Page 21 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Lara

By Friday, all of campus is talking about the Back to School party at The Gulag–a.k.a., Baranov House. Baron’s been in full pakhan mode all evening–giving quiet orders and directions to everyone who lives in the house as they make preparations for the party.

Except for me. He seems to have no expectations of me, other than that I bear his last name and am naked beneath him every night. I can’t complain about the latter. It’s been mind-blowing.

Baron apparently already updated the school’s records with my new last name because I discovered yesterday that my record changed in my student dashboard.

Earlier today, when my French Lit professor called out “Baranov” to quiz me on the reading, the entire class turned to stare at me. Afterward, three young women stopped me to ask if I was related to Baron. I took a bit of smug satisfaction in their shocked disappointment when I said I was his wife.

“You’re kidding, right?” One of the women had looked at the others. “She’s just joking.” She looked back at me. “You’re his sister. I heard he has a sister on campus this year.”

“That’s Lili,” I explained patiently. “I’m Lara. His wife.” I held up my ring.

Their expressions of jealous horror were epic.

Part of me can’t believe I’m actually proud of it–that I’m showing the ring off for social collateral. But Baron is an apex predator on campus, and so long as I’m forced to live here as his wife, I might as well reap the benefits.

The doors to the party open at nine, and it’s nine now. I stand in front of the mirror and survey my outfit. I don’t know what Americans wear to college parties, but I went for French nightclub wear–sexy, but not too slutty, or the club doormen won’t let you in.

I’m in a strapless black mini-dress that hugs my curves with a loose silver shell belt around my hips and a pair of black patent leather platform heels.

I pulled my hair up to bring attention to my bare shoulders and decolletage.

I went a bit heavier on the make-up, drawing cat-eyes with black liner and using a smokey grey powder to make the blue of my eyes pop.

I dot a little berry lipgloss on my lips and rub them together.

I don’t know what to expect, but I sense this party is going to be interesting, to say the least.

I open the bedroom door and walk down the stairs in my heels.

The lights are off, except for mood lighting–a strip of tiny white lights line the stairs, so I can see where I’m going.

They’ve probably always been there; I just didn’t see them before.

Music fills the house. It has a ska-reggae swing–upbeat but not dancey. It’s probably just the warm-up music.

Downstairs, the house has been transformed.

The lights are off except for the colored dance lights beaming on a disco ball hung from the ceiling.

I don’t know where the furniture went, but the living room is now completely empty and open to serve as a dance floor.

Anya sits on a bar stool behind a DJ booth in the corner with a set of headphones around her neck.

She gives me a wave when she sees me, and I wave back.

Baron swiftly walks through the living room giving orders although I don’t see anyone around him and can’t figure out who he’s talking to until I realize he has an ear piece in.

Anya lifts her chin in my direction, and Baron swivels. I watch as he stops short, transforming from the cool, calculating leader to a hot-blooded male. “Fuuuuuck.”

Female satisfaction floods through me, reminding me that even in the darkest hours of the patriarchy, female erotic power is a stronger force than anything men could create. It’s why they were so afraid of us. Why they sought to capture, contain, and own us.

“Your comms is on, Baron,” Anya reminds him.

Baron reaches up and touches his ear, probably flicking off the device, and walks over to meet me at the bottom of the stairs.

Without saying a word, he crowds into me, pressing me up against the wall. His body heat registers beneath the fabric of my dress. His thumb brushes across my cheek, fingers sliding into my hair.

“My wife is so fucking hot.”

He seems to love calling me his wife. The words still shock me every time I hear them, but it’s hard to object when his obvious appreciation drips from his voice.

He’s in a pale pink button-down shirt, unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up to his forearms. He looks more like a billionaire CEO about to get on his yacht than a college student, and he wears confidence as easily as the expensive clothes.

He covers my mouth in a possessive, claiming kiss. “What am I going to do tonight with you looking like that?” He leans his forehead against mine. “You look good enough to eat, and I have to run this fucking party.”

“What do you have to do?”

His expression clouds, some of the lust draining from his gaze.

I instantly regret my question. I don’t love his cool, distant persona–the one he usually wears–nearly as much as I like him turned on and growly.

“We have to keep things completely above-board tonight because we’re expecting trouble from one of our rival houses.”

“Oh.” I blink. There’s so much I don’t understand about what goes on here.

“And we also have to keep the party interesting enough that people are dying to come back.”

“How do you do that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Mostly relying on rumors of illicit activities that aren’t actually happening tonight. It will keep people coming back and hoping they’re cool enough to be let in on them next time.”

“Like what?”

He kisses me again. “I’m not sure you want to know, printsessa. And I don’t want to make my wife an accessory.”

A spike of resentment rises in me. I respect that he wants to keep me clean. My father is absolutely the same. My mother and I never knew about his bratva cell’s activities.

But it seems like everyone else in this house–all of Baron’s friends–are in on it. Everyone but me. I don’t like feeling left out, even when it is for my own good.

I frown at him. “I do want to know.”

He considers me. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“The usual sins–high stakes card games. Designer drugs. The dungeon downstairs.”

I absorb that. “But nothing tonight?”

He shakes his head. “Not even one underage drink. Titan House wants to take us down, and we don’t know how they’re going to come at us, so we have to play it very cool tonight.”

Wow. No wonder Baron looks like he has the world on his shoulders. He’s not just in charge of his house, he’s running a full-scale enterprise here. Plus, it sounds like he believes he’s responsible for the safety and protection of everyone in this house.

This might be the first time Baron shared anything personal or important with me, and I like it. I appreciate that he trusts me enough to bring me in on it.

“What can I do to help?”

Something in Baron relaxes, and he flashes me a smile–perhaps the first I’ve seen on him. It makes him look boyish. Carefree. Heartbreakingly handsome.

He presses his weight against me and slowly moves in for a kiss, making me hold my breath in anticipation.

His lips are supple; the kiss is perfect.

“You can help me by circulating around here in this sexy little dress and making everyone wonder who this fucking gorgeous woman who is the new queen of Baranov House.” He kisses me again.

“Queen?”

“My queen . So don’t be too friendly to the commoners–you’re royalty in this house. Leave them guessing.”

“Leave them guessing,” I repeat.

“Yes. Extra points–you want to drop a few hints about our arranged marriage or that you’re a bratva princess.

It will only add to the mystique. You’ll become a mystery they’ll forever want to unpack.

” Baron’s hands settle on my waist. He kisses my jaw.

My neck. “You know what the most helpful thing you could do is?” His voice has a seductive rumble to it.

“What?”

“Let me take you upstairs, strip off this dress, and tie you naked to our bed, so I know what’s waiting for me at the end of the night, and I don’t have to worry about any mudak trying to touch you tonight.”

“Hmm. Let me think about that.” I pretend to consider. “ No. ” I give his chest a shove. “I’m the queen. Queens don’t get tied up naked.”

He gives me a mock innocent look. “Some do.”

“So are you allowed to have fun at this party, or are you just working the whole time?”

His expression clouds again. “These things aren’t playtime for me. They’re business.”

I look at my new husband—a twenty-two-year-old who seems to have entirely missed his youth. A man in a perpetual state of self-sacrifice for his father, for the cause, for others. He’s clearly a natural born leader but one with the weight of responsibility for everyone who falls beneath him.

I want to lighten that load for him.

I kiss him. It’s the first time I’ve initiated a kiss, and Baron doesn’t miss the occasion. He holds perfectly still through my kiss then throws me back against the wall, his fingers wrapped around my throat in a gentle hand necklace as he delivers his own searing version of a lip lock.

It goes on and on until we’re both breathless, and he breaks away and rubs his lips together, his gaze locked on mine.“Thank you,” he says reverently.

I practically hear my walls come crashing down to rubble around me.

My husband deeply values the gift of my affection. It couldn’t be more clear. And it couldn’t be more of a turn-on.

The music suddenly turns off.

“ Pakhan !” Anya calls out, taking off her headphones. “They’re trying to get you on comms. There’s a line at the door of people waiting to get in, and they wanna know if they should open up.”

Baron’s hand slides from my neck up to grip my jaw, and he gives me one more rough kiss followed by a feral smile

My knees go weak.

He reaches up to his ear and flicks a button in his comms device.

“Let the party begin.”