rewards me by sliding the pad of his middle finger through my juices. He continues the slow glide, up and down along my slit, then dipping into my entrance. “You want to know how many submissives I’ve mastered?”

Do I? Part of me feels a little sick about it. But the rest of me needs to know.

My indecision is made worse by his full penetration with two fingers. He curls them into me, stroking inside, setting me on fire. “Wait.”

I’m going to come, but I don’t want to. I can’t take the vulnerability. Or giving Baron the win.

I start to sit up, but he distracts me by pumping quickly, the tips of his fingers hitting the place that drives me wild every time.

“Baron–”

“Take your finger-fuck and show me how you let go when you come.” His voice has a stern, commanding tone he hasn’t used with me before.

I squirm on the dresser. “I can’t–”

“Take it, or I’ll turn you back over and spank you until you scream.”

The threat breaks something apart inside me. The orgasm rips through me without warning, and I spasm around his fingers, crying out in surprise.

He stops pumping his fingers and holds them inside me, his warm palm molding to cup my mons. The heel of his hand presses against my clit, wringing even more of a release from me.

“ Gospodi !”

“Mmm. That was pretty.” Baron starts slowly fucking me with his middle finger, while keeping the heel of his hand against my clit. “You took it so well, malyshka. ”

I’m panting, the spinning room starts to right itself again. As it does, awareness of the fact that I was the one who came undone while he stayed fully dressed and in control creeps in.

I don’t like the gash of vulnerability that cuts across my chest.

Baron must read sense my exposure because he slips his fingers out of me, loops an arm behind my back and pulls me up to straddle his waist. “Come on. Let’s get in the shower.”

A shower sounds good, so I don’t protest. There’s something easy about letting Baron take charge, especially because he has an uncanny sense of what I need in the moment.

Like the way he commented on the ride home that we should get some food in me before the champagne went to my head.

He’s good at reading me and responding to what he sees, and there’s relief in that.

I let him carry me to the bathroom where he sets me down and pulls my top off over my head. I unbutton his shirt as I kick off my boots.

This is fine, I tell myself. I deserve some good sex. It doesn’t mean I’ve accepted Baron or our marriage.

“You want to know how many,” Baron says.

I meet his gaze, startled. Wow. I admire the hell out of him for addressing the uncomfortable question I already let drop.

I work open his belt buckle, avoiding his gaze.

“The answer is I don’t know. There isn’t a number. It’s not something I counted to notch on my belt.”

Gospodi. That means it’s a lot. He’s been with a lot of women.

I mean, I suspected it, but this is confirmation.

“But that was all before.” He reaches for me, and when he yanks me against his body, he’s rough.

I gasp and look up to search his face.

Lust blazes in his gaze. Lust for me .

He grips my head and steals a fierce kiss. A claiming kiss.

I yank his shirt off his broad shoulders. I’m in nothing but my bra and panties, and he still has more clothes on than I do.

He breaks the kiss, holding my head captive in a steel grasp. “It’s just you now.” He holds my gaze. “I made a vow today to be faithful, and I won’t break it. I’m a man of my word.”

I don’t know how to answer. I made a vow because I had to. I would break it tomorrow if I thought my family wouldn’t get hurt. I don’t know if I believe him anyway. He’s obviously a player.

As usual, he seems to read my mind. “You don’t know whether you can trust me. You can, Lara.”

He releases me to shove his pants and boxers off. His body is gorgeous–all lean, powerful muscle. His skin is golden, his sculpted chest covered in soft curls. My eyes trace down his washboard abs and the natural taper of his waist to the enormous erection pointing at me.

Damn.

It looks demanding. And he likes to get rough. Will he hurt me with that beast? Do I still have a choice, or are we way past that now?

He sees me looking. I must appear daunted because he immediately, dismissively pronounces, “You don’t have to take my cock tonight.”

I drag my gaze up from his dick to his face.

He steps closer to me, the lion cornering his catch.

His hands grip my hips. “I’m going to do my husbandly duty and get you off on your wedding night.

” He unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms. “I don’t care if it’s by riding my cock or with my mouth and fingers.

All I know is you’re going to be fucking satisfied by the time I’m done with you. ”

The way he says satisfied seems to signify something I’ve never before experienced. My knees buckle a little. My pussy drips through the rip in my panties onto my inner thighs.

Am I swooning? I might be swooning a little.

“Now lose your panties before I tear them off you.”