Page 11 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

ISAAC

K atya thinks she’s so clever.

She wore black down the aisle, convinced it would rattle me, invite gasps, sidelong glances, maybe even a muttered curse.

It works, though not for the reason she expects.

The instant I caught sight of her, lips painted blood-red, eyes blazing, that sinful dress skimming her perfectly shaped body, I know I could stare at her forever.

She’s absolutely breathtaking, and more than that, she’s mine. In a few minutes she’ll belong to me for the rest of our lives. I plan to see her in and, better yet, out of a thousand scandalous dresses.

She stops at the edge of the altar, chin tipped high in challenge, waiting for me to flinch. I don’t flinch. Instead, I give her a slow, steady smile. She needs to learn she can’t shake me. She can tilt the whole world off its axis and I’ll still be here, braced for the quake.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.” The priest drones through the familiar script, but I can barely hear him over the thunder in my ears.

I smile at the prescribed moments and repeat the words when prompted, but my gaze never leaves Katya. Marrying her is the easiest yes I’ve ever uttered. Despite her countless attempts to sabotage the day, I can make her happy. More than that, I want to make her happy.

As we trade vows, I grin like a kid on Christmas morning. Every scheme she hatched to infuriate me only burrowed her deeper under my skin, and not in the way she intended.

I want her like I’ve never wanted anything.

I never dreamed I could have this. When the priest pronounces the blessing, I take her trembling hand.

She’s terrified, anyone can see it, but I need her to know we’re in this together.

I’m not the brute who bought her at auction, no matter what she believes.

I care for her. The pull she exerts on me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and I’m tired of fighting it.

“By the power vested in me, I hereby declare you husband and wife,” the priest says, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of her face in my vision, of her perfectly plump lips. “You may now kiss your bride.”

I stop fighting the pull, and so does she. The instant my lips graze hers, fireworks detonate behind my eyes. Time stalls and all that exists is the silk of her mouth and the tentative tease of her tongue.

There will be time for more later. With both our families watching, I force myself to pull back and give her space. I’ve waited this long. What are a few more hours?

The reception is a blur of raised glasses and polite smiles.

I’m used to being the center of attention, shaking hands with people who’d probably like to see me dead and pretending to know the names of people I’ve never met in my life.

Pleasantries are my unfortunate domain. Katya, on the other hand, looks like she’s ready to bolt at any moment.

She plays the part, smiling when required and speaking just enough to keep up appearances, but her restless fingers and quick glances at the garden tell another story. She could slip into the night without much effort, and that wouldn’t help either of us.

I wrap my arm around her waist and lean in close, whispering in her ear.

“Want to get out of here?”

Her eyes flicker to mine.

“I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I’ve already had everything I want today.”

Her gaze lingers for half a beat before she nods. I take her hand in mine and guide her out the side entrance, away from the clinking of champagne glasses and hollow toasts. No one stops us.

To anyone who doesn’t know better, we probably look like a happy bride and groom sneaking away to enjoy our wedding night. It must seem as though we truly love each other and can’t wait to get our hands on one another. For just a second, I let myself believe that version of events.

She leads me to her bedroom, perhaps forgetting that it’s not really hers anymore.

Her assistant has already moved all of her things into my room.

Our room. But I allow her this space. I promise myself that if she asks me to leave, I will and let her enjoy her solitude after going through what must have been a very difficult day for her.

But when we’re inside the room with the door shut, she turns to face me, a little breathless.

“Help me out of this?” she asks, gesturing to the tight ribbon holding her dress closed.

My chest tightens and I can’t speak. I just nod and close the distance between us.

She turns around, lifting her hair to expose the complicated knots.

The dress is sleek and fitted, hugging every curve like it was made to torment me.

My fingers tremble slightly as I undo the first knot, then the next.

The silence between us thickens, nearly tangible. Each button I loosen reveals more of her, and with it, less of my restraint. My throat goes dry and I suddenly crave the champagne fountain outside.

The dress slips from her shoulders. She catches it with her arms, holding it to her chest, and turns back to face me.

“You’re staring,” she says, her lips slightly parted, her eyes mocking.

“I can’t help it,” I admit, taking a step away from her, trying to catch my breath. “You’re beautiful.”

Her breath catches. Neither of us moves, the tension between us so thick I can barely breathe. I want to touch her, taste her, and give her everything she refuses to ask for with her words.

I know she sees the flicker in my jaw, the way my breath catches when her dress slides from her shoulders and pools at her feet. She looks up at me in defiance, challenging me.

Katya stands there, wrapped in lace lingerie that could send me to an early grave. God help me. I want her. I need her. I feel a hunger that’s been building since the moment she walked down that aisle in black, trying to shock me. Trying, always, to take control of the situation.

Right now, the only control I have left is holding my hands at my sides and not pulling her against me. I don’t want to push her. But, as always, this is just a game to her.

She sees my restraint and decides to make it worse.

Her hips sway as she starts to move across the room, slow and deliberate, with a sashay that would tempt God himself.

The lace clings to every curve, leaving so little to my imagination.

She walks without speaking, turning her back to me again as if she knows the view will finish the job. It almost does.

“Katya,” I say, my voice low and rough.

She looks back at me over her shoulder, smirking.

“I’m holding on to the last of my self-control right now,” I say through clenched teeth. “Don’t push me unless you’re sure.”

She halts, silent, then faces me, curiosity and unmistakable desire burning in her eyes. It has to be a trick.

She draws the first word out, voice low and seductive. “Maybe. Maybe I don’t want you to hold back. Maybe I wished you went ahead and fucked me that night you showed up to my house too.”

My jaw clenches. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

Her lips curve as she takes another step forward, closing the space between us until her chest brushes mine. Her breath is warm against my throat. Her fingers skim lightly over my shirt collar. “Hmm. Maybe I was wrong about you.”

I stare down at her, pulse thudding in my throat. “Do you want me just as much as I want you, wife?”

She grins, slow and wicked and beautiful. “Kiss me and find out.”

My restraint snaps. I crash my mouth to hers, and the second our lips meet, everything I’ve been holding back ignites. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I don’t hesitate. I wrap my arms around her, one hand curling at her lower back, the other sliding up to tangle in her hair.

She tastes like champagne and sin as her mouth parts for me instantly, like she’s been waiting. It feels like this is the moment everything’s been building to, and I’d be a fool to waste it.

But I still won’t rush her. Not when this is her first time, and she’s giving it to me .

I slow the kiss, letting her feel every bit of it, every brush of tongue, every press of lips, every flicker of heat.

Her breath catches as I trail kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat.

She gasps when my lips find the base of her neck, and her nails scrape softly over the back of my neck like she’s anchoring herself there.

“Isaac,” she whispers.

It’s the first time she’s said my name like that, soft and unguarded, like she actually wants me. I lift my head and look her in her eyes. I see unbridled lust there, but there’s something else lingering underneath. Trust, perhaps?

“I need to hear you say it,” I murmur. “That this is what you want.”

Her eyes meet mine, wide and glassy. “This is what I want,” she says, breathless.

And I believe her. I lift her into my arms without another word, carrying her to the bed. She lets out a soft, surprised breath, but there’s laughter behind it, too. It warms my chest in a way that nothing else ever has.

I lay her down gently, climbing over her like she’s something sacred. Hell, she is. She’s my wife. And this is the first time she’s ever had sex. That does mean something to me. I want it to be perfect for her.

Her fingers reach for me immediately, pulling me down, onto her, and I let myself go, but only just. I kiss her again, deep and slow, taking my time. Every piece of her is offered, and I receive it like a man starving. But I don’t devour her. I appreciate and savor her.

I kiss each inch of skin she offers me, tasting and biting and eliciting the most incredible sounds from her.

Somehow, my shirt and pants are discarded, though I don’t remember if she pushed them off or if I did.

All I know is that we’re suddenly half naked, tangled up in each other, and she’s panting, my name falling off her tongue like a prayer.

Funny, since I’m the one who wants to worship her.

My fingertips trace her thigh, and her breath hitches. I draw small, teasing circles just above the lace of her panties, and her hips buck, urging me on.

“You don’t play fair,” she pouts.

“I never said I would,” I murmur against her lips.

She’s dripping wet, her body responding to me with eager honesty.

It turns me on more than anything ever has.

It surprises me how much I like to be wanted, especially by her.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to plunge right into her, but I can’t do that to her. I touch her gently, testing her.

I slowly peel off her panties and feel my mouth water at the sight of her pussy. The one I tortured with that vibrator some nights ago. The one I pictured fucking as I chased my own release later that night. Here it finally was, waiting for me to act and bring it inexplicable amounts of pleasure.

I start with my thumb, pressing light circles on her clit. When I slip my finger inside her, her back immediately arches, and I’m surprised by how tight she is. Her walls clench around me as I slowly add another finger.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” she moans.

Her body begs for more. Her hips seem to have a mind of their own as they ride my fingers.

I slip another in, letting her come undone under my touch.

She clutches my shoulders, digging her nails into my flesh as she falls over the edge, her head tipping back on the pillow and her mouth opening on expressive moans.

I watch, transfixed onto her voluptuous body, and don’t move until she finally relaxes. Then I flash a wicked grin, bringing the fingers that just wrecked her to my mouth, and taste her. She follows the motion with dark, unblinking eyes.

“More,” she demands. “This is the only part of marriage I’m actually looking forward to.”

“Now, now, Mrs.Kozlova.” I cluck my tongue. “You’ll have plenty to look forward to.”

Impatient, she pulls me to her, kissing me desperately.

Her legs wrap around my waist, and I know she feels the evidence of just how much I want her.

Her panties are still slick as they rub against me, and I have to focus on my breathing just to stop myself from coming. It makes me feel like a teenager.

Unwilling to embarrass myself, I tear off the last pieces of clothing between us.

Her bra and panties land somewhere on the floor, and my boxers quickly follow.

I take one last deep breath, and groan heavily when the tip of my cock touches her soft and slick pussy.

Then I sink into her, so slowly I think I may break.

Because she’s the fragile one, I don’t mind. I force myself to be strong for her.

The moment I’m fully inside her, stars burst behind my eyes.

I’m so worried about hurting her, but she’s urging me on, kissing me hard and scratching at my back.

She’s definitely enjoying it, thank God.

So soon after her first orgasm, it hardly takes any time to get her worked up again, and she’s moaning my name so loudly I’m sure anyone still lingering in the garden can hear.

She’s so tight and warm around me. Her whole body tenses, and it takes barely anything to pull me over the edge after her.

Her delicate walls tighten and squeeze around my aching member, and soon I can’t take it anymore.

I thrust deeply a couple more times and spill into her, savoring the amazing feeling.

I don’t even go soft after, but gently remove myself from her and rub the tip of my still-hard cock against her clit.

Even doing that felt like enough to start a round two, but I’m more fascinated by her soft moans and mews as she recovers from the high.

Later, when she’s wrapped around me and her breathing finally evens out, I press a chaste kiss on her lips.

“As long as you’re my wife, I’ll do whatever I can to protect you,” I promise her.

She murmurs something in response, and I realize she’s barely awake. I relax against her and let myself drift off to whatever beautiful world her dreams inhabit.