Page 47
As the sun begins to set outside the windows, casting long shadows across the room, the reality finally settles over me with crushing finality. The ceremony is over. The vows have been spoken and the rings have been exchanged. There is no turning back. I am Anastasia Galkin now, for better or worse.
One by one, the last guests begin to depart. They offer final congratulations, shake Samuil's hand, and kiss my cheek with varying degrees of warmth. The Aristocrat Wives' Circle leave together, their expressions still carefully neutral, still withholding final judgment.
My father is one of the last to leave. He pulls me aside, his expression serious.
"You know what's expected of you," he says quietly. "This marriage is about more than just the two of you. Remember that."
"I know, Papa."
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods and kisses my forehead. "Your mother would be proud of you today."
The words hit harder than I expect, and I have to blink back sudden tears—again. He squeezes my hand once, then turns and leaves with his security detail following close behind.
Benedikt lingers near the entrance, his eyes meeting mine across the distance. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The look on his face says everything. Then he's gone too, and the hall feels suddenly empty.
I stand in the center of the room, still wearing the ivory dress and the centuries-old heirloom, feeling the weight of everything that's happened today pressing down on me. A presence appears at my side. I don't need to look to know it's Samuil.
Without a word, he gently takes my hand. His fingers are warm and strong, his grip steady and sure. I turn to face him, and our eyes meet.
There's no smile on his face, no softness in his expression. Just heat. A lot of heat. Passion darkens his eyes, and my body instantly responds. My knees feel weak, heat pools between my thighs, and I'm finding it a little difficult to catch my breath.
Samiul doesn't say anything. He simply leads me away from the empty reception hall, through the quiet corridors of the estate, and toward the private wing where his bedroom waits.
Tonight, our marriage will truly begin.
And I can't wait for this part!
24
SAMUIL
Iclose the bedroom door behind us with a quiet click that echoes through the silence. The sound is final, deliberate. We're alone now. No captains, business associates, or watchful eyes judging every move we make.
Just me and my wife. The word feels foreign in my mind, and for a moment I catch my breath, a flutter irritating my gut, but I don't let myself dwell on it. Not tonight.
I reach down and unbuckle the ancient Galkin sword from my side, the leather strap sliding free with practiced ease. The weight of it has been familiar my entire adult life, a constant reminder of duty and bloodline and the responsibilities I carry. But tonight, I set it aside. I cross to the ornate stand near the window and place the sword carefully in a special spot made for when I take it out of the safety room. The scabbard gleams in the low light.
The gesture is symbolic, and I know it. For the next few hours, I'm not the Pakhan. I'm not the guardian of centuries-old traditions or the man who makes life and death decisions before breakfast. Tonight, I'm just a man with his wife, and my focus shifts entirely to the woman standing in the center of my bedroom.
Ana watches me with those large blue eyes, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The ivory dress hugs her curves perfectly, the delicate lace catching the lamplight. The heirloom necklace rests against her throat, diamonds glittering with every movement. She looks like a princess, like royalty, like who she is. But she's mine now. She may still be a princess, but she's now a Pakhan’s bride.
I advance toward her with quiet confidence, taking my time, letting the anticipation build between us. When I reach her, I pause and study her face, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Her eyes have lost the challenge that's been there since the moment we met. The defiance is gone, replaced by pure desire. Her lips part slightly, and I can see the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat.
She wants this. She wants me. The realization sends a jolt of desire straight to my cock. It instantly swells painfully, demanding I seek release between her thighs. I have to take a deep breath before continuing, then draw her against me without giving her time to retreat, in case she decides to change her mind. My hands find her trim waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the silk and lace. She fits against me perfectly despite the height difference, her head tilting back to meet my gaze.
"Samuil," she whispers, my name barely audible.
I don't respond with words. Instead, I lower my head and capture her mouth with mine. The kiss deepens immediately, all the tension and restraint from the past weeks exploding between us. Her lips are soft and eager, opening beneath mine without hesitation. I taste wine and the sweet taste that is uniquely hers. My tongue slides against hers, claiming and exploring, and she responds with equal intensity, matching me stroke for stroke.
No shy princess tonight, and I thank God for that. The sexual tension between us has been building for too long and I'm not sure I would be able to show much restraint if she showed any hesitance.
Her hands move to my chest, her slender fingers curling into the fabric of my suit jacket. Barely a heartbeat passes before she's yanking at my jacket, pulling it away from my shoulders. Her wedding wing catches the light and sparkles. I almost laugh at her eagerness, but instead I groan and help by shrugging out of it. It falls to the floor and my tie follows, then she's ripping my shirt open, the buttons flinging across the room.
Holy shit, this is hot. Her eagerness drives my lust up by a thousand notches and I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. This is our wedding night. It should be filled with passion and romance, not rutting around like a horny bull. Or so I've been told.
"Fuck," I mutter against her mouth when her palms press against my bare chest. Her touch is electric, sending sparks of sensation across my skin. She leans back slightly to look at my chest, her eyes leaving a fiery path everywhere they touch. I reach behind her and find the hidden zipper of her dress. The delicate fabric parts beneath my hands, revealing smooth skin and the elegant line of her spine. I want to tear the dress off her like she did with my shirt, but I've heard women like to keep their wedding dresses as reminders of the special day, so instead I slide it down slowly, my fingers tracing every inch of her skin I unveil, and watch as it pools at her feet in a cascade of ivory silk and lace.
She stands before me in nothing but the heirloom necklace and white lace lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination. Her body is exactly as I remembered from that night in my study when she pressed against me. Curves in all the right places, soft skin that begs to be touched, and breasts that fill my hands perfectly when I reach for her.
