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“Your brothers are… interesting,” I tell Nikolai when we disconnect. “Were you close growing up?”
He brings another strawberry to my lips. “Not exactly.” Before I can ask him to elaborate, he pushes the sweet berry into my mouth, then picks up a glass of champagne and hands it to me.
I swallow the berry and take a sip of the fizzy, slightly sweet drink as Nikolai picks up another glass of champagne and waits until everyone’s eyes are on us.
“To my beautiful bride,” he says, pinning me with his intense tiger stare. “Zaychik… I couldn’t be happier to have you in my life, and I will do everything in my power to ensure your happiness.”
And again, I hear the unspoken “even if you object.”
34
Nikolai
Two more toasts from Pavel and Lyudmila, and the dinner is over. Sweeping Chloe into my arms, I carry her upstairs to my bedroom.
No, our bedroom. Now that she’s my wife, she’s going to be sleeping in my arms every night.
My heart thuds heavily as I push open the door with my shoulder and carry her inside, where I carefully set her on her feet in front of the bed. She sways slightly and giggles; clearly, all that wine and champagne has gone to her head.
My head is clouded as well, but not from alcohol. It’s lust that tangles my thoughts and fills my veins with slow-moving lava. The lengthy celebration was another test of my self-control, one I barely passed.
I wanted to grab Chloe and carry her off to bed right after we said our vows, to seal our bond in the most basic way possible. The only reason I resisted was for the memories.
When we’re old and gray, I want to look back at the pictures and videos and recall every detail of this day.
Chloe sways again, blinking up at me owlishly, and I grip her shoulders to prevent her from falling. Then, ignoring the hunger coiling inside me, I look at her, imprinting every feature, every eyelash on my mind. Because the pictures and videos won’t be enough. I want to remember all the sensations, from the silky warmth of her skin to the champagne-and-strawberries sweetness of her breath.
My bride.
My wife.
No two words have ever felt so right, so satisfying.
She’s especially beautiful today, in this white, ethereal gown that makes my hands itch to rip it off her, baring more of her gorgeous, glowing skin. Her gold-streaked hair is arranged in an artful updo, her plump lips tinted with a rich berry color, her brown eyes made even bigger and softer with smoky makeup. Yet all I can think about is how much I want to see her with her face bare and puffy from sleep, her hair tangled from my fingers.
I want to watch her wake up in my embrace tomorrow morning, and every morning for the rest of our lives.
Ignoring the desire scorching my insides, I cup her cheek and bend my head, dragging her fresh, crisp scent into my lungs as I kiss the tender shell of her ear. As hungry as I am for her, tonight I will be gentle, making up for my ferocity last night.
No matter what it costs me, I will make our wedding night everything my zaychik’s ever dreamed of.
35
Chloe
I expect Nikolai to fall upon me as savagely as usual, but he’s excruciatingly tender, slowly unbuttoning the dress and pressing soft, warm kisses to my neck and throat until all the anticipatory tension drains out of my body, leaving warm lassitude in its wake. By the time I’m naked, my very bones feel as if they’ve melted, even as a different type of tension gathers low in my core, my body heating from the inside out.
Laying me down on the mattress, he steps back to disrobe himself, and I watch with a quickening heartbeat as he removes his black tuxedo jacket and bow tie. Underneath, he’s wearing a silver vest over a crisp white shirt, both hugging his muscular, broad-shouldered torso in a way that leaves no doubt they were custom made for him.
Swiftly, he divests himself of both items, followed by his pants and briefs. Unlike with my dress, there’s a jerky, impatient quality to his movements that makes me realize he’s not nearly as in control as he seems. His erection, hard and massive, curves up toward his ridged stomach, betraying his hunger for me.
Nonetheless, when he climbs onto the bed, he’s just as careful and tender, picking up one foot of mine to press small kisses to the top of the arch before moving higher up my leg. My breath hitches as his mouth approaches the V between my thighs, but he skips over it, instead kissing and caressing my lower belly, then my heaving ribcage and my breasts.
The softly lit room spins around me, the ceiling turning blurry in my vision as he latches onto my left nipple, laving it lovingly with his tongue before switching his attention to the other breast as I moan, my hands falling onto the cool silk of his hair. It’s the alcohol, I know, but I feel like I’m floating in space, anchored only by the wet warmth of his mouth on my breasts and the gentle stroking of his callused hands over my burning skin.
