Chapter Twenty-Two - Ruslan

I might not be big on all the old Soviet traditions of marriage, but some Russian traditions remain tried and true within the family. One of them being that Fiona and I are to be married inside a church—an orthodox church nonetheless. By holding the wedding at one of Chicago's lesser known, but older churches with the beauty of ancient fresco arts painted on the ceiling, I feel as if I'm doing my family justice.

I listen intently to the elderly man officiating as the words echo back, and I repeat my vows. He's also a long-time friend of the family. My hands are lightly holding on to Fiona's, our sacred union being witnessed by select family members and friends. I smile, looking forward at the woman whom I've chosen to call my wife for better or worse. Luca Marino's daughter, a brave, loyal, and sweet woman, who I only have eyes for. Her embroidered, sleeveless white dress with its intricate beads falls to the floor, clinging to Fiona's curves, the dress specifically custom designed to her liking. Her shapely legs, make way for a demure split, and a bridal garter I can't wait to get my hands on.

She's a naturally beautiful woman, but today, there's an extra special glow about her. Her makeup is flawless, further enhancing her beauty, and her pearlescent lipstick illuminates the same supple mouth I can't wait to kiss.

I'm dressed in a formal charcoal suit with all the traditional colors of Russian Red for a tie, as are my two groomsmen—one of them Mark, the other Andrei back me up. They are the two men whom I trust the most in the Bratva, and I would die for them like I would my own family.

I didn't want a big wedding with lots of fanfare; besides it would have taken too long to plan, and drawn too much attention, leaving us an open target for our enemies in the city—and the Utkins have their fair share of them. Fiona's friends Sophia and Rachael are her bridesmaids, and Fiona's done a wonderful job selecting their dresses. This I allowed. After all, I forced her to marry me after finding out she was carrying our child in her belly.

I'm proud to make her my wife and more so for her to be the mother of my children to come. Her thick brunette locks are expertly pinned half-up, half-down, in a swirl of thick curls. Heat hits my face because the more I look at her, the more breathtaking she becomes.

Today, under the light streaming through the church's skylight, her emerald eyes have an extra shimmer to them. It's as if special stars are dazzling around her. Our eyes connect, and my world opens. Fuck. I want her. I tug at my tie a little, breaking into a smile and I'm pretty sure a cold sweat as the priest declares us man and wife.

"You may now kiss the bride!" he says enthusiastically as we end with the Russian tradition of linking an embroidered towel around our wrists, symbolizing an unbreakable union.

As the wedding music plays at our small intimate gathering, I dip to Fiona's mouth, sealing the deal with a kiss, feeling euphoric about our future together.

"Mrs. Utkin. I can officially call you that now," I tell her, licking my lips as she wipes the lipstick off them.

"Yes, I guess you can. Mr. and Mrs. Utkin. I think I can live with being called that," she remarks, but there's a hitch in her voice that leaves room for doubt to creep in, and the faraway look in her eyes, gives me the impression I might have lost her, even before we've taken our path into marriage.

Maybe she's not as okay with our arrangement as I think she is.

I let the doubts go, wanting her and her friends to enjoy the day. Russians are known for their big celebrations, and today with its stellar weather conditions are no exception. Soon after all the paperwork is signed, we all make our way to the wedding reception hall, my mother, cousins, aunts, and grandparents present and congratulating us. From Fiona's side her mother is in attendance, and I can see where Fiona gains her poise and grace from. She pulls me aside before the wedding reception gets into full swing.

"Mind if I have a word with you, Ruslan?" she asks politely. I nod, wanting her to know I'm going to take care of her daughter.

"Sure, I wanted to take the chance to talk to you anyway. It's nice to meet you."

She holds my gaze, a silent contempt hanging in the balance. "I know what you are," she says quietly, the five-foot-five woman, discombobulating me.

Coughing, I look into her cold, sharp eyes. I level with her, not wanting to sugarcoat anything. "I'm glad you do; then we don't have to play the game of false pretenses."

"That's a good start. You have many similar traits to my late husband, Luca, but there's one difference between our union and yours," she points out as I swallow the thick lump in my throat, unsure of what she's about to say next.

"What's that?"

"We had love between us and a mutual respect. That's what it's going to take for you to stay in the heart of my daughter. I want you to take care of her. Promise me that. Not just keep her safe but take care of her heart. She's carrying your child. I can't protect her now, and nor can her father."

I let her words soak in, the heavy weight of our marriage not lost on me. "I will." I take Fiona's mother's hands in my own giving her my word, because both Fiona and I share the same trait—loyalty.

"Good. She's got you now, but don't forget she comes from a Marino bloodline."

"I won't forget."

I whistle as Fiona returns from her bathroom break, giggling with her friends. Andrei approaches, clapping me on the back.

"How's it going? You look like you've been handed your ass by the old lady," he correctly observes.

Smirking, I drop my hands in my pockets. "Yeah, I guess I was, but I would do the same thing if I were her," I say thoughtfully. "Did you set up that account with everything in it? For Fiona?" I ask.

"Yes. I set it up. Does she know yet?"

"No, she doesn't. I'll tell her in good time."

"Alright. It's a nice little nest egg. Are you sure you want her to know?" Andrei presses, as I look him dead in the eye, irritated with his question. His hands fly up. "My bad. I'll stay out of it. We got what we wanted, and boy is there a lot to unpack in that."

Chuckling, I nod. "Yes, and don't I know it. Personally, I think Fiona and I are going to have a very long and successful partnership together."

Andrei claps me on the back a couple of more times. "Me too. Me too. You've made a smart move not only yourself but for the whole Bratva family. Your father would be proud of you."

I imagine he would be, but as much as I wanted Fiona to marry me, I want her to be able to make her own choices as well. What I've organized for her is going to give her that option. My jaw ticks as I think it over. Yes. It's the right thing to do.

I smile, watching Fiona from the sidelines, laughing with her girlfriends, taking selfies and being free. God, I'm a lucky man. She catches me watching her, immediately summoning me over as I join in taking photos and meeting her friends.

Secretly, I can't wait for the festivities to be over, and a touch before midnight, I get my wish, driving Fiona back to the estate, giving her something to look forward to as I drop my hand onto her thigh.

"When you have the baby and you're feeling more like yourself, we can take a trip—a belated honeymoon if you want. What do you think?"

"That sounds brilliant, but maybe it might be a while."

"It might, but anytime you want, we can organize it. Say the word," I tell her.

"I'm fine at the estate for now. I've got the baby coming anyway, and a nursery to paint. I'm looking forward to it." And this time, I hear the excitement in her voice, thinking I must be paranoid about her not being happy with our arrangement.

I narrow my eyes, letting my hand slide up to the wedding garter I know she still has on.

"Ah, there it is. We didn't get time to play that game at the wedding. I look forward to taking this off later."

Fiona grins, winking at me as we reach the estate, the cup of passion threatening to run over. "Hmm, I look forward to it too, and to getting all these pins and hairspray out." She wrinkles her nose, starting to take down the hairpins, her long tresses falling from their curls one by one.

"God, you're so beautiful. And I'm sorry, but most of the day I've wanted to get you home. To my bed—our bed. Not your suite."

"Ooo, not that suite. So now I'm sleeping in your room."

"Not my room, our room—together. We are husband and wife, and I want to wake up next to you in the mornings."

"Oh, you do? Every morning? Even if I hog the covers?"

"Yes. Even if you hog the covers." I laugh as we get out, kissing and scrambling to the door, both nicely delighted from the reception, and unable to keep our flurry of hands off one another.

"Let's shower together," Fiona suggests. "As much as I love this dress, I want to get out of it and into something else," she says as I lead her to my wing of the house, and our room together.

It's not a surprise. She has seen it, but as she stands in front of me in her shimmering wedding dress, I bite my lower lip. "I want you out of that dress. The only time I want to see it tonight is if it's on the floor."

"Mm-hmm, well, you're going to have to meet me in the shower," she teases, starting to unzip the back of her dress. I watch it fall away, helping her take the rest of her hair down until there are no more pins, only a cascade of curls. Wrapping my hands around her from the back, I cradle the growing bundle of life in her belly.

"Let's shower. We can worry about the world tomorrow," I rasp, leading the way as I salivate, thinking of soaping down her delectable body. Confidently, I step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and turning the water to the right temperature.

Fiona giggles as the steam from the shower fogs up the bathroom, her hands working overtime to work me out of my shirt and pants. She unbuckles my jeans, my hard arousal bursting free.

"Mrs. Utkin, I think you're a little dirty and you need some soap. Want me to clean you?" The primitive fire is stoked by this heavenly woman in front of me—her wedding dress dropping to the bathroom floor, her come-hither mouth, sparkling eyes, and halo of chocolate brown hair.

"I'm feeling a little dirty, and yes, I think I need cleaning. Know anybody who can help me?" she teases, licking her tongue over her top lip. I unclasp her bra, her bountiful breasts hanging free.

"I think it's a husband's duty to keep his wife clean. Don't you?" I tease, enjoying the game with her.

"Yes, I think it is," Fiona says breathily. "I've been waiting for this to happen."

An amused grin rises on my mouth silently as I follow Fiona into the shower and pass her my coconut-vanilla-scented body wash. Spurts of hot water hit my face as I let it wash the dirt and grime away.

"Put it on this." I hand her a loofah, scrubbing it over her silky-smooth body. Her breasts are swollen, nipples hard in arousal. I turn her to slide them down my chest.

Water runs over her sensual lips as I claim them, a cascade of water mingling as your tongues collide. Fiona's touch takes away the stress and the worry of Bratva responsibilities if only for a little while.

She loofahs me down, body wash lathering over my tired, tense limbs, right down to my feet. Her hand stroking between my sturdy legs as she gifts me her mouth, closing it over my stiff cock.

I put my hands on the shower tile to steady myself a hard release escaping my lips. "Dammit, Fiona," I growl, her lips working magic and the water dissolving any discord between us.

Her jaw loosens, sucking my cock deeper into the hot, slippery cavern of her mouth, working me over until I remove my cock from her mouth, easing her back up towards me.

I slick my hair back, splitting the water as it cascades in sheets between us. "Your turn, my beautiful wife," I tease, taking my time, repeating the intimate motions of lathering her clean, cupping her full breasts. As reward, I flick my tongue back and forth over a nipple, fire shooting through my veins as she moans under the waterfall of pressurized water.

My tongue swirls in circular motions down her body to her pussy, first guiding my fingers inward, massaging and probing. She grinds like she always does with a silent request for more.

"Wrap your legs around me, Red October." She giggles through the water, the extra element making it more exciting. She wraps herself around me, holding tight, digging her fingers into my thighs, using the wall as leverage.

Thrusting, I penetrate her hot pussy, her mouth opening with pleasure. It feels different inside her now that she's my wife. Now she's mine to claim whenever I want.

"Mr. Utkin," she calls out, her voice distorting from the water. Playfully, I call out back to her.

"Mrs. Utkin." I bury myself inside her, between the sheets of cascading water, the soft hum of Fiona's orgasm rolling through as her legs shake once I let her free. I look down at my hard-on, thick and ready for more. "We haven't finished yet. Ready for more?"

"I've got all night, especially now you're my husband." Chuckling, I help her out of the shower first, draping her in a towel. "I do like the sound of that, and you can say it as much as you like."