Page 9

8

Aithan

The reception is subdued, a quiet celebration where power and diplomacy dance behind every polite smile. The leaders of both the Bratva and the Elliniki mingle, exchanging pleasantries that mask the tension simmering just beneath the surface. I stand near the edge of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey, and watch Yelena talk to some guests. She’s the center of attention, as she should be, her elegance demanding the respect of everyone in attendance.

She’s barely looked at me since the ceremony, and for some reason, that grates on me. Not that I want her fawning over me, but… something about her cool indifference has me on edge. It’s like she’s already figured out how to play this game better than I expected.

“Congratulations, Aithan.” Leon’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He claps me on the shoulder, his grin as irritating as ever. “Married life suits you. You’ve already got that brooding husband thing down pat.”

“Go bother someone else,” I mutter, not in the mood for his antics.

Leon chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, cousin. It’s a big day. Try to enjoy it.”

As he walks away, I catch sight of the Bratva man called Nikolai approaching Yelena. He is an imposing figure, his presence commanding attention even in a room full of powerful men. He was her father’s right-hand man, and from what I’ve heard, he’s fiercely loyal to the Makarov family. I watch as he nods his head slightly at her, a rare show of deference, and speaks to her in low tones.

“You’ve done something remarkable,” I hear him say as I move closer. “Aligning the Bratva with the Greeks is no small feat. Your father would be proud.”

Yelena’s expression softens, but only slightly. “This is what he wanted,” she replies. “I’m just finishing what he started.”

Nikolai nods, his gaze steady. “It’s a brave thing you’re doing, Yelena. Not many would make the sacrifices you have.”

She offers him a polite smile, but there’s steel beneath it. “Thank you, Nikolai. I appreciate your support.”

I drain the rest of my whiskey, the burn doing little to settle the strange mix of emotions churning in my chest. Sacrifices. That word sticks with me. She’s giving up just as much as I am, maybe more. And yet, she’s carrying it with a grace that’s… unsettling. It makes me feel like I’m the one who needs to prove something.

The hotel suite is quiet when we arrive, the soft click of the door echoing in the stillness. It’s a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the reception, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. Yelena walks ahead of me, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if she owns the space. Maybe she does. She certainly owns the air in the room.

I’ve been admiring her all day, though I’d never admit it out loud. The way the dress clings to her, the way her hair frames her face, the way she holds herself with such poise—it’s been driving me insane. Every time she’s walked past me, her scent has lingered, teasing me, taunting me. And now, with no one else around, the tension I’ve been holding at bay threatens to snap.

But I can’t let it. Not yet. I’ve been telling myself all day that I won’t give in to this—to her. If I do, I know what will happen. I’ll become addicted. And that’s not an option. I won’t let her have that kind of power over me. It was fine to lust after her when she was just like any other lady. But not now that she is my wife.

Yelena stops in front of the floor-length mirror near the bed. Her back turned to me. She reaches for the zipper of her dress but pauses, glancing at me over her shoulder. “A little help?” she asks, her voice casual, as if she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to me.

I hesitate, my hand tightening around the cufflinks I’m removing. She turns back to the mirror, waiting, and I force myself to move. Closing the distance between us, I reach for the zipper, my fingers brushing against her bare skin as I pull it down. The sight of her exposed back, smooth and flawless, makes my breath hitch.

She steps out of the dress, letting it pool around her feet, and I freeze in place, unable to look away. She’s stunning, her body a perfect blend of strength and softness. My self-control is hanging by a thread.

Fuck!

Before she can turn around, I mutter something incoherent and stride toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. The sound echoes in the marble-tiled space, and I lean against the sink, gripping the edges until my knuckles turn white.

I’m not a fucking school boy, for fuck’s sake.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be in control. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I strip off my jacket and shirt, tossing them onto the counter, and step into the shower. The water is cold, but it does nothing to cool the heat coursing through me. My body is tense, my mind racing, and no matter how much I try to will it away, the image of her in that blasted set of red lingerie lingers.

I’m hard as a rock, my body refusing to listen to reason. I’ve been with plenty of women, but this… this is different. She’s different. And that terrifies me. Because if I let her in, if I let myself feel anything more than lust, I’ll lose the one thing I’ve always prided myself on: control.

I stand under the shower; the water cascading down my body, as I let my mind wander to the source of my current frustration—my insatiable desire for my wife, Yelena. Closing my eyes, I imagined her in front of me, her lush lips wrapped around my throbbing cock, sucking me with wild abandon. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I picture her eyes, sparkling with lust, looking up at me as she takes me deeper into her mouth.

My hand reaches out and wraps around my shaft, mimicking the sensation of her mouth. I begin to stroke myself, feeling the familiar tightness in my groin as my fingers glide over the sensitive skin. I imagine Yelena's tongue swirling around the head, teasing me, driving me wild with pleasure. With my eyes still close, I let my fantasies take over, picturing every detail of her—her silky black hair cascading down her back, her porcelain skin glowing in the dim light. And those piercing blue eyes that feel like they could see right through me, dark with passion.

I quicken my pace, thrusting my hips forward, imagining my cock sliding past her lips, hitting the back of her throat. The thought of her gagging on me, her eyes watering, only makes my desire burn hotter. I could almost feel her hands on my hips, pulling me closer, urging me to fuck her mouth harder. The imaginary sounds of her moans and the wet, lewd noises fill my mind, intensifying my arousal.

As my breathing becomes more labored, I know I am close. I envision Yelena's mouth tightening around me, her lips forming a perfect seal as I reach my climax. With a final, desperate groan, I release my cum, my seed shooting out in hot bursts, hitting the shower wall. My legs tremble as I ride out the waves of pleasure, my body still craving more.

I open my eyes, the steam clouding my vision, and realize I am alone. The fantasy of Yelena's mouth has brought me to a quick and intense release, but it only serves as a reminder of my longing for her. My cock, now limp, contrasts sharply with the raging need still coursing through my veins. I slump against the shower wall, my mind reeling from the intensity of my desire for one woman.

Just then, a soft knock on the bathroom door startles me back to reality. "Aithan, are you in there? I need to use the bathroom," her melodic voice calls out, carrying a hint of impatience.

"Give me a minute," I reply, my voice hoarse from the raw lust that still lingers in my throat. I quickly rinse off, my mind racing with thoughts of her. As I step out of the shower, I felt a mix of emotions—desire, frustration, and a deep, primal need to claim what is now rightfully mine.

But I want her to come to me herself. I want her coming to me with her pussy dripping and begging for my cock.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I open the door to find Yelena standing there, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in my appearance. Her gaze traveled down to my bare chest, still glistening with water droplets, and then back up to meet my eyes.

Like what you see?

"You took your time," she remarked, her voice laced with a subtle challenge. But not a single hint of desire.

Maybe I should kiss her to see her reaction.

Instead, I smirk, feeling my usual composure return. "Forgive me, my dear. I forgot you were waiting for me." I step aside, allowing her to enter the bathroom. As she brushes past me, I catch a hint of her signature scent, a mixture of vanilla and something flowery, and my body reacted instantly.

As I open the door and step back into the suite, I know one thing is certain: this is going to be the longest night of my life.