44. Bronwyn

44

brONWYN

We were met at Radimir’s apartment building by four serious-looking Russian men in suits toting automatic weapons. Two more were waiting for us upstairs outside the penthouse: after what happened at the wedding, Radimir clearly wasn’t taking any chances.

He opened the door but stopped me before I could go through it. “I believe there’s a tradition,” he told me firmly.

“What tra?—”

I yelped as he scooped me up into his arms and carried me over the threshold. Behind us, the bodyguards took up their positions outside and quietly closed the door.

Radimir marched straight through to the bedroom and then gently set me down. I looked up at him: even in the heels I’d braved for the wedding, he was taller than me. He gazed down at me with something like wonder. “My bride,” he breathed, tracing his hands along my shoulders.

I slid my hands under the sides of his jacket and held his waist. “My husband,” I said. My stomach dropped at the words, and I took in all of him: the Bratva tattoos that showed through his white shirt, the muscled, rugged bulk of him, the sheer malevolent presence of him. I was married to a gangster . But as I thought about him carrying me when I was in pain, about him buying the building to save the bookstore, about him risking his life for me, the fear faded, and a warm glow replaced it. Yes, he was Bratva. But deep down, he was good. And yes, we were in danger now from Spartak. But I knew Radimir would keep me safe. I was married to a gangster...and it was the happiest I’d ever been.

Radimir slid his hands up to my cheeks, then tilted my head back, sinking his fingertips into my hair. My eyes fluttered closed as his lips came down on mine. The gentleness of the kiss took me by surprise: it was soft and slow, tasting me, as if he was just discovering me. Each brush of his lips infused me with a pink glow of pleasure, filling me up and making me heady. But then the kiss started to change. His lips wandered, laying kisses like hot little bombs along my cheek, down my throat, on my collar bone… My body arched against him, and I heard myself start to pant. He kissed my lips again, his tongue teasing at them, and I opened, welcoming him in. The kiss turned hungry, his tongue darting in to explore me while my hands roamed over his back. The pink pleasure was moving inward, now, coalescing into a glowing ache that needed more than kissing.

Radimir broke the kiss and pushed me back. He was panting, too, and his eyes were hooded with lust. He reached around behind me, searching for the zipper of my gown and then tugged it down. The gown loosened around me and, as he started kissing me again, I shimmied while he pushed it down off my shoulders, and eventually it fell around me. There was so much skirt that I was still knee-deep in material, so, still kissing me, he put one arm around my waist, one hand under my ass and lifted me up out of the dress, then turned around and set me down again. His hands traced my back, my ass, my thighs, and I felt his surprise. He broke the kiss again and stepped back to look, and I giggled.

Jen had helped me choose the bridal lingerie. It was cream, to match the dress, and finished with gleaming gold thread: we’d agreed it was princess on her wedding night. The bra gave me a pretty amazing cleavage, the panties were cut high at the sides and back to make the most of my ass and the stockings made my legs look endless, especially because I was still wearing my heels. But the piece de resistance was the matching corset which was beautifully embroidered with swirls of gold. It had straps that went down to my stockings and the boning gave me a silhouette that was kind of wow.

Radimir’s eyes flared with lust. He took my hands in his and spread my arms wide while he gazed at me. Then he whirled me around and pulled me back to him, so that my arms were imprisoned, crossed in an X across my chest, and my ass was grinding against his cock. “Had I known what you were wearing underneath, the wedding would have been a lot shorter.” He kissed the sensitive spot on the side of my neck, and I squirmed in delight.

Radimir reached between us and unhooked the clasp of my bra. Then he spun me again, pulling the bra down and off my arms, and pushed me up against the wall, capturing my wrists and holding them above my head. It happened so fast I gasped, my boobs bobbing and swaying as my bare back was pressed to the cool plaster. I could feel my nipples crinkling and hardening both from the sudden shock of the cool air and the deep throb of heat that soaked through me whenever he was rough like that with me. It was because it came from urgency, not cruelty, as if I turned him on so much, he couldn’t wait to fuck me. That and the safety of knowing that he’d never hurt me.

He gazed down at my breasts, his eyes burning. “I’ve waited three weeks to see these again.” He leaned forward and licked a nipple, and I gasped. He began to stroke my breasts with one hand, squeezing softly as he lashed my nipples with his tongue. I drew in my breath and arched my back, wanting more, that ache inside becoming needy. But he held me pinned by my wrists and slowly teased me, covering his teeth with his lips and softly biting the sensitive buds until I thrashed and moaned.

He finally moved back a little, still holding my wrists, and looked down towards my groin. “There’s another part of you I’ve been looking forward to seeing, Krasavitsa ,” The ache became heavy, sinking right down between my thighs.

He looked right into my eyes. Then, with his free hand, he gripped the waistband of my panties and tugged the right side down an inch. “It was dark, in the bookstore,” he explained, his voice thick with lust. He tugged the left side down, still holding my gaze. “I couldn’t see you properly.” He tugged the right side again, and my breath caught as I felt the cool air of the room on my sensitive folds. “Ever since then, I’ve been imagining what you look like. And now...” He tugged the left side again, pulling my panties down around my thighs. He held my gaze a moment longer...and then at last, he allowed himself to look down. I flushed and twisted as I felt his eyes devouring me: the delicate pink lips, the small strip of red-brown hair.

Radimir’s eyes flared with lust. He gave me a wolfish smile, then grabbed me by the waist, twisted and threw me onto the bed. I squeaked in delight, landing on my back with my legs kicking in the air.

He was on me instantly, his knees between my thighs, his hands cupping my cheeks, pressing me down onto the bed with his kiss. His hands went to my spit-wet breasts, his thumbs strumming the nipples as he rolled and squeezed. Ribbons of deep pink pleasure rippled down from my breasts to my groin and my ass started to circle on the bed.

He kept kissing me as he skimmed one hand down my body and then up the inside of my thigh. Two fingers brushed my pussy lips, and I moaned into his mouth. I felt him grin, and the fingers began to rub. He broke the kiss and pulled back a little so that he could watch me. Then he slid two thick fingers into me. I groaned as they stretched me, that needy ache inside me becoming heavier and denser, making me roll my hips and demand more.

Radimir kissed me again, then took my lower lip between his teeth and bit it gently. “You’re soaking wet, Mrs. Aristov.”

My face and neck flushed, the ache got denser, and my chest went fluttery, all at the same time.

“I think,” he mused, his accent turning the words to dark poetry, “I’m going to have to give my new wife plenty of Long. Hard. Fucks—” he pushed his fingers a little deeper with each word and I gasped—” ... to keep her satisfied.” He curled his fingers inside me, and I panted and humped my hips against his hand, unable to help it.

I reached up and grabbed his shoulders: I was practically naked, and he was still fully dressed. “Please,” I panted.

He buried his hand deep in my hair and used it to hold my head in place while he bent down and kissed me deep. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Say it in Russian. Pozhaluysta trakhni menya.”

That was unexpected. But I could hear the lust in his voice, feel it in the way his hand tensed in my hair. And I wanted to please him. All that time learning Russian helped my pronunciation a little but I knew I was probably going to mangle it. “ Pozhaluysta trakhni menya ,” I tried.

Radimir went wild. He kissed me as if my lips were his only source of oxygen, pressing my head down into the bed while his tongue darted deep. His whole body seemed to go hard, every muscle tense, and he drew his fingers from me and started to tear at his clothes, shucking off his jacket and waistcoat and then loosening his tie. I’d never known him to be so out of control but the knowledge that it was me that had done this to him, with those three little words, sent a warm blush of pride through me. I had my eyes closed, riding the waves of pleasure from the kiss, but I reached up and started blindly popping the buttons of his shirt, working my way down his body as far as I could reach. I heard him strip his shirt off and hurl it away and the next time his chest brushed my breasts, it was naked. Then there was the leather creak of his belt and a rustle of fabric. A couple of heavy thumps that had to be shoes hitting the floor. He was getting naked, fast, and all the time he was still kissing me, kissing me….

He finally broke the kiss and pulled back a little. I opened my eyes to see him naked, positioning himself between my thighs, his cock in his hand. God, I’d forgotten how big he was. And he was rock hard, the head bulbous and thick, the shaft so firm...

He stroked his cock. A clear bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip. “Ready to be made my wife?” he growled, rolling on a condom.

I nodded. I could hear my heartbeat pounding. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want to be made your wife.” And then...I’d never been good at talking dirty, but looking down at my body, seeing the corset and the stockings and the heels...it almost felt like a costume that let me be as filthy as I wanted. And the Russian made it easier, too. “ Pozhaluysta trakhni menya...moy muzh,” I said in a rush. Please fuck me...my husband.

His eyes gleamed. He planted one hand next to my head and positioned himself, the head of him just parting my lips. Then he surged forward with his hips.

I grabbed at the sheets with both hands as he spread me, stretched me. That glorious silken slide as he plunged deep inside me, the heat of him filling me, then the nervous flutter of my walls as they adjusted to his size. He pulled back and thrust again, his ass clenching, and pushed deeper. I arched my back: each new millimeter of me he touched set off a fresh burst of silvery, shimmering pleasure. He drew back again, and this time when he thrust, he kept the movement going, flexing his hips to press himself deeper, deeper…

Deeper. I felt the base of his cock kiss my entrance and knew that he was hilted in me.

He put his forearms either side of my head and settled lower on me and God, the feeling of his muscled body on me, his hips spreading my thighs, his pecs pressing against my breasts. I looked down at the tattoos that covered his chest: I’d never seen them so close before. A dark tapestry of stars, symbols and writing in Cyrillic that left no doubt as to what he was. Naked, with all his powerful muscles on show and without the suit to give him a veneer of respectability, he looked even more dangerous. Tattooed, naked and between my thighs, with me in my bridal lingerie, he really did look like a villain, claiming an innocent princess as his prize. A dark pulse of heat rippled down my body and my pussy tightened around him.

He began to move and God, the silken friction of him as he slid from me, the rush of heat and silvery pleasure as he filled me again. Taking his weight on his forearms, he cupped my face in his hands and stroked my cheekbones with his thumbs. He looked deep into my eyes, and I could see the concentration on his face as he fucked me in gentle waves. It was glorious. Loving. But each stroke out made the aching need more intense. And each stroke in fed the heat that was building inside me...but not quite enough for it to ignite.

I looked up at him. It was because we were married, now. He was holding himself back, being gentle with his new wife. But gentle wasn’t what I needed. Three weeks ago, I couldn’t have said the words out loud, but now…

“H—Harder,” I said.

He stared at me in astonishment. Then his eyes narrowed in lust. But he still hesitated.

“Harder... please.” I felt my face heat, but it felt freeing, too.

It was like my words unleashed him. He put his hands under my knees and raised them, bending my legs and opening me more to him. Then he planted his hands on my shoulders, pinning me in place...and began to fuck me hard .

Before, my body had been moving a little with his thrusts. Now, pinned in place by his weight, I felt every ounce of his power as his cock pistoned in and out of me. Oh God, it was incredible! Now that more of his weight was on me, his pecs were stroking my nipples on every thrust, sending out circular ripples of pleasure that combined with the ones coming from my groin and became a hot wave. It was carrying me inexorably upwards towards a climax, and every thrust accelerated me.

His gray eyes took in my flushed face, my desperate moans. “So, Krasavitsa , you like it rough.” His accent made rough into something so deliciously, darkly sexual, I wanted to bathe in it.

I panted up at him. I wasn’t capable of denying it, even if I’d wanted to.

He leaned down to speak in my ear. “I’ll make sure I treat you right, darling wife.” And he started to really pound me, his hips rising and falling effortlessly, burying his cock in me each time. The base of his cock was grinding against my clit and with his weight on me, all I could do was lie there and be fucked, be his plaything, and God... I could feel myself racing upwards towards my orgasm, each deep plunge of that perfect cock into me, each brush of my hardened nipples taking me higher. I could feel him getting closer, too, his breathing quickening, his cock seeming to swell even more inside me.

I reached up, wanting to stroke his muscled back, but he immediately grabbed my wrists and pressed them down to the bed above my head. I stared up at him, shocked, and instinctively tried to pull free. But his grip was like iron. And something about feeling so helpless made me soar upward even faster. I rocketed through the clouds and exploded, my breasts and hips grinding against him as wave after wave of the climax shook me. As I spasmed around him, he growled, gave one final, hard thrust and then shot in long, shuddering streams inside me.

The climax finally died away and I lay still beneath him, limp and utterly sated. He released my wrists and gently rolled us over so that he was on his back, and I was on top.

I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes. He wrapped an arm protectively around me. And we lay like that, with me listening to the sound of his heartbeat and him lovingly stroking my hair, until we fell asleep.