Page 11 of The Pakhan’s Arranged Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #2)

“Hello,” she mutters back, her voice a little shaky. “You gave me a fright. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The remnants of the dream I was having about her are still flickering in my mind. I pull her closer, letting her scent wash over me.

She’s in the shower with me, but this time I don’t hold back, and she doesn’t want me to. The sounds that spill from her cupid lips are beautiful.

My cock throbs with need, and I’m grateful for the fact that she threw a blanket over me, because there would be no chance in hell I could hide that from her.

“Benedikt, what are you doing?” she says, trying to pull her hand away from my grip.

I don’t want to let her go. I want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her. I want her to wrap her legs around me.

I sit up, touching her waist, and she hesitates as she lets me pull her even closer. Her eyes are touched with confusion, uncertainty.

“Where were you, little fox?” I ask.

“I went out for a bit. I visited your sister.”

I tilt my head to the side as I examine her perfect face.

All I can think of is kissing her. It’s unbelievable how badly I want her.

Each time I’m around her it becomes more impossible to control these desires. My cock is pulsing beneath the blanket, pushing up against my pants, aching for her touch.

A mischievous smile spreads across my lips. “You disobeyed me. How would you like me to punish you?”

The look on her face lets me know she is instantly aware that I’m flirting and not angry. Her eyes flare with desire, it flashes across her face, and her lips part as she takes in a sharp breath. My smile gets wider. She wants me, too.

She can’t hide it.

Her cheeks flush pink and she whispers my name.

“Benedikt.” It comes out as a breath of air, hardly audible. Her eyes are locked on mine, her pupils dilated as she considers her options.

Ulyana’s cheeks grow brighter red, and she steps away from me, pulling her eyes off mine.

It’s incredibly difficult to let her go.

Everything in me wants to damn it all to hell and drag her back towards me. I’ve been fighting these urges for so long now.

Ulyana mumbles something about dinner and practically runs from the office. I groan in frustration as I sit up in the chair, pushing the blanket off me and brushing my hand over my aching cock.

I can’t take much more of this sexual tension.

I wish I could figure her out.

***

On Saturday night, we have a party to attend. It’s a business event and not one I’m looking forward to, because I won’t be able to relax and enjoy myself. Around these people, you have to be on high alert. You can’t let your guard down.

I’m also worried about Ulyana being with me.

She’s dressed in a pitch-black body-hugging dress. It’s tight and long, hugging her ass and legs, a high slit running up the front of her leg, all the way to her thigh.

If I was struggling with desire before, it’s much worse seeing her in this dress.

Her hair is pinned up in a silver clip with a butterfly emblem on it. She’s wearing a single silver chain that hangs low in her cleavage, sparkling as the light catches it.

We walk into the venue, and I make sure she is tight against my side. My wife. Everyone who sees us arriving needs to know that she belongs to me.

“Good evening, sir, ma’am, can I offer you a glass of champagne?”

We are greeted at the door by a man in a black and white tuxedo, holding a tray of glittering crystal glass.

“Thank you.” Ulyana smiles sweetly and he hands her a flute of champagne.

“No,” I say, declining, preferring to get vodka at the bar.

He steps aside with a bow of his head, and I lead us inside.

It’s crowded, music thrumming over the pulse of conversation. Women are dressed in elegant gowns, men are dripping in Gucci and Dolce and I’m already bored of the conversations that haven’t started yet.

Never mind the fact that I have to be on high alert for what I say; I also have to be on high alert to make sure Ulyana is comfortable and not having conversations with anyone who might try and trick her into talking about the wrong things.

People are always hungry for information in Las Vegas. I learned long ago to say as little as possible.

I’m talking to a group of business associates and Ulyana is standing nearby, talking to a man I only know in passing. He’s asking her very pointed questions, and to my surprise, she’s answering without saying anything at all.

She’s laughing, charming and confident—and giving absolutely zero information away.

I’m distracted as I watch her, curious about how and when she learned to be so efficient at dealing with the bratva world. Perhaps Nestor didn’t keep her as sheltered as he thought, perhaps she learned a lot along the way.

She’s street-smart in this world and it impresses me, helping me relax a bit more.

What I don’t like, and have very little control over, is how the other men are staring at her. Ogling, practically drooling.

All I can do is move closer, letting them know she belongs to me.

Ulyana, standing at my side, sees me take my last sip of vodka and takes the empty glass from my hand. “Let me get you a refill.” She smiles sweetly. The perfect wife.

“Thank you,” I reply, stealing the moment to lean down and kiss her while we have so many people around us. She acts as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I think to myself as I watch her walk away from me, why can’t she be like that at home, too?

Her hips sway as she moves through the crowd towards the bar.

“That’s Nestor’s sister, isn’t it?” Ardalion says, arriving at my side.

I groan inwardly. I’m not in the mood for this asshole.

“Ardalion. Good to see you,” I say without conviction. “How is business?”

“Better than yours. I hear you can’t even keep your employees safe—you let someone deliver a bomb right into your warehouse.”

“You might want to show more respect to the men who lost their lives in that attack,” I growl angrily.

He snorts mocking laughter and takes a sip of his beer. “You might want to hire a better security team. I can give you some contacts if you need. Or better yet, I can give you some tips. My territory in Los Angeles is running smoothly.”

My blood boils as I think about punching him in the face. I want to wipe that smug look away.

Instead, I shove the anger down and do my best to ignore it.

“Have a nice evening, Ardalion,” I snap, turning away from him.

That asshole has the audacity to grab my arm and pull me back to face him.

“Get your hand off me,” I snarl with a dangerous warning in my voice.

“Where is your blushing bride?” he asks calmly.

“Why don’t you fuck off and bother someone else?” I ask beneath my breath, making it clear to him that our conversation is over.

He smirks and lets me go, raising his hand as though he’s suggesting he meant nothing by it. But he fucking meant something, alright. He goes out of his way to antagonize me every time we cross paths. He’s an arrogant, self-centered asshole.

Unfortunately, we have some allies in common. Even though Ardalion and I don’t see eye to eye, if I were to make a move against him, it would damage some of those relationships.

It’s the only reason I haven’t given him a taste of what he deserves or smacked that pathetic smile off his face. He needs to be put in his place. But I can’t be the one to do it.

He knows it, too. That’s why he pushes his luck with me.

I walk away from him, and another of my business colleagues calls my name, wanting to catch up.

Dutifully, I chat with the guy, still tense from the run-in with Ardalion. I have to remind myself of the bigger picture, keep telling myself it’s not worth it to let him provoke me like that. But fuck, it’s hard to ignore him.

Across the room, I see Ulyana has been pulled aside by a group of the other men’s wives, who are chatting happily with her.

She seems comfortable, and I know she is perfectly capable of handling herself with these bratva people, so I’m not worried about her.

She glances my way and smiles beautifully. It makes my heart flip, and for a moment, it’s as though we are the only two people in the room.

“So, Benedikt, what do you think? Would you like to join in on the trade route? We can set up a formal meeting this coming week to make a more official agreement, but if you can let me now—"

“I’m sorry, Diego, you know my policy on committing to new business at social events. If you want to discuss specific new contracts, then we should save that for the boardroom,” I say politely.

It’s my standard reply when guys try to rope me into verbal agreements after we’ve all had a few drinks. Everyone knows I don’t do business like this, and yet there are always one or two will try anyway.

“It’s a good deal, though. I have some other guys ready to snatch up the opportunity if you don’t want to accept.”

“If they are ready to commit before we’ve had our meeting, then I suggest you go for it,” I say sternly, refusing to be bullied into anything.

I’d rather walk away, even if the deal is as good as he is suggesting it is.

This is not how I operate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. ”

“I’ll have my assistant talk to yours and set up a meeting.”

“You do that. I look forward to it, Diego,” I say with a wide smile. It’s funny how well their egos respond to basic training.

I chuckle as I’m walking away from him towards the bar. Ulyana left a while ago to get me a vodka, but she got trapped in conversation and never came back to me.

“Double vodka and soda,” I say to the barman, sighing and running my hand through my hair.

I glance at my watch and see it’s late. I reckon I’ll suffer through these forced conversations for another hour tops before we can leave.

That’s enough time to show my face, say hi to everyone I should, and escape without seeming rude.

A woman in a short red dress with flaming red hair stands next to me at the bar. She turns to look at me, letting her eyes roam up and down my body with intent.

“Hi, handsome. Are you as bored as I am here?”

“Not interested.” I say bluntly.

She giggles and shifts closer. “But aren’t you Benedikt Karamazov?”

“Yes, I am.”

The barman slides my drink over to me and she peers at it. “Have a drink with me?” she smiles sweetly.

“Thank you, but I think I’ve made myself clear enough.”

She pouts in disappointment, and I turn away from her to scan the room for Ulyana. She isn’t with the group of wives anymore.

An urgency bolts through me as I search, needing to know where she is at all times.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot her. She has her back to me—that gorgeous curve of her ass, I’d recognize anywhere.

I’m about to push off the bar and walk towards her when I see who she’s talking to.

Ardalion Pushkin. What the fuck would she have to talk to him about? Anger spikes through me.

From across the room, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles and turns her head away, but doesn’t leave the conversation.

My blood boils like lava as I push through the crowd towards them.

My eyes are burning daggers into Ardalion.

Watching him flirt with my wife, blatant, unrestrained flirting—it makes me forget that I have to keep things civil between us.

It makes me want to punch his face until there is nothing left of it.

I arrive at their side and immediately grab Ulyana, tugging her harshly towards me and wrapping my arm around her. She yelps in surprise and spills some of her drink. Ardalion looks amused.

“Benedikt, I was just talking to your exquisite wife. What a specimen she is.”

“I will fucking rip your eyes from your skull if you ever look at her again,” I growl beneath my breath, causing Ulyana to gasp and glare at me.

“Benedikt,” she huffs, her cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

She pulls away from me, and I grab her arm.