18. Mila

18

MILA

F or the second time in such a short span, I woke up knowing I would be married today. It would stick. I was sure that this wedding would actually happen.

I lay in the bed, blinking away the last traces of sleep, and knew that in a few hours, I would no longer be just myself. I would be expected to undergo another identity crisis and change who I was.

Yesterday, Alek took my virginity. That was already a huge shift to get used to. The one thing that had always defined me and kept me safe and untouchable no longer mattered.

Once I shared vows with him, though, I would no longer be Mila Kastava, Sergei Kastava's daughter. I would be Mila Valkov , Aleksei Valkov's wife.

The title sounded so powerful, so ultimate and unchangeable, and it would be. Women married for life in the bratva. Divorce was never an option, and spouses remained linked in name and purpose until death.

And mine will reach me swiftly if I don't do this.

If I were to run away or return to my father, I would be dead. Just because I'd been thwarted from marrying Andrey, I no longer served a usable purpose to him.

A deep sigh left my lips, but it didn't wake my intended. Alek slept away, not touching me on the bed. His gun remained in his hand, and I grew curious whether something had spooked him to want to hold it. It hadn't been there last night.

Even if someone had crept too close to our hideout here, I knew he'd keep me safe. I was now his object to treasure and use for leverage. While it stung to always know I mattered as a thing , not a person, I felt safer with him than I had with anyone else.

I couldn't shake off this sense of bewilderment, though. Me, marrying Alek. It seemed so surreal, but at the same time, so right. Since he'd consummated the union before any plans to marry me, he'd already made it as legitimate as possible. He'd already done that part, and I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't wanted it.

In a sense, I desired what he suggested because it was something I could do for myself. Power was never granted to me, and giving in to the lust for him felt like something under my control. Still, it boggled my mind as I looked him up and down, excited to have the freedom to just study him without having to explain my interest.

It baffled me how I'd gotten to this position, this moment. I'd gone from being in an arranged marriage to being in a stolen one. And still tied up within the bratva. I had been raised to know this would be my life, but I never could have counted on these twists.

The day before my wedding with Andrey, my stomach had been tense with nerves and churning on acid with no food to fill it. That potent anxiety had gripped me in an ugly sense of "jitters", but it was nothing like the nervousness that filled me now.

As I watched Alek sleep, I couldn't help but feel apprehensive about my future. I would live. I would survive. Because of him. He was promising that my father wouldn't kill me. At the same time, I felt uneasy about how I would manage being a wife. His wife. He'd already shown me a sample of how good it could be with his big, hard dick stretching me with that delicious burn of pain. I'd felt so full, but so good as he pushed me to come again and again.

That was the trickiest element about it all. Alek's… power. This man messed with my head in a way no one else had tried to, and I felt unsteady with him. He made me want him. I undeniably did. But I knew I shouldn't.

For fuck's sake, he still kept me tied. I didn't anticipate winning his trust, not in anything too important, but he couldn't expect to keep me trapped and bound forever, could he?

Of course, he won't. Until we left here to get married, I was a kidnapped woman. I was a bride stolen from the church. With that qualifier, these strips of fabric made sense on my hands. He wanted to get me out of marrying Andrey, and he had.

Even though it wasn't due or warranted, I did have faith that he would release me before we went. I hadn't argued against his idea to marry. I didn't tell him no, despite how I should have. He'd hear no protests from my lips, and the quicker I convinced myself, my mind, that this was my best option forward, the easier it would be to adjust to connecting my life with his.

I could do my part. Right? I'd never given myself a sincere hope that I could marry for love. Getting hitched with Alek was just an obligation to see through, and I would damn well make the best of it that I could. Sticking with him was preferred to returning to my murderous father since he only saw me as an expendable object to toss away.

"Second thoughts?"

I jolted at Alek's deep voice. It was so low and husky, full of sleep, and my traitorous body reacted to his smoldering gaze as I looked at his face. He'd been so still that I thought he was still sleeping. Now, I wondered how long he'd been watching me muse about my predicament.

If I admitted my nerves, it wouldn't change anything. I wanted to stand by my decision to make the best of this. I could do this. I would see this through, dammit. "No. No second thoughts."

"Hmm." He sat up, stretching and looking at his phone.

I'd fallen asleep to him talking to one of his brothers, and I realized that hearing his voice was so comforting that it could always have that effect on me. A deep, sonorous tone, lulling me to relax. I hadn't lowered my guard this much before, and I worried that he could hold such power over me.

"Maxim texted me last night that everything is arranged."

I tracked him through the apartment as he changed into the suit he'd arrived here in. "Everything meaning…?"

"He's found a priest and secured another secret location for us." He held my gaze as he pulled his shirt on, hiding his chiseled, sexy body.

"What about a dress?" I sassed back, almost laughing. The jerk ripped my bodice. My panties had been shredded in half. And my skirts were… I craned my neck, looking around the bed the best I could with this angle. I had no clue where the remains of my gown were.

"These will sort of work." Alek held up the many layers of my gown. A few rough tugs ripped the tulle and lacy filler. All that remained was a simplified shift. "And I'll find a shirt."

I huffed, amused that I'd marry without any lingerie.

"And what about these?" I wiggled my hands, bringing his attention back to my hands that were still bound to the headboard. "I can't see how you plan to drag me across town cuffed like this. Not unless you want to attract attention."

He strode to the bed, glaring at me with an undercurrent of a warning in his eyes. After he extracted a blade from his pocket, he cut through the strips of white fabric that he'd used to leash me to the bed.

My arms fell, and the material of my bindings slithered lower. Before I could move them and flex my sore muscles from the position, Alek took hold of me and ran his hot, callused hands over my flesh. With a kneading rub, he massaged my arms and lowered them. In the same motion, he guided me to sit up and swing my legs off the bed.

I moaned at his touch, relieved to have my arms back down. Blood circulated so fast that it almost dizzied me, and as he helped me stand, I shivered through the pinpricks of tingles along my skin.

He held one hand as he unwrapped the bindings from the other, then he switched to loosen the other ties. Both of his hands remained on my wrists, rubbing and caressing where the material had dug into my skin a fair bit.

"You keep moaning like that…" he threatened darkly.

"It feels so good."

"I could make you feel better," he teased, dipping low to pick me up. He collected me in his arms so suddenly, I screeched in shock. I'd been lying down so long, only up to go to the bathroom a few times, that I felt like I was topsy-turvy.

He carried me to the bathroom and set me on my feet. As he turned on the shower and then checked the gauze he'd tied on my arm, I held back a laugh. "Yeah, you can make me feel better by promising to never tie me up like that again."

His lips smashed over mine, claiming my mouth in a hard, fast kiss. I rocked back, surprised at his kiss, but he caught me with his arm around my waist.

"No," he replied, turning me to face the shower. He kept his arms around me, one hand cupping my breast as he thumbed my nipple into a stiff peak. His other hand slid lower, over my stomach, until he rubbed his palm against my mound.

I breathed in the steam from the shower. From zero to sixty, he revved me up to instant, total desire. Leaning my head back on his chest, I sighed and spread my legs wider apart, already getting used to how badly I'd want to give him the easiest access to where I ached for him.

"I can make you feel better. Like this." He stabbed his finger past my folds and collected my cream. Already, I was dripping for him. When he rocked his hips against my ass, grinding his hard-on along my crack, I breathed faster yet.

"I… Okay." I shivered under his touch, pushing back against his cock trapped in his pants. He kissed along my neck, sucking hard and leaving his mark, and fingered me so expertly, I was soon riding his hand the best I could. I needed his guidance. I wanted his help, but he had other ideas yet.

"And if you behave, I'll always make sure you feel good." He unzipped his pants and let his dick spring out. As the long steely length of his erection prodded at my ass, he dipped at his knees to rub it along my crack.

"Oh, fuck." I whimpered, letting out raw sounds that made no sense as he resumed fingering me. He wasn't penetrating me. Only his digits pistoned into my slick heat. But the taunting pressure of his hardness thrilled me. I wanted it. I wanted him, but most of all, I wanted to be his good girl and be rewarded with his thick dick filling me again.

"Yeah, oh, fuck ," he mocked as he pushed me forward.

I stumbled just a bit as I stepped into the shower. Water crashed over my head, plastering my hair to my face as I braced my hand to the tiled wall of the stall. I huffed and squinted through the water. He didn't leave, standing there with his tempting dick standing to attention.

"I'm getting tired of that."

He grinned, staring at me in the water as he fisted himself and lazily stroked. "Tired of what?"

"Your just… stopping." I rubbed my thighs together, needing some kind of friction to relieve myself of the tension of being so close to coming.

"Withholding your orgasm?" His grin widened.

I lowered my gaze to his cock, mesmerized with his steady tug on it.

"If you want it," he drawled, "if you want me to make your pussy feel good…" He growled and stroked himself faster.

Seeing him jerk off like this fucked with my logic. All I could do was stare and get more turned on. I breathed faster, slipping my hand toward my sex to play right along with him. The second I touched my clit, he released himself and slapped my hand away.

"No. I get to decide when you come."

I gawked at him, so hot and bothered and furious that he'd tease me. He couldn't just leave me hanging like this!

He grabbed a folded washcloth from a shelf, still not bothering to tuck his dick back into his pants. "And if you want to come, if you want my dick, you won't think about running."

I opened and closed my mouth. Words failed to come. I was stuck, torn between wanting to jump at him and touch his dick bobbing around and teasing me so openly and telling him off. I wasn't something to just tease and torment. It wasn't fair.

Instead, I clamped my lips shut and ripped the washcloth out of his hand.

"You hear me?" he asked, still too smug and proud about how he had me right where he wanted me.

I glowered, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an agreement.

He had me there. I hated that my body was so quick to betray me, but my lust didn't lie.

I wanted him, all right, and against my better judgment, I wanted his dick again, dammit.

As I cleaned up, I growled to myself and tried not to think ahead to how much better it might feel when he filled me again.

Because when that time came, he'd own me.

I'd be his wife. To fuck and fill—however he liked.

But I'll be damned if he makes me admit how much I want it.