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Viktor
When I wake the next morning, I feel as exhausted as if I hadn’t slept at all.
Nothing about my night with Caterina went as I’d expected it to. Even thinking about it now, in the cold light of day, makes me angry—with both her and myself. I hadn’t expected her to push me in the way that she had, to fight back, to not accept my generosity in trying to at least make our night together pleasurable for her. And I hadn’t expected to lose my own self-control, either.
I hadn’t thought, after the turn the night had taken, that I’d make her come. I’d expected the sex to be cold and soulless after that—which was for the best, considering the kind of marriage I’d set out to make was exactly that. But when she’d started to shudder around my cock despite her best efforts to remain unmoved, something had broken loose inside of me.
I hadn’t meant to say the things I’d said to her, to fuck her the way I had. It had felt fucking incredible—too much so, in fact. I don’t want Caterina to become a distraction, something I crave, and I can see all too well how I could start to slip down that path if I’m not careful.
In the future, I’m going to have to proceed with caution. I see that now. I need a son, but I also need to remain detached. I’ve been in love with my wife before, passionately so, and I’ve seen where that road leads.
I refuse to put myself and my children through that again. Crime families often make marriages of convenience, and I’ve come to see why. That’s the road I intend to take this time, regardless of how beautiful my new bride is or how good it feels to be inside of her.
I won’t allow her to get under my skin.
Caterina is still sleeping when I walk back into the suite’s bedroom so that I can wash up and change. I grab my things quietly, careful not to wake her, and retreat into the bathroom to shower. Today is an important day—more important to me, even, than yesterday was.
Today is the day when Caterina will meet my children.
I’d slept on the sofa in the adjoining room for more than one reason last night. I wanted to give Caterina space to process our wedding night, to gather her feelings and get them back under control, but I’d also wanted space for myself. I have no doubt that Caterina is a woman capable of controlling her emotions. It’s one of the reasons I asked Luca for her in the first place. She knows what this life requires of her and the strength that it demands. That’s a quality that I value now in a wife.
But I didn’t trust myself, either. I didn’t know if I could sleep beside her and not give in to the urge to wake her in the night and fuck her again, or take her this morning in the early hours, so that I could see her face still soft from sleep, her hair tangled and her body warm and languid. Those are the things that a man in love looks forward to and craves. Those are not things for Caterina and me.
When we come together in the future, I intend for it to be cold and clinical, a fucking intended to get her pregnant with my heir, and nothing more.
I willnotallow myself to be seduced by her. It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is.
A thing that I have a difficult time remembering, when I walk back out of the bathroom dressed and ready to find her sitting up in the bed, her robe sliding towards one shoulder and her dark hair wild and thick around her face, still curling at the ends. She’s as beautiful without her makeup as with it, her skin perfect and her wide dark eyes fringed with long lashes, still hazy with sleep.
“Good morning,” I say curtly, and she flinches as if she hadn’t quite realized I was there.
Quickly, she grabs at the shoulder of her robe, yanking it back up, wrapping her arms around herself as if to add an extra layer of protection. Just seeing her there like that is enough to make me want to join her in the bed, to part those slender thighs again and lose myself in the sweet, tight heat of her pussy. The orgasm I’d had last night was better than any I’d had in years, a pleasure I had forgotten was possible. I could have spent all night fucking her. I could spenddays. The idea of hiding myself away with Caterina, doing nothing but fucking and sleeping, and occasionally stopping for meals, sounds so singularly good that I can feel myself getting hard just at the thought, my cock rising until I have to grit my teeth and look away from her.
She’s too fucking beautiful. But then again, would I have married a woman who wasn’t?
“Good morning,” she says stiffly. “I suppose we’re expected to have breakfast together before we leave?”
“I’ll order room service, yes. I’m sure it will be here by the time you’re dressed. And then we’ll leave together, to go home to my estate. It’s just outside of the city. My home is quite beautiful. I think you’ll like it there.”
Caterina presses her lips together tightly, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s less combative than she was last night, which I take to heart as a good thing. I don’t intend to spend my days fighting with her. If she wants a battle, she’ll quickly learn the tactics I don’t mind using in order to win.
“Alright,” she says finally, swinging her legs out of bed, careful to keep the robe so closely wrapped around herself that I don’t catch a glimpse of flesh beyond her ankles. “I won’t take long,” she adds, grabbing her bag from where it was left by the dresser and disappearing into the bathroom without looking at me again.
There’s an awkwardness between us that I’d hoped we could avoid. I’d thought that her upbringing, and her previous arranged marriage, would have made this easier for her to accept. But apparently, the fact that I’m Russian and Bratva, precludes all of that.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s hardly a surprise. I’m used to being treated in this way. Bratva are never welcome at anyone’s table. If we’re there, it’s because we’ve forced our way in, achieved our place through violence and intimidation far beyond what the Italians or the Irish will lower themselves to commit. We’re considered the dogs of the crime world, and it’s only by clawing our way up that my Bratva has ceased being called upon to do the bidding of others. Now we rule our own territory, under our own laws.
Caterina is one of us now, my wife.Andreyv.The sooner she comes to accept that, the better.
She looks more composed by the time she steps out of the bathroom, wearing dark slim jeans and a fluttery blouse that looks soft to the touch and only serves to highlight how painfully thin she is. She’s pulled her hair back in a messy bun, as if she was hoping to downplay her looks, but nothing can hide how astoundingly beautiful she is. Even with her hair messily pulled back, it only shows off her high cheekbones and wide, dark eyes.
Without looking at me, she walks towards the cart holding our breakfast, picking up one of the plates and retreating to the table. When I do the same, I see her flinch as I sit across from her.
“You’ll have to get used to sharing meals with me,” I say sternly, uncovering my plate. “Except for when I’m away on business, I make an effort to be home and at the dinner table every night.”
Caterina doesn’t look at me, stabbing her scrambled eggs with her fork instead. “How very domestic of you,” she says coolly. “I suppose I’ll be expected to make those cozy dinners?”
I laugh shortly. “No. I have a cook and household staff. You’re my wife, Caterina, the wife of thepakhan. You have not lost status by marrying me.”
