Chapter 47

Forty-Seven

K irill

The woman is so deep under my skin, she's the blood in my veins. I've been plagued by nightmares before, since I was a boy, in fact. Sleep never came easy to me—until I slept wrapped around her. Calm never came without the threat of tight control, until the scent of roses swept away all tension.

But these last weeks, watching the bruises around her neck turn brutally dark, then hideously green, then yellow, to finally fade away altogether, has been torture. My nightmare stares back at me with honey-gold eyes and heart-shaped lips that whisper gentle words into brittle silence. She's a dream come true, and yet I can't seem to scrub away the way I'd felt when I'd feared I'd lost her. It haunts me. Day and night. A nightmare beating in the heart of a dream.

She begs for my touch in a way I'm hopeless to deny. I've made love to my wife, every night since she regained her voice and sometimes in the middle of the day, whenever she initiates it. It's not that I don't ache for her. I do.

I crave her with the lunacy of a madman. The depths that I burn for her are hellish when unsated, and the tender loving does very little to sate the ravenous bear within. He claws at the core of me, shredding me from the inside out in his desperation to possess her.

But I am stayed by the thought of hurting her. Of taking from her the thing my monster craves. The raw, sometimes brutal, claiming.

Before she'd been taken, I hadn't blinked twice at fucking her. At losing myself inside her sweetness. Now—now I am a haunted man.

I'm haunted at the thought of losing her in any capacity. Of pushing her too far. Of hurting her.

I am a man paralyzed.

I'd talked to Ilya about it, knowing that Irelynn had also been taken from him. But he didn't struggle as I do. Instead of fearing that he might hurt her more than she'd already been hurt, he'd fought with a desperate and unyielding need to claim her. To possess her. To brand her, and fill her, and own her.

I have these needs as well, which is where the lunacy comes in. The madness that tugs me, tearing at me from every angle until I am a shred of skin and animal urges.

I'm losing my fucking mind.

I'm exhausted and riled up at the same time. I'm bone weary and ravenous.

I want my wife. I want to consume her, and I want to lose myself inside her even as I am repressed by the unbending need to protect her. To make amends for my failure to protect her.

I throw vodka on my thoughts as the office door opens and Dimitri enters. He steps into the dark room, lit only by the dim bulb of a single lamp that sits on my desk. The day had been a shit-show. Delays in building materials had suspended the project again . It's a matter anything gets built in this country with the hoops one has to jump. I won't even get started on the construction lags. I have half a mind to hire someone to oversee this project, but I like to be hands-on. I like to be involved in the things I begin.

But I want to be with her. My ache to be where she is leaves me restless and more difficult to work with than usual, I am aware.

Fuck, I should be upstairs with her. It's late.

I wonder if she's asleep…

"Pavel says Ruby is worried about you." Dimitri takes a seat in one of the chairs facing the couch I'm currently spread on. "I am too."

Pavel had refused to leave Ruby after she'd been taken. He'd asked for a permanent transfer from Ilya's employ, so that he could remain indefinitely in mine. With Ruby.

I think Pavel struggles with a similar kind of guilt for all that happened. When Ilya had arrived with Ruby, she'd been unconscious and covered in blood, held tight in Elio's arms. At first, I'd feared she was dead.

I think Pavel feared the same, because he'd fallen to his knees—and I swear the man had prayed. As for me, I'd run to her—pulling her from Elio's arms and into mine. If it weren't for the warmth of her flesh, the tiny puffs of breath against my throat, I might have fallen to my knees with her.

I force my gaze to my friend. My brother of choice. "Why are you worried?"

"This isn't you. You're moodier than usual."

"I'm fine."

"You're afraid for her." His gaze is as blunt as his tone. "But what happened was—fuck, it was unexpected. No one could have predicted that."

"We are supposed to be prepared for the unexpected."

"No one could have known that would happen. That she wouldn't be safe in the room with her doctor. That the man would be killed." He leans forward, eyes drilling into mine. "Kirill, none of us could have known."

I watch the last of the vodka swirl in my glass before I shoot it back. "I told Pavel to stay out of the room. She's always hungry for privacy, and I wanted to give it to her. I didn't tell him to do a sweep. I didn't tell him to stay with her until I arrived. I?—"

"It's not your fault. It's not Pavel's fault, even though I know he carries the guilt of that day, just as you carry it." Dimitri gives a dry, bitter chuckle. "But the poor girl is paying for the guilt you both carry. She's suffering."

I frown. He has my attention now, and he knows it. He continues, "You don't think she's not working herself to the bone to make both of you, okay? Because she is. I see it every day, her bright smiles and big laughs. She's working to be happy, working to show you both that she doesn't hold it against you. Doesn't blame either of you." He sighs. "I talked with Pavel tonight, and now I'm talking to you. As your friend, your brother. Forgive yourself before she starts to blame herself for the mess you've become."

With that, he stands, and moves to the door. Then he leaves me there in the semi-dark with an empty glass of vodka in a room filled with the stench of guilt.

I sit alone with the ghost of need for a woman I no longer know how to take. Everything we were haunts me.

My wife is in the bedroom waiting for me on the chaise, dressed in a sinfully sexy, strappy little number cut with red lace. Nothing about the way she looks makes me think of the vulnerable, innocent little church girl she'd been when I first made her mine.

Her red waves are mussed just enough to give her the appearance of being freshly fucked. The thought sends a bolt of something hot and possessive through me, because no one touches my woman but me.

My woman.

Fucking hell, she's beautiful.

Her eyes are done in a smoky shadow, her lips an alluring ruby red. The tight red straps of her outfit cut into her skin just enough to make my teeth ache in my jaw with the need to nip at her flesh, to nip at the material that taunts me where it clings to her body. Her nipples pebble, visible behind the lace cups of her bra, before a thin strap spans the length between her breasts to the collar at her neck. The top is connected to the mouth-wateringly skimpy bottoms by a crisscross of straps that nip into her belly, the small of her waist. The pale cream of her legs is covered by black sheer thigh-high stockings that clip to the straps that span her hips from her red panties.

On the floor, Simba sits on the carpet at the foot of the chaise, tall and proud. A hellhound standing sentry for his queen. My innocent little wife has never looked so badass. So fucking tempting.

Hungry eyes meet mine, and then something silver flashes in her hand. A hum fills the space that has every inch of my body snapping tight. I am alert like never before. Not even in battle. Blood rushes to my already hard cock. My mouth goes dry. My hands itch to feel the hot thrum of her body under my touch. Under me.

"Wife." My voice comes out guttural. "What are you doing?"

She moans. The sound cuts straight to my dick. I stumble forward a step, and her smoky eyes cut to mine. Her voice is husky. "I'm fucking myself, husband."

"Jesus." It's a prayer for deliverance. This woman .

"Since you won't, I thought?—"

Her words cut off with a hitched breath as I prowl toward her, hooking my hand around the strap that connects her bra to the collar. I pull her closer, watching as her breasts arc toward me, her full, red-painted lips parting, the honey-gold of her eyes striking firelight.

My dick throbs painfully behind my zipper, aching for her. To be inside her. To claim her. To release the beast and succumb to the need to possess her. To own her. To fuck her hard and raw until she's weeping beneath me. Begging and moaning and pleading.

I tip my face toward her, indulging in the sweet scent of her throat as she lets her head fall back, her hair a tumble of burnished red in the low light cast from a single flickering flame. Dragging the tip of my nose along the length of her throat, I growl, "Are you trying to drive me mad?"

She shakes her head slowly, her half-mast eyes snaring my soul. "No."

I laugh, but it's a tight, barely restrained thing.

"I find that hard to believe." I release the strap, and she falls gently back to the chaise. But her breasts heave as I run my knuckles over the swell to graze slowly over one sharply pebbled nipple, and then the other.

The glossy, blush-pink of her thumbnail sliding over the little remote of her vibrator catches my eye as she says huskily, "I'm trying to bring my husband back to me." She presses a button, and the humming grows louder. Her eyes snap wide and her parted lips form an O that I want desperately to shove my cock into.

Her hips rock as the vibrator brings her closer to her orgasm, the soft heels of her stocking-covered feet sliding over the fabric of the chaise as she writhes.

"I could watch you like this forever," I grit, my fingers tracing the straps that crisscross her belly as I travel agonizingly slowly south. " So , fucking beautiful."

She blinks slowly up at me, the innocence in those golden eyes a sharp contrast to the sinful words that drip from her lips. "Does that mean you'll fuck me?"

"I've been fucking you," I lie. We both know it's a lie, but her bitter laugh confirms I haven't been fooling her.

"You've been holding back." She presses the button again. This time, she lets out a little scream. Her hand moves to turn the toy down, but mine moves to snatch it from her. You started this game, little wife.

"I don't think so." I inspect the toy, before I turn it up again.

"Kirill," she gasps, her delectable body bucking. She screams. "Ah!"

"That's right, beautiful wife. Squirm for me." And she does. Her hips wriggle, feet sliding up and down, her hands plucking at the straps that cover her belly before drifting upward to her breasts, full, and lovely, and creamy white against the red.

She gasps, "Please."

"Please, what, wife?" I taunt, feeling myself edging closer to the man I was before I nearly lost her.

"Please make me—Oh, God, yes —" I turn it down and she wails. "No! Kirill, no. Please."

I watch as the orgasm she'd had between her fingertips, flutters away like a butterfly on the wind. Her body writhes as she chases it, hungry— desperate for it . So beautiful. So pure and raw and mine .

Unable to hold back now, I grip her hips and flip her over the chaise. Her hands fly out to catch herself against the raised back as I pull her hips back to me even as I shove my hand between her legs, feeling the vibration hum from her pussy into my hand. I know instantly what kind of toy she has. It's one of those leaf- like clitoral stimulators that is attached to a bullet-like vibrator by a bendable band. She's getting double the attention to her obviously hungry pussy, and I feel wild with the urge to fuck her raw and hard. Brutal and unforgiving.

I grind my palm into the leaf at her clit, and revel in the panting moans that fall from her lips as she throws her head back, crying out for more.

"Fuck, wife." My voice is spilled gravel. "You're soaked through."

She's so sexy.

"There's not much," she pants, stuttering. "To soak— oh —through."

She's right. And I'm delightfully surprised to discover the slit in the panties she wears, giving me access to her hot pussy. I slide my hand through the wet of her, plunging a finger into her pussy alongside the little vibrator that pulses.

She whimpers a hungry little sound as she rides my finger. When I feel her orgasm cresting again, I pull from her and again turn the vibration down. She pushes off the chaise, with a frustrated growl that has a grin splitting my face.

I don't let her take over as I shove my hand into her back between her shoulder blades, pushing down until she's leaning over the chaise again.

"Oh, no, you don't, wife." I push my hand between her legs again, gripping her roughly by the hip to hold her in place. She's pissed now, her body desperate to come. "You started this game. I'm going to finish it."

"Then finish it!" she bites out, fingers curling into the fabric as her hips roll against my touch. I turn the vibrator up again and she cries out softly, desperately. "Please."

"I love when you beg." I slide my finger through the wet of her cunt, over the leaf, the band, her hole, before continuing to her ass. Covered in her juices, my fingers slide easily through the crease of her, ready to tease her, but I stop abruptly at the feel of something unexpected. Something hard and warm and not my wife.

Her hitched breath is strangled as she holds herself, bracing her body against the chaise. She knows what I've discovered, but my brain is still short-circuiting. I'm playing catchup. Behind my zipper, my dick strains toward her. I am hungry in a way I'm not sure I've ever been before.

I want to wreck and ruin her for all other men, even though I am more than aware there will never be another man inside her, but me. I'll kill any man who dares.

"What is this?" I wait for her to answer for all of three heavy seconds, before my hands grip the sides of the lace that covers her ass. Thin fabric tears. Silence beats like a drum as I grip her full ass in my hands, spreading her. Breath rushes from me. I groan deep and low. "Fuck me."

A ruby diamond in the shape of a heart catches my eye, and my dick throbs heavily, cum leaking from the tip as I take in the sight of my innocent wife's plugged ass.

I've never seen a sight hotter, knowing her pussy sucks the little vibrator into her cunt, tiny cries spilling from her lips in a fall of sex-starved hunger that tug viciously at every thread of restraint I possess.

She rolls her hips in my hands again, and I nearly come right there in my fucking jeans.

"Ruby," I growl a warning she fails to heed, rolling her lovely ass again. The sound of my open palm cracking against her ass splices the breathy silence.

She cries out, her body bowing, begging , for more.

Who am I to deny her?

"I'm ready for you, husband." I love when she calls me husband . "I've been preparing myself for you—and I want it—you—all of you tonight."

I rub my thumb into the gem at her tight hole, and she gasps at the added pressure. "You want me to take your sweet little ass, wife? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm telling you that I'm yours. Every part of me is yours." She gasps as I flick up the intensity of the vibrator, her voice shaking. "That I'm inviting you inside. I'm giving all of me to you—because I want to."

It's the gift I didn't know I needed. And it calls the bear to the surface of my flesh. Claws and teeth shred through the man I wear to contain the monster I created when I crafted myself to become like the Volkov man who sired me. My restraint is gone. The man is gone. I am left an animal of baser instincts—and the only one I can claim to feel in this moment is the need, the instinct, to fuck her. To rut her. To mate, and claim, and invade her.

Shoving at my pants, I pull my dick free before I slide the tip through her swollen cunt lips, hissing at the feel of the vibration against my sensitive, leaking tip, even as I roll it from clit to the gem in her ass.

She shudders as she holds herself against the chaise, panting and breathless, even as I push her legs wider apart until she is spread for me. Then I hook her hips and yank her back, shoving a hand into the space between her shoulder blades until her face is pressed into the cushion. She whimpers, her pussy glistening beautifully for me as I pinch my tip, warding off the wave of pleasure that threatens to end this far too soon.

"I've never seen a sight more sexy than you, wife," I tell her honestly, working my thumb around the gem. Gripping it, I begin to tug it gently from her ass, even as I flick the intensity of the vibrator up another notch. She begins to pull away, but I grip her in place. "Relax," I soothe, and the plug releases. I purr rough praise, "Good girl."

Her body hums. I can't resist when she angles her sexy little ass higher for me, begging me to fill her.

"You want my dick in here?" I ask, sliding my tip through the crease of her sweet ass. "You want me to fuck your little ass, wife?"

"Yes," she breathes, moans, pants— whimpers . "Yes, husband. Yes."

I notch my tip as she clenches, her response an involuntary one I soothe away with words of encouragement. "Let me in, Ruby. Let me have you. Let me sink inside this sweet little hole and fuck you raw." She moans and I slide in another inch, then another and another, until I'm rooted deep, bottoming out. "Fuck, yeah, wife. That's it. That's a good girl." I start to move, my thrusts slow and gentle at first. "I'm going to fuck your tight hole until you're screaming for me, beautiful. I'm going to fill your pretty ass with my cum until you're so full it leaks out, nowhere else to go."

"Kirill." My name on her tongue while I'm buried balls deep in her lovely ass sends me over the edge. The last thread of my control snaps, and I begin to fuck her.

I pull back and rut deep into her again and again, gripping her hips in my punishing hands even as her body tries to escape me. No fucking way.

"Take me, wife. Take everything I give you."

"It's—I'm so—ah—" She screams as I max out the vibration, feeling her ass tighten around my dick like a vice. "Oh, God, oh my?—"

"So, fucking good," I grunt, bending forward to cover her bowed body with my own as I thrust into her again and again. My balls slap her vibrating cunt with every deep thrust as my arms move to bracket hers, my hands covering hers, fingers weaving with hers. I'm everywhere she is, covering her, consuming her, possessing her, invading her .

"Kirill—" she cries out my name. "I'm coming. I'm—oh!"

She buries her face into the cushion as she screams, her fingers curling around mine as her body shakes, quakes. Splitting apart beneath me. The grip of her ass around my cock is fucking wild. Life altering. The waves of her orgasm crash into me with enough violence to knock the air from my lungs, and yet I ride her through each one until my own orgasm crests. It's raw, and violent, and brutal. I grunt my release into her neck, nipping and licking soft skin as I spill all of me into her. She has my cum, my heart, and the tattered shreds of my forsaken soul pulled into the depths of her for safekeeping. My heart feels as though it erupts at the thought, the shrapnel splintering into her in a way I'll never be able to pull myself entirely free. I can't imagine I'll ever want to.

It had been my intention to possess all the parts of her, but it appears she's taken all the parts of me, instead. I've been played at my own game, and I'm not even a little upset about it. This woman owns me.

We stay like this for long minutes, each of us gathering our breath after the most intense session I've ever experienced. When I am able to breathe again, I confess, "I love you, Ruby Volkov. I am so deeply in love with you, I don't think I can breathe in a world where you are not. I love you in a way that my life depends on you being in it. The center of it. You are everything to me. You and the life we create—are everything to me. For you, I have the capacity to become a monster. A thing of nightmares. But I will try to be good for you. To be honorable in the ways that I can, for you." I press my lips to her shoulder, and beg, "Tell me you love me, wife."

"I love you, husband." I can hear her raw sincerity. "I love all the parts of you. The monster and the man. Thank you, Kirill, for keeping me."