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I’m thrumming with frustrated desire. “I can handle it, Misha. Just—”
He rips my panties off, and the words stick in my throat. When he slips his fingers between my thighs, my thoughts are gone, too.
“Perfect,” he sighs, working his fingers in and out of me. “They’re going to expect you to be perfect.”
“No one is perfect.” I’m trembling all over. I have no idea why we’re even having this conversation right now.
I’m trying super hard to care about anyone else on the face of the earth, but right now, there is only Misha and me. I can feel his cock against my thigh. His fingers pushing into me, stroking places I didn’t even know existed.
“Misha, I can’t—” I swallow down a moan and shift my hips, trying and failing to squirm away from the sensation building between my legs. “I need—”
“You’re walking into a world you don’t know. You can’t slip. You can’t falter.”
I know he’s right. But when he’s inside of me like this, it’s easy to forget that I’m an outsider. Being married to Misha is not enough; his men have to accept me, too.
His cock strokes my entrance, and I arch off the table. “F-f-fuck.” My thighs quiver as I try to draw him in closer. “For the love of God, Misha. If you don’t make me come right now, I’m going to die.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he growls.
Then he thrusts inside of me.
I’m filled to the brim with him, physically, emotionally, mentally. Misha is everywhere. All consuming. I cry out and cling to him as the beginnings of an orgasm tremble through me.
I want Misha. All of him. All the time.
But I want to be the perfect Bratva wife, too. For no other reason than to make my husband proud.
44
PAIGE
We’ve been at this for hours. But as my mother-in-law keeps reminding me, I can’t afford to make a mistake. I need to be perfect.
Nessa claps her hands each time I get a name right. But before the praise can sink in, she’s already holding up another photograph. “Who is this man?”
I study the color photo. I’ve seen it already, I know that. Like most of her other flashcards, this one looks like a mug shot. The man’s graying hair is mussed, his skin ghostly pale. His canines are more like fangs.
“Kol something?” I guess.
Nessa arches a brow. “Try again. He’d never forget that insult.”
“Shit.” I study the picture again and a flicker of some memory from earlier arises. “Kolzak? Kolzak Gusev?”
Nessa beams. “Correct!”
I give myself an internal pat on the back just before Nessa presents me with another photograph. This time, it is of a beautiful woman with long, dark hair. She’s wearing an alarmingly small bikini on a breathtakingly gorgeous beach.
“I haven’t seen this one before, right? I’d remember her.”
“Now that you know Kolzak, I figured I’d introduce you to his wife, Isidora.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s hiswife? I would have guessed daughter.”
“There is a thirty-three age difference between them,” Nessa informs me. “And Kolzak watches her like a hawk. When he’s not around, she’s got her own personal watchdog in the form of this man.”
Nessa reveals another photo of a short, balding man with a thickly muscled neck. His mouth is twisted into a cruel sneer.
“The rumor is that Kolzak had Manuel castrated years ago to make sure he would never be able to touch any of his women.”
