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Until I can call myself his wife, and we consummate our marriage in the master bedroom, I’ll be in sexual limbo.
I’m simultaneously begging for it and not at all ready for that level of intensity and commitment, but it’s happening, nonetheless. Fate has been set into motion.
Dinner tonight is something I’ve never eaten before, a beet soup that Danya tells me his grandmother used to make for him, and enough bread to put me into a coma. I shouldn’t eat so much right before the wedding or my dress won’t fit, but it’s either stuff my face or talk to Danya.
So, guess who’s stuffing her face?
“Someone is hungry,” Danya says as he blows gently over his bowl of soup.
I wash my bread down with a glass of water, laughing nervously. “Maybe it’s the stress.”
“Don’t let Olena get to you. Many of those women love to gossip and nag, but you’re under no obligation to listen to them. They’re just here to get you ready for the wedding, and it looks as though they’ve done an excellent job,” he assures me.
“Thank you,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I was more worried about… I don’t know. The wedding is a big deal.”
He gets up from his seat, walking over to me and making my heart leap into my throat. “Just relax, my little flower. I’m going to take good care of you,” he says, stepping behind me and putting his heavy hands on my shoulders.
The warmth of his skin soaks through my thin silk shirt, allowing me to breathe deeper and slower. He squeezes my shoulders, his thumb pressing into my neck and rubbing it.
“Oh, yes,” I moan, rolling my head around as he works the stress out of my neck and shoulders. Waves of acute pleasure and heat roll through me, like a scalding hot shower after a long walk in the cold rain.
I’m lost in his touch, blind to the table and food in front of me as I sink deeper into my chair. His hands are magic on my sore muscles, working them into a malleable substance that could be used to get whatever he wanted from me.
“Just take it easy, my darling,” he says, his voice rumbling against the back of my head as I lean against him. “That’s right, take it easy.”
I let out a breath so long that it feels like I was holding it in since I arrived here. My anxiety is melting away like hot wax, and in its place, there’s a throbbing desire, warm and sweet between my legs.
I part my thighs only an inch, just enough to allow myself to lapse further into Danya’s intoxicating seduction. I close my eyes, allowing the sensation of the ocean waves to fall over me. The rhythmic power, gentle but all-controlling, guides me into a deeper state of release.
“There you go,” he says, patting my shoulders and stepping back.
I whimper for him, cursing myself the moment I realize what I’ve done.
He chuckles. “Not enough for you? If I touch you any longer, I won’t be able to control myself.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickles at the implications, but I know it’s better to wait. As agonizing as it is, we’re supposed to wait until we’re married to have sex. That’s how this whole thing has been painted, and what sort of woman would I be if I threw myself at him before the vows were exchanged?
I straighten up in my chair as he walks back to his seat on the other end of the table, pulled forward like a magnet to his iron figure.
He seats himself, pulling out a cigar and lighting it, winking at me as the smoke obscures his face.
I shiver, but not because I’m cold.
“I assume you haven’t heard anything from your father,” he says, taking a sip of a sweet burgundy wine.
“Oh, um, no. I don’t even have my phone,” I say with laugh. “I’ve been reading, mostly.”
“You wouldn’t get a signal here, anyway. I’ll put you on my plan and then you’ll be able to scroll the internet or whatever women your age are doing.”
I laugh. “Nothing important. It’s actually been nice to take a break from all that. I feel like I haven’t read a book cover to cover in ages. I finished one just the other day.”
“Your mind is the most precious thing you have. Keep it well fed and you can achieve anything you want,” he says, tapping his temple.
“Well, my father must’ve been feeding his a lot,” I reply, thinking about the level of wealth he’s amassed.
I wouldn’t even know how to begin making money like that. Danya is the same, a rich man with more knowledge than I could possibly begin to learn, but does that make either of them good men? And if they’re not good men, what does it matter if their minds are well-fed?
Danya takes a puff from his cigar, the smoke reaching me from across the table and stinging my nose. For some reason, I like it.
