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“I, Anya Orlov, take y - you, Sasha Mikhailov…oh God…to be m - myhusband…”
That’s it. Anya calling me her husband sends release rippling through me, robbing me of sight, of every vestige of control. Needing to get as close to her as possible, I drop my weight on her trembling body, pinning her to the couch and continuing to stroke her delicate clit as I pump, pump, pump my seed into her dripping wet cunt. “Finish the vows, little angel,” I growl. “Take Daddy as yourhusband.”
“…my partner in life and m - my one true love.Sasha. Please. I - I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow,andforever.”
Anya screams the final words and begins quaking with a full - body orgasm, bucking beneath me, just before the priest interjects with, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man andwife.”
A roar sounds in my head. One of triumph.Possession.
My middle finger is relentless on her nub of swollen flesh, the beast inside me savoring the way her ass squirms, her legs kicking out as if trying to unseat me. Not in this lifetime. When she’s finished whining and struggling, nothing but a limp pile of limbs on the couch, I flip my beloved wife over on the couch, tugging the nightgown back down to hide her pussy. She watches me through drowsy eyes, attempting to catch her breath, bite marks decorating her bottom lip. Zipping my pants back up, I reach into my pocket and retrieve two gold bands, sliding one onto each of our fingers. “Mine,” I say, through myteeth.
“Yours,” the angel whispers back, her newly decorated hand dropping to her side, the gold winking up atme.
Still, the beat drums in my head. Claim.Claim. “Priest, comehere.”
A few feet away, the man begins to turn and stops. “A - are yousure?”
“Come.” I stand to join the hesitant man, my heart pounding over the streaks of my semen trailing down her beautiful legs. “Say a blessing over my wife’s belly while she’s full of my fresh seed. Ask Him to make herfertile.”
“Yes, of course, Mr.Mikhailov.”
Opening his Bible back up with unsteady hands, the priests recites a short passage. My blood rushes along with the words, images of Anya holding our child filling me with such happiness, I can’t stop myself from joining her on the couch when the priest departs. Trapping her in my arms and whispering over and over in her hair thatI’ll never, ever let hergo.
I watch her as she dozes off, her head tucked against my bicep, those gorgeous lips slightly parted. Love makes me heavy, makes me light. Everything inbetween.
Best of all, it appears Anya has forgotten all about her other plans. College. Orientation. Strangers. A life away from me. She must realize by now she belongs here. Where I can cherish and protect her. Give hereverything.
In the middle of the night, though, when I carry her to bed, I notice her watching me in silent contemplation. And I wonder if I am underestimating the angel. But as we slip into bed, she sighs my name and opens her thighs for me…and I’m aware of nothing but herlove.
Chapter Nine
Anya
Idon’t wantto leave heaven. But I have nochoice.
And it reallyisheaven.
I wake up wrapped in the inked arms of my Russian, his tongue tracing patterns on the back of my neck. My lower half wakes up with a vengeance, eager to please. To be pleased. The tightening of those delicate muscles hurts, though, from having Sasha inside me so many times since yesterday. A flush moves over my cheeks remembering the things he said to me in the darkness last night.When we see your father someday in the future, you will call me Daddy, Anya. He will know I’ve claimed his little girl in every way imaginable, and his responsibility to you is gone. If he needs convincing, he’ll take the place of the priest nexttime.
My agreement, my screams echo in my ears, and wetness trickles onto the material of my panties. Sasha’s chest rumbles at my back, but his mouth makes a reluctantnoise.
“I want nothing more than to watch you ride my cock for the first time, angel, but you will recover for a while first.” He laughs into my hair, a wickedly decadent sound. “Plus, I know what happens when you don’t eat breakfast ontime.”
Wrinkling my nose, I roll over and shove at his big shoulder. “Whathappens?”
“You pout at Sasha. You stomp around and cannot focus on yourreading.”
This is the first I’m hearing of this. “I donot.”
His indulgent smile sends my pulse racing. “Da,angel. You never stop being cute, but I prefer a happy Anya.” A coarse hand roams over my bare hip. “I prefer when you’re smiling because it means I’ve done my job and pleasedyou.”
As sweet as this sounds, this is the crux of our problem. Do I love that Sasha has made my happiness his life’s work? Of course. He’s my husband now, and his happiness is very important to me, too. But…sometimes I want to be responsible for myownhappiness. I want to figure out my own meals. Plans. Bathing suits. I want to have an individual goal as a woman, as well as goals as a couple. Making him understand this is going to take more than words, though. If I’ve learned one thing about Sasha, it’s that he’s stubborn and tunes me out when I’m saying words he doesn’t want tohear.
Which is why I’ve formed aplan.
Some of my apprehension must be showing on my face, because Sasha frowns. “What is the matter? Tell me so I canfix.”
“Nothing is the matter,” I say, mimicking his accent and earning a lip twitch. “What are our plans for theday?”
