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The ceremony continues as he fucks me. He says I do, slamming into my pussy as I stroke myself faster, shifting in the bed, my mouth opening to let out a moan.
I think back to the spanking he gave me, the way it felt when he pushed a finger into me, like he was claiming me. No one else can touch me. He owns me.
It feels good. It shouldn’t but it does. In the dark, exhausted, alone, it feels good to touch myself and dream of him. I moan again as I get close to an orgasm.
He is not teasing me this time, he cannot stop me reaching the edge and falling over it. I stroke faster, pushing my hips up, imagining him taking me for the first time.
I come with a cry of pleasure, my pussy twitches as the pleasure washes over me. I hate him but I want him so badly my orgasm is the best I’ve ever had.
I sleep again minutes later, and this time I do not dream.
The bedside clock says seven in the morning when I wake again. How much sleep have I got? Not enough. My head feels heavy with exhaustion and stress, not helped by the dull ache in my ass whenever I shift on the mattress.
He spanked me. That wasn’t a dream. That did happen. I could tell myself everything else was a dream but not that.
I sit up, running my hands through my hair. I’m sweating. It’s warm in here, the blankets are thick and heavy. I get up and try to open the window, then remember I already tried that. It’s locked.
I pull the door open and let a little draught slip in from the corridor, shifting the stifling air. I climb back into bed and close my eyes, wishing I could wake up back at my apartment. I was happy there. Well, not happy, but at least not confused. I knew who I was. I don’t have a clue anymore.
I hate Alexsei, not just for his arrogance, or for his handsome features, the way they make me feel whenever he looks at me. I hate his presumption that he’s right.
Most of all I hate the fact that he is right. I do like it when he spanks me. Don’t know what that says about me but it’s true. I also like it when he puts his hand between my legs with such expert precision, like he’s been doing this to me for years.
I’m guessing he’s had a lot of practice with other women. I’m just one in a long list of partners he’s no doubt had.
Why marry me? Why force me to become his wife?
The only reason I can think of is revenge for the death of his family. But what does marrying me achieve for him? I didn’t kill them. I had nothing to do with it. I ran when I found out what happened. Wanted nothing to do with the aftermath. Why should I be punished for my father’s acts?
Did Alexsei kill my mother? I believed it until I met him but his face was not that of a liar. He denied it and I believe he was telling the truth. Where does that leave me?
The questions start bouncing around my head, stopping me from getting back to sleep. My mind ends up back in the study, bent over his desk, his hand on me, making me feel things I’ve never felt before.
His power emanating off him. Knowing he could have me killed, that alone should terrify me. Why does it excite me to be near him? There must be something wrong with me.
It’s this place. I can’t think straight in here. A closed bubble with nothing normal inside. I need to get out as soon as I can. Do whatever it takes to get back home and get on with my life.
At some point I must fall asleep again because the next thing I know there’s a knock on my door and Mrs. Aldova is coming in with a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms. “You are expected to be in the ballroom in thirty minutes. I have to fix your hair and makeup.”
I sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I can fix my own hair.”
“Mr. Volkov insisted. He said to tell you that if you behave, you may wear this gown. If you argue, I am to have his people bring you to the ballroom in your underwear.”
I grunt, sitting up in bed. “Do I have any choice in any of this?”
“It is not so bad, miss. He is a good person at heart.”
I could laugh if the idea wasn’t so ridiculous. “Yeah, sure he is.”
“He will take care of you. He will protect you. What more could a woman want out of life?”
“I don’t know, the freedom to make my own decisions maybe?”
She closes the door behind her, setting down the clothes on the dresser. “Shall we begin?”
“You will behave,” Alexsei says when I meet him in the ballroom.
It’s a cavernous space, the walls lined with enormous gilt framed landscape paintings. The smaller spaces are taken up by, what I assume, are family portraits. Long dead men and women looking down at me and disapproving. I know where they’re coming from. I don’t want to be marrying him either.
