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“I am. No one will ever lay a hand on you again. You’re mine now. With my name. That alone is protection.”
Her stare wrecks me. I’ve never backed away from a female gazing at me while my cock is hard. I’m in unfamiliar territory. The day must end for a new one to start as I begin this journey with my new wife. My new life. Breaking her heated gaze, I move toward my bed.
Lifting the covers, I say, “Now get in my bed, and let’s get some sleep.”
She pulls back the covers to get in on the other side, but I drag her against my chest. It just feels like the right thing to do. To hold a wife who’s had a rough day, to say the least.
Even though I’m the one who looks like I lost a fight with a cheese grater.
I wake up on my stomach, my cock painfully hard.
Since I haven’t had sex in a while, I’ve been coming in my sleep and waking up in messy sheets. I change them daily. Fuck, I’m actually throbbing.
I close my hand around my dick, the touch lighting me up. I groan, the pleasure in it taking my breath away.
A face forms in my mind: blonde hair, chocolate eyes, and a sweet smile. A smile on a mouth I’d love around my cock right fucking now. A vision of Katya Koslov kneeling before me in her bloody wedding dress, taking my cock down her throat, shoots into my brain.
Katya! What I did the day before rushes back at me. I’m married. I married Alexei Koslov’s daughter. Fuck. Without opening my eyes, I breathe in her sweet scent.
As if drugged last night, I passed out after a few breaths holding her. Lying here naked with a hard cock next to a wife, my brain is completely rearranged, from pushing away the urge to fuck to craving it.
I’ll toy with her beneath me. Destroy her for anyone else. The way I get excited from a man’s pain, I’ll salivate at my wife’s pleasure from my hands, mouth, and a stiff cock. It’s about ego, and mine is as big as Astoria.
Licking my lips and holding my cock, I turn my head to watch my wife sleep. I want to come picturing those lips, bruised or not, around my cock. Her fucked-up face angers me, but her strength turns me the fuck on. How tough she really is when she dances like a feather in the wind.
But Katya isn’t next to me. The scent sucked into my lungs came from her tracksuit jacket left behind on the bed. I reach into the nightstand for my gun. Not caring that I’m naked, I open my bedroom door with my Glock drawn. Calling out to her will give away that I’m awake. I step down the hall, the carpet fibers tickling my feet.
I smell…coffee.
After the hallway, the living room and kitchen are one in an open floor plan. The light from all the windows hit me. Sun streams in, like a spotlight.
Katya turns around and nearly drops a carafe of steaming black silkiness. “Oh. You’re awake. Don’t shoot. But it is decaf. Why do you have decaf?” she asks and doesn’t address why I’m naked.
“I have no idea. Mix up with the grocery order, I guess.” With my gun resting against my thigh, I strut up to her. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.”
“You were sleeping so nicely.” Her tight, white tank top doesn’t hide nipples that have hardened to thick nubs after she’s had a look at me. “And you were…um…groaning a little.”
“What?”
She pours me a cup, and I thank fuck for the kitchen island to hide my cock that is now so hard, it’s leaking with pre-cum.
“You were on your stomach, moving your hips.” She hands me the coffee. “Like you were having an erotic dream.”
The vision hits me. My dream. I dreamt I fucked Katya right there on the church altar, her bloodied wedding dress pulled up, so I had access to her sweet cunt while I was completely naked. But instead of that Russian piece of shite bleeding out next to us, it was Father Eamon with a bullet hole in the head.
Then I cut off his dick and set him on fire. Felt very biblical.
I sneak a look at my cock, bobbing, breathing like he has a heartbeat. He wants Katya because she’s mine.
She’s ours!
I put my Glock on the kitchen island since she’s not afraid of guns. “What is your schedule for these rehearsals you mentioned?” I ask to remove thoughts of me fucking her from my brain so I can form sentences.
She runs a hand through the crown of glistening blonde hair, twisted into one of those loose sexy braids she makes. “Starting next week, I rehearse every day with a choreographer. The audition is next month, remember?”
“Aye.” I stare at her coffee mug that is the same as mine, not realizing I had a set. The utterly normal act of two people having morning joe is a stark reality strangled by how she actually ended up here.
Because I killed her fiancé.
