Chapter 17

Viktor

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Everyone stares, especially Lydia. Her hand is frozen on the fork in her left hand and the knife in her right. Wordlessly, I reach for a roll, open it, and spread it liberally with warmed butter.

I hand it to her. “Eat.”

“What do you mean, put off the wedding?” Lydia asks. “Did you finally realize that forcing me against my will doesn't exactly make for a romantic love story?”

I respond with a smirk. “Oh, believe me, romance was never the point.”

My mother has the grace to stand and ask if anyone wants a refill of wine while Lydia and I continue.

“Then what is the point? Why drag this out?”

“The point is, you’re mine. Whether the wedding is tomorrow, next week, or next year, our vows to each other aren’t going to change any of that. But I want you to understand what this means.”

“Understand what?” she hisses. I know exactly why she’s touchy. She thinks I’m not eager to marry her, that somehow my putting this off is a criticism of her. “That you’re someone who wants to control me?”

I lean over and chuck a finger under her chin. “Careful, baby. You’re skirting really close there.”

Her cheeks flush, and I suspect she’s remembering something like my stubble against her thighs or my palm against her ass.

Good.

I continue. “This isn’t about control but inevitability.”

She scoffs and tosses her head. “I’ll never be yours. Not in the way you want.”

I reach out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll see about that.” I clear my throat and raise my voice so my brothers look over at me.

“I've been thinking about this. We know that Yudin wants her. He's hiding, and nothing we've done has brought him into the open, which means he has friends in high places. We need to draw them out. If we put off the wedding, he's going to circle us. It will give us time to prepare. Make no mistake, I'm going to marry her. But if we delay, it will make him anxious.”

I look at Lydia. “Would you describe him as a patient guy?”

She huffs a little but finally responds.

“Hell no,” she says. “He's one of the least patient people I've ever met.”

“Exactly. When he sees that we're not making a move, he's going to snap. He thrives on revenge. Let's get all our ducks in a row first. We'll put off the wedding and set a new date later.” My eyes lock onto Lydia. “In the meantime, I'll teach you self-defense.”

Aria’s eyes light up. “Oooh. I get it. You'll use Lydia as bait.”

Heat rises in my chest, and I clench my fist. I hate that idea, but I like Aria, so I have to be careful with how I respond. I grit my teeth but keep my voice calm.

“No,” I snap, my tone so harsh it startles Ivy, who jumps on my lap. “She will not be bait. The situation will be. I'll be waiting.”

Aleksandr looks at Ivy. “We need to discuss the details, but with only adults present.”

“Does that include me?” Lydia mutters under her breath.

“Depends on the day,” I mutter back.

“I think this is a sound plan,” Mikhail says. “We should follow Viktor’s lead.”

I nod. Lydia frowns but doesn’t reply.

I watch as she plays with her roll but doesn’t eat it. We pass the food around, and she takes the smallest bit of chicken and a bunch of lettuce, her gaze darting nervously around the room. I’ve watched how she gets self-conscious when she’s going to eat in front of a crowd of people. I wonder if she holds any of those memories of her school days and the relentless teasing of her classmates.

Ivy reaches for her glass and spills it on herself. Harper helps us clean up. “Alright, I’m sorry to tear you away from Uncle Viktor, but we need to clean you up.” She stands up and takes her away from the table.

I move closer to Lydia.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I ask in her ear.

“I lost my appetite,” she whispers back, but I know it's probably a lie. She hasn't eaten much since she arrived, likely because she's uncomfortable around everyone here.

“Stop it. You're perfect, Lydia. Eat.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but I can see a smile tugging at her lips. I reach for the food and put more on her plate.

I eat while I talk with my brothers, and we form a plan. I'll teach Lydia self-defense, and we’ll ensure the wedding is postponed and held in the safest place possible, surrounded by our men. “And the good thing about this,” Harper says thoughtfully, joining us again, “is that it will give us time to secure everything.”

“Alright.” Lydia seems reluctant to agree. “How long?”

“Another month. Make him wait. That's plenty of time for me to teach you, and by then, Vera will be at the end of her program and able to come home.”

She still isn’t eating.

“Excuse me,” Lydia says. “Where is the restroom?” Something is troubling her.

I stand. “I'll show you.”

“You can just tell me where it is,” she says, her tone sharp.

“I'll go with you,” I insist, my hand on her elbow. I guide her into the hallway, and as soon as the dining room door closes behind us, I push her up against the wall, leaning on my forearm to cage her in.

“Viktor,” she hisses, her cheeks flushed. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“It is always the time,” I counter. “And I can always find a place. Now. Tell me what the hell is going on.” I take her chin in my hand, tilting her face up to mine. “You're holding something back. What is it?”

She tries to look away, but I grab her chin and bring her gaze back to mine. I bend down and touch my lips to hers. She tastes like honey and sunshine, evoking memories of warm summer days. She tries to push me away, but I don't let her. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and deepen the kiss. Our tongues meet, and she moans into me, softening.

When we finally break the kiss, we're both panting.

“Tell me now, Lydia,” I warn her, “or I'll drag you into the office and fuck it out of you.”

“That’s supposed to stop me? Maybe I want you to. Maybe I want you to take control and show me that you actually want me instead of talking about it, skirting the issue, treating me like I'm made of glass, and then announcing to everyone that you don't want to marry me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I temper my anger so I don’t snap. I will not let it consume me. I will always, always be careful around my Lydia.

She juts her chin out defiantly. “You say you want me, and then at the first opportunity, you put off our wedding. Why don't you fucking show me you want me?”

Ahh. There we go. There’s the truth.

“Is that what you want?”

My dick is painfully hard. I want her. I want her so fucking bad.

Her eyes blaze into mine. “Then prove it.”

Her voice is a mixture of anger and challenge, and I can’t resist any longer. I grab her wrist and yank her to me. The shock in her eyes only fuels my desire.

When she digs in her heels and tries to get away, I lift her up and toss her over my shoulders. She screams and pounds at my back, so I step out the first exit that takes us to the garden.

“Let me down!” she yells. I know now that her protests and screams are part of our dance. She pushes, and I don’t yield. I push back, and she melts. She’s at my mercy.

It’s better than I ever fucking imagined.

I stalk out the back door toward the garden. It’s turned into a cool evening, in stark contrast to the heat of her temper. She’s so cute and would probably hate it if I told her so. She’s like a little petulant kitten who didn’t get her way, trying to claw in retribution with barely there claws.

I stop near a large oak tree, its branches providing a canopy that shields us from onlookers. I push her against the rough bark, my body pressed into hers, trapping her in. “You want me to prove it?”

I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, one hand gripping her hair while the other slides down the length of her curvy body. I groan into her mouth, my dick throbbing as she gasps against my lips. She bites down, the taste of copper in my mouth.

I growl and move my hand under her dress. I rip away her panties in one tear.

“Viktor!”

Her voice is breathless, but there’s no turning back now. I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist, and press her harder against the tree. The rough bark bites into her back when I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other undoing my belt. I yank it out of the loops and loop it in my fist.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me you need it.”

She glares up at me, her chest heaving. “I hate you.”

I snap the belt across her thigh. My dick throbs when she yelps as I lower my mouth to her ear. “Liar.”

With one hand still holding her wrists, I yank out my cock and position myself at her entrance. Teasing her. Relishing the way she squirms. Her body arches as if subconsciously begging me to come closer, but I hold back.

I want to savor this. Her frustration. Her need.

“Damn it,” she says, her voice almost a moan. A plea. “Just do it.”

“You want me?”

I tease her entrance with the head of my cock. Her wet heat is driving me wild.

“Yes, fine, fucking yes,” she growls, shaking her head at me. “Do it, you jerk.”

I slap her again with the belt. “Watch that mouth before I give you another use for it,” I growl in her ear. I whip her again until she’s whimpering and needy, clinging to me.

I thrust into her, hard and deep, drawing a cry from her. I set a punishing rhythm, each thrust marking her as mine. “Feel that? Is that fucking clear enough? Do you feel how much I want you?”

She moans, her nails scraping into my back. I relish the taste of pain as I bury myself inside her. I close my eyes and groan. I’ve imagined this, imagined having her, but it felt so out of reach, and it never felt this fucking good.

I release her wrists and wrap my hands around her hips, yanking her to me to pull her closer. Deeper.

Her hands grip my head, her legs tightening around me as she meets my thrusts. The garden muffles the slap of our bodies colliding.

“Viktor… I… I can’t,” she pants.

“Let go. Let yourself fucking go.”

With a shuddering cry, she breaks. Submits. Yields. Her body convulses around me as she reaches her climax. I follow on her heels, muffling my own cries in her hair as she rests her head in the crook of my neck.

“You see?” I whisper. “You’re mine. You’ll accept that eventually. Now, get over my move to bring out our enemies. The only purpose is to keep you safe. You’re already mine, Lydia. Mine.”

I kiss her, and the world fades. She trembles slightly as if she’s crying, but when I pull away, her eyes are only shining brightly on me, and there are no tears.

I know she feels it—the pull between us, the twisted bond that holds us together.

“When we get back, everybody's going to know that something happened,” she says, tossing her beautiful hair. I’m hit with a faint floral, seductive scent that is all Lydia.

I shake my head. “They don't know shit. They know you're going to be my wife. And they know that I want you. They know we have things to discuss. Don't overthink it.”

I entwine her hand with mine, still high from what just happened. I suspected that Lydia liked sex like this. I've known for a long time that she and I are well-suited for each other. The possibilities that lie before us…

“If you say so,” she says. And for the first time since she came into my custody, Lydia is almost… demure. Quiet. It's like the raging storm inside her has settled to a simmer.

I bend down and kiss her forehead. “You're a good girl, Lydia. I know sometimes I scare you. But I don't want you to be afraid of me.” I bend and kiss her cheek. “I know that talk is cheap, and you may not believe that I want you—that I want you more than anything else in the entire world. I get that. And that's okay. You'll know.”

“What?” she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear.

I hold her gaze, my voice low and intense. “You'll see how much you mean to me… and why.”

When we get back to the house, the dining room is cleared, and everyone is in the living room. My mother has large trays of pastries and chocolates laid out for us.

I lean in close to Lydia as we walk in. “You see this?” I gesture to the spread. “When we were little, my father had strict rules. Everything had to be eaten in the dining room. No snacking in bedrooms, no casual breakfasts in the kitchen, and absolutely no dessert in the living room.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “And now?”

I smirk, nodding toward my mother. “Now, she’s in charge. Things are different. She likes to break his rules.”

Lydia smiles, understanding the subtle rebellion. “I like her already.”

“And if something spills, we clean it up,” my mother says, smiling warmly. “Lydia, let's talk about what kind of cake you want. Now that we have more time, we can actually plan this wedding.” She practically rubs her hands together with glee.

“Honestly,” Lydia says, “I like all kinds of cake. Well, I don’t like vanilla.”

A corner of my lips quirks up. “Me neither, baby,” I whisper in her ear. Her cheeks color, and she continues as if I didn’t say anything, “Red velvet, carrot cake, chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, chocolate cake with chocolate frosting…”

She looks down at her curvy figure and her hips. “Maybe that's my problem.”

“Oh, stop,” my mother says. “Who doesn't love cake? Let's go take a look at some options.”

“With me, Mom,” I tell her. “I want to plan this with her.”

As we walk over to the side table, where my mom has an array of catalogs and her laptop, I lean in and whisper into Lydia's ear and pinch her ass. “If you make one more self-deprecating comment about your body, you're going over my knee when we get home for that.”

“Viktor,” she says, her cheeks flushing, but a surge of power courses through me. I may have just had her, but I want her all over again. And she absolutely is getting a spanking for that.

“Take a look,” my mom says, spreading the glossy catalogs out. “How can we make it so that we have a variety of different cakes?” Lydia asks, stroking her chin thoughtfully.

“Oh, that's easy,” Harper says. “You do cake shooters. Like these little glasses with a variety of different flavors so we can try different ones. You have your own wedding cake in your favorite flavor, and then we have a groom's cake in his favorite flavor, and then we have trays and trays of cake.”

“I'm already getting a sugar rush just thinking about it,” Mikhail says.

“That's fine,” Aria says, her eyes twinkling. She winks at Lydia. “More for me.”

As Lydia peruses the catalogs, I walk over and put a variety of desserts on a plate.

We sit in the living room, eating dessert, drinking cocktails, and planning our wedding. But what I really want is to take her home with me, so it’s only the two of us. What I really want is to make sure we have a plan in place for self-defense. What I really want is for her to be married, safe, and by my side.

Mikhail walks over to us and shows me his phone. “Interesting development. You have a minute?”

I glance at Lydia, then back at him. “Yeah, let's talk.”