Chapter 34

Chapter

Thirty-Four

"Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place."

― Zora Neale Hurston

Alexsei

I silently cursed Volk as I lugged in the last sack of dog treats he needed for their training. It was absurd, really. Here I was, breaking my back for a bunch of overgrown mutts that Volk treated like fucking royalty. They were practically his kids, each one pampered more than any human child I'd ever seen.

Rolling my eyes, I dumped the sack in the kitchen and collapsed onto a stool, pouring myself a cup of black coffee to drown out the irony of it all. In Volk's world, dogs were kings, and I was just here to fucking serve.

That asshole always knows how to push my buttons. I checked my phone, hoping for a message from Caia, but my screen stayed disappointingly blank.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

After that unexpected and downright mesmerizing moment this morning, where she rode a pillow in front of me, begging me to fuck her and coming hard—which I still can't believe—my mind hasn't stopped replaying that scene. The way her skin reddened on her chest and neck, her tits bouncing, hypnotizing me, her hips rocking faster and faster on that damned pillow, her moans filling my ears and hardening my dick with each passing moment, and how her hair flowed around her as she threw her head back, her orgasm overtaking her.

Damn it, she had me completely under her spell. I was borderline addicted. I never imagined I'd be head over heels for my wife. Falling for her was never part of the plan, never something I wanted.

But here I am, utterly and completely in love with Caia fucking Mankiev.

I adore everything about her—her smile, her frown, the way she blinks rapidly whenever she lies, and how, despite the hardships she's faced, she still sees the world with beauty. I love her emerald eyes that fascinate me every time and how she does a little dance whenever she eats something sweet. I'm addicted to her scent, her hands, her laugh, her courage, and her disobedience.

Even the way she snorts faintly when she sleeps or how she rolls her eyes in pleasure when she drinks warm tea. Fuck, she makes me feel things I've never felt before.

I could die for those little moles on her cheeks alone and her lip. And the way she calls out my name, how it rolls off her tongue—God, that shit drives me crazy. I could list the things I love about her endlessly because I'm hopelessly, madly in love with my fucking wife.

And she has to pay for it—with a spank on her ass and my dick deep inside to show her just how deep my feelings for her go. Yep, I needed to fuck her out of my system.

After I humiliated myself this morning, I quickly left, unable to believe that I'd confused my love for her. The way she stayed silent, her eyes wide, lips pursed—fuck, she didn't say anything, leaving me in agony.

So, I had to leave. I needed some space from her, fearing I might end up on my fucking knees, begging her to stay with me forever. Pathetic.

"You coming tonight?" Dimitri asked as he entered the kitchen, grabbing a Corona from the fridge. "I haven't met your girlfriend yet."

"She's my wife, you fucking asshole," I shot back, pushing myself up from the table and setting my cup in the sink. " Da , we'll be there."

Tonight, marked Igor's birthday bash.

He always threw a lavish event at the manor for the Silas, their families, and all his associates and partners in crime. Last year's theme was "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," with belly dancers, hookahs, camels, fire-spitting shows, and Middle Eastern cuisine. The year before was "The Godfather," which fit perfectly with our lifestyle. This year, it was "The Great Gatsby."

I shot Caia a text hours ago, reminding her to be ready by 8 and letting her know the theme so she could pick out her outfit. But despite my efforts, I still found myself checking my phone for the hundredth time today, hoping for a reply. Nope, still nothing .

Fuck, tonight was going to be dreadful.

"Where's your phone?" I asked as I swung open her door and took her hand to help her out.

She handed me her tiny purse as she smoothed down her short, fringed white dress, which hugged her body perfectly. The fringe swayed with every move she made. She was also rocking long white gloves, and a delicate headpiece adorned with feathers. Damn, she looked like she'd walked straight out of a 1920s film.

I'd arranged for a private chauffeur to pick her up since I couldn't get home on time. Igor found out I left Babikiv's body in our casino and demanded I clean up my mess. So, I had to cough up triple Chiavow's monthly salary to keep him quiet and get rid of the body.

"I forgot it at home," she said, reclaiming her purse and intertwining her fingers with mine as we made our way to the party.

"I texted you like a million times, Caia. You need to text me back. I have to know where you are so I know you're safe. If some people knew my wife?—"

She cut me off. "What did you leave this morning?"

I helped her up the stairs and guided her through the ballroom where, not so long ago, we'd tied the knot. It felt like ages ago now.

The ballroom was dripping in Gatsby-style opulence, with sparkling chandeliers, walls draped in luxurious fabrics, and floral arrangements everywhere. Jazz music filled the air, taking guests back to the roaring twenties.

As I escorted her through the crowd, I couldn't help but notice the sea of guests dressed to the nines in their finest Gatsby-inspired attire. Men in sleek suits with bow ties and fedoras, women in dazzling flapper dresses adorned with sequins and feathers.

Laughter and chatter mixed with the sound of the Charleston on the dance floor. But honestly, I couldn't give a fuck about the party. All I wanted was to get the hell out of there.

"I needed some space," I admitted.

She scoffed, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Space? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Yeah, space," I shot back, my patience running thin. "Even a guy like me has limits when it comes to rejection."

Her grip tightened on my hand before she yanked it away. "Rejection?"

"Caia, listen," I started, but before I could finish, Dimitri barged in.

"There she is! Caia Mankiev! Can't believe Romaniev's been hiding you for so long," Dimitri exclaimed, taking her hand and kissing the top of it, oblivious to the tension between us.

Volk strolled over with a smug grin. "Hello, Caia. Hope Alexsei is behaving himself," he said, dripping with sarcasm.

Caia shot me a hypocritical smile before glancing between Dimitri and Volk. "Oh, you two know Alexsei," she said with fake sweetness. "Always the gentleman."

With that, she excused herself, mumbling something about needing to powder her nose, and swiftly disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with Dimitri and Volk.

Dimitri chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You've got quite a diva there, Romaniev."

I couldn't stop myself—I punched him hard in the face.

As the night dragged on, a parade of people came up to us, all eager to meet Caia. She handled their insincere smiles and feigned amazement with practiced grace, replying with polite thanks that didn't even touch her eyes.

I nursed my champagne, trying to keep calm as my irritation simmered. She wouldn't look at or speak to me, her hands gripping her glass like a lifeline she wasn't planning to use. Her eyes darted around the room, deliberately avoiding mine, and every time I touched her lower back, her entire body tensed up. Those red lips of hers were pressed into a tight line, and she chewed on them nervously.

That was it—I couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring her protests, I dragged her hand through the crowd, determined to escape the stifling party. She fought me, but I kept moving, my steps quickening as we climbed the stairs, her heels clattering against the polished wood.

"Alexsei, stop," she pleaded, her voice barely cutting through the noise. But I didn't stop, driven by a need I couldn't shake, until we reached the secluded third-floor hallway.

I yanked open the door at the end of the corridor and pulled her inside, the click of the lock shutting us off from the clamor below. Caia stood there, breathless and confused, her hand pressed against her chest as she scanned the room with a mix of bewilderment and wariness.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," she said, her voice trembling.

"Let's talk," I said, flipping on the lights.

"What now?" Her emerald eyes narrowed as she took in the room, folding her arms defensively.

We were in Igor's old "caveman room," a retreat he'd set up with couches, a bar, and a billiards table. It was a damn fortress from the chaos downstairs—a place where I hoped to finally get through to my wife.

"You're upset, so just let me?—"

"You humiliated me, AGAIN!" she exploded, her cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with tears. "You always do this, Romaniev. Humiliate me and then act like I should just smile and pretend it's all fine. I'm supposed to be your perfect little wife, just nodding along when you feel like it or staying silent when it suits you. Well, I'm done!"

Done? Hell no.

"Humiliated you?" I sneered, struggling to keep my rage in check. "And how exactly did I humiliate you? Please, tell me, because all I remember is you shutting me down time and again!"

Her eyes blazed. "I'm done, Romaniev. Done with you walking out after I made it crystal clear this morning how much I wanted you. I rode a damn pillow in front of you, showed you exactly what I needed, and you still walked out!" Her voice cracked with frustration. "I can't keep doing this."

Fuck, Romaniev again? She only uses my last name when she wants to put a chasm between us.

I took a deep breath. "You fucking rejected me, Caia. I bared my soul, told you I loved you, and you threw it back in my face!"

"Why do you think?" Her voice shook with anger. "I was forced into this marriage! This," she said, gesturing between us, "is anything but normal! It can never be normal!"

I closed the gap between us, standing inches away. "Damn it, I don't want normal, Caia! I want you, every single part of you."

She shook her head and walked to the billiards table, her back turned, her head hanging low. "You don't want me, Romaniev. You want a puppet."

I scratched my face in irritation, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Caia, I?—"

"Prove it!" she demanded, her back still turned. "If you mean it, then prove it."

Prove it?

She wants me to fucking prove it?

Fucking' hell.

Fuck it.

"You want me to prove it?" I growled, my voice low and edged. "Alright, but remember, you asked for it."

With a surge of unrestrained determination, I shoved her against the billiards table. Her chest and head hit the smooth wood, her dress bunched around her waist as I yanked her panties aside.

Without hesitation, I yanked down my pants, letting my cock spring free, and slammed into her from behind. She let out a sharp cry, her hands gripping the table's edge.

I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging in hard, keeping her steady as I drove into her like a beast, our bodies crashing together in a wild storm of need and frustration.

"You wanted to be fucked, right?" I grunted, sweat dripping from my forehead. "You wanted me to show you how much I fucking want you." My thrusts were relentless, each one driving deeper into her tight, warm pussy.

Fuck, she's the best fuck I'd ever had. Her pussy was mine now, completely.

"Well, here I am, baby. Take my dick like the good little slut you are."

"Alexsei—" she tried to speak, but I cut her off with a firm grip on her neck and a sharp slap on her ass that left a blazing mark.

"Shut up, you wanted this, Caia," I rasped, my hand clutching her hip while the other held her neck firmly. "You dirty girl, you fucking slut. Bet this is what you wanted all along, huh? Ignoring your phone all day to drive me fucking mad."

She shook her head, but her moans grew louder, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in pure ecstasy. Each thrust sent shivers through her body—I could see it, feel it, as her breath came in desperate gasps.

"Can't you feel it, moya solnyshka ? How your pussy's made for my cock?" I said, punctuating each word with a firm spank. "How your ass was made to grind against me? How your body was meant to be fucked by me ?"

She nodded, biting her lip hard.

"Damn, Caia, when you rode that pillow like the slut you are, I almost fucking lost it," I laughed darkly. "How lucky am I to have a filthy girl like you, begging for my dick like it's your lifeline?"

She moaned again, her body moving with the rhythm of my thrusts. She had succeeded—now I was consumed by her. She was my fucking lifeline.

"Say it, Caia," I urged, feeling her pussy tighten around me, her orgasm building. "Say you fucking want me."

"Oh god, Alexsei?—"

I smacked her ass. "Say it!"

"I want you s-so much," she gasped, a throaty moan escaping her lips. "I-I want you so much I don't know what to do. I can't help but want you, Alexsei."

With a final, high-pitched moan, her pussy clenched around my cock so fiercely that I groaned in pleasure. She whimpered and shook as she came, her body trembling against mine. Finally, I came hard, her name a fervent whisper on my lips .

Collapsed on top of her, chest to her back, face buried in her neck, my cock still buried deep inside her, I let my breath warm her skin.

After what felt like an eternity, as we both caught our breath, she finally spoke, and her words made my heart skip a beat. "I love you too, Alexsei."