“I’m not finished. Once I plant my seed in you, I’ll let you rest until the morning. I need you to be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow after all.” A wicked half-smile tugs at his mouth.
“Don’t get overconfident,” I chide. “Quit teasing me and let me—oh!”
He doesn’t let me finish my demand before delving into me with sure strokes and circling my clit with his thumb. I pulse around him. Clinging. Scratching red marks down his neck with my nails. I come so hard I see stars.
Without waiting for me to recover, he slides his cock into my still-quaking sheath. A twinge of soreness gets lost in a second crest of pleasure right on the heels of the first.
“Look at you,” he says in a gravelly tone. “Completely undone. Wanton. Wicked. My woman.” He kisses my cheek. Withdraws long enough to push me to my knees. I drop willingly onto all fours. Rafail grabs my neck and forces my head up as he enters me from behind. His intimidating full length stretches me to my limits. Delicious. Satisfying. Still not enough.
He sets a relentless pace. “I’m going to make you mine forever. Everyone will know that this gorgeous body belongs to me. My plaything, to do whatever I wish. Bed you. Breed you.”
A moan comes out of me. I rock my ass back to meet his thrusts.
“You like that idea, don’t you, my dirty littleprintsesa?”
“I love it,” I breathe, realizing it’s true. At least the fantasy of it. Ever since he kidnapped me, the world has taken on an unreal aspect, as if nothing that happens here is real. Sure, let my bratva ex-stepbrother kidnap and breed me—why not?
“Good, Hailey. Very good.” He shifts back on his heels, pulling my hair and gripping my hip hard with his other hand. Rafail fucks me with relentless precision. A violent climax grips me. Waves of pleasure crash over me until my vision hazes and I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He surrounds me fully.
“We are going to have a beautiful family,” he says, kissing my shoulder tenderly.
Only after I’m on the verge of falling asleep cradled in his tattooed arms, does it occur to me that it’s one thing for me to mess up my own life. A baby will be the one to suffer if I’m making a mistake by agreeing to this.
11
HAILEY
The next morning, Rafail leaves early, dressed in his customary suit, this time with a proper tie and even some sort of patterned silk thing beneath his jacket. Everything in shades of black, of course.
“Very goth,” I tease him as he leaves.
“Get dressed, smartass.” He swats me on the bottom, rather ineffectively with the fluffy bathrobe in the way. “I’ll see you at the church.”
I was surprised that he didn’t want to drive together, but Rafail has a superstitious streak. I’m learning that this is common among bratva. Apart from giving a picture of me in my sweet sixteen gown to a dressmaker and asking for a copy in white, he hasn’t actually looked at the wedding dress he had made for me. He claims he was only looking at me when I discovered it hanging in the closet.
I cannot believe I just lost my virginity to my ex-stepbrother. I don’t even feel the slightest bit bad about it. I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed yesterday. My thighs are still red from his stubble. I run my fingertips along them wonderingly before putting on the lingerie he left for me.
That was unquestionably spectacular, memorable sex. Who wouldn’t want that experience for their first time?
Yet I can’t shake my misgivings. Before Rafail left, I had flicked on the TV while getting ready, changing channels just to see if anything grabbed me. Nothing did until my face flashed onto the screen.
“Police are searching for Lila Davis, a twenty-one-year-old bartender in downtown Baltimore,” said the news anchor. “She was reported missing when she did not appear at work this afternoon. If you have any information, please call?—”
Rafail took the remote from my hand and clicked it off before the anchor could recite the number to call. Not that I would. I don’t have a phone. He smashed it when he grabbed me in that parking garage.
Sudden unease grips me as I zip up the wedding dress. What am I doing? He is not a good man.
A gray-hared, petite woman named Ludmila and two scowly men in suits are the only people to see me when I emerge from the bedroom in my wedding gown, having done my own hair and makeup. She indicates her approval and points to the door.
“This way, miss,” one of the two guards says in heavily accented Russian. Andrei and Valerian. I can’t remember which is which. One of them is Rafail’s second-in-command. The other is his bookkeeper. Both of them look like they could strangle a man with their bare hands.
Ludmila helps me get into the huge SUV without messing up my dress. The language barrier prevents me from learning anything more than her role as Rafail’s housekeeper. During the short drive to the church, my misgivings mushroom.
By the time Rafail’s guard opens the car door for me, I’m consumed with doubts. The sunny morning reminds me that I once had ambitions beyond riding my ex-stepbrother’s cock. I wanted a family, but I swore I’d never get involved with themafia after what happened to Dmitri and my mother. What am I doing?
How can I possibly bring a child into this?
I press one palm over my stomach. In the other, my bouquet of pale-pink chrysanthemums and roses lists drunkenly to one side. I stare up at the red brick building in disbelief.
