9. Kristof

Alena's first kiss is mine.

Leaning against the carved stone pillar next to the front gate, I repeatedly replay the kiss in my mind while waiting for Melanie to collect whatever she left inside. The lingering effects of last night's drinking plus the fight are catching up to me, and now all I yearn for is my bed. I have the perfect thing to dream about too.

Alena.

Her first kiss. It's not all that surprising, given how strict Aleksander and Mara can be about where Alena goes and what she can do. I'd always assumed that with limited social interaction, her first kiss would have been a rebellious snog with one of the house guards.

Nope. It's mine.

Her lips were as soft as I pictured, and her zesty orange and cream scent still lingers around me like a ghost. It was a risk, of course, but something about the dazed look on Alena's face after the kiss told me the secret was safe. She won't tell a soul, and neither will I.

The cigarette between my lips flares amber as I breathe, and I glance at the next sleek car to pull out of the driveway. Another family is on their way home after being reminded of who is in charge. Usually, I would make my presence more known, but this time, I linger back against the post and let my mind wander.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel her. The gentle pressure of her mouth, the warmth of her tongue, and the pull at my jacket as she gripped on for dear life. How would she react to something else if she reacts like that to a simple kiss?

If I had my way, her kiss wouldn't be the only first I would claim. I want all of her first times. I want her first needy moan. I want her first plea for more. I want to be the first to touch her pussy, to wring an orgasm from her. I want to be the first to lay claim to all her holes, to brand my ownership onto her beautiful body and make sure that no one will ever compare to the heights I can take her.

Such yearning pulls at my chest, and I curse myself for even getting attached. She's too pure to pass up.

In a blink, she's completely naked and crawling toward me, begging for even a lick of attention from me. Sinful pleas spill from her plush lips, offering herself up for absolutely anything if I'll just touch her, and every second I ignore her makes her desperate, more frantic.

Fuck.

I want to shove my cock past those sweet lips and deep into that fuckable throat until the only thought in her mind is how lucky she is to taste me. A fantasy I repeat until my cock strains against my jeans, and I force myself to open my eyes.

How quickly my interest has grown into infatuation. She's a woman now, so I can hardly be blamed, but no matter how much I wish for such a thing to be true, there's one glaring obstacle standing in my way.

Her marriage.

To the fucking Kuznetsovs, of all people. I drag deeper on my cigarette, catching it between my fingers and tapping off some of the excess ash.

They are a much bigger problem. Not just because any interference in the marriage arrangement would create a political headache, but from Aleksander's point of view, there has to be a gain of some kind. Never would he grant me Alena. In fact, he'd probably kill me if he knew how I hungered to claim his daughter.

Darkness surrounds Mikhail's family. It always has. They're dangerous, psychopathic even. They come from a twisted line with morals that would make even the devil think twice about dropping by. As one who enjoys the darker things in life, especially in the bedroom, I'm not one to judge. There's a delicious pleasure to be had on the cusp of pain, a unique excitement to be enjoyed when swathed in humiliation.

I'm a taker. My hands leave bruises, my toys leave marks so deep they can brand a soul, and I have a deep-rooted desire for obedience and understanding. It takes a strong hand to whip a lover to orgasm on pain alone, but it takes a stronger hand still to make them beg for it, to make them want that sweet lick of pain because the resulting orgasm is like a drug they can't get enough of.

It wouldn't be so bad if that was all the Kuznetsovs were into. But their sadistic talents stretch beyond just the world of sex, and usually, I wouldn't care.

Not my family, not my business.

Until now.

Until Aleksander decided that giving Alena to them was the right move.

There's no one in the world I want to get their hands on her. I know that as sure as I know my own name. But they are a special case. There'd be nothing left of her when they were finished.

The flame from the cigarette suddenly scalds my lips, and I wince faintly, letting it fall from my mouth. So lost in thought, I hadn't noticed how aggressively I was breathing, barely registering each puff.

"Fuck," I grumble, stamping down on the dying embers.

Alena is a distraction I can't afford.

And yet, I want her.

No, I need her.

"Kristof?"

In my distracted state, I hadn't even heard Melanie's approach. She stands before me now, purse clutched in her hands and one brow raised.

"What?"

"Are you alright? You look like you've just chewed a wasp."

"I'm fine," I snap.

"Well, that party was a bit shit. All that fancy stuff just for a bunch of boring people to stand around talking. How do you stand it?" she asks, smirking, her eyes dancing across me. I know this game. She's vying for more time.

"It's how these things work. I didn't bring you here to judge or think," I reply.

"Why did you bring me? I'm not complaining, but I barely saw you all night. You were always off with that girl."

There was something in Melanie's tone, a slight edge that spread like an accusation across my skin, and an uncomfortable heat lanced down my spine.

Fuck.

Suddenly, the thought of spending one more second with this woman churns my stomach, so I shove my hand into my jacket pocket and pull out a wad of bills. Without even counting, I thrust them into her hands.

"What the hell is this?"

"Payment. Now fuck off."

"What?" Melanie clutches at the bills, trying to gather them all in a way she can count. Some bills fall from her hands, and she crouches to gather them up.

"I said, fuck off."

She doesn't move, too distracted by the money, so instead, I do. Pushing up from the pillar, I walk away toward where I parked my car, and Melanie's heels follow me for a few seconds, then she finally gets the hint.

"Well, how the fuck am I supposed to get home?" she yells after me.

"Don't care," I shoot back, not even turning around.

"You drove me here. I don't even know where here is!"

"I said I don't care!"

"You're an asshole!"

"So I've heard."

Reaching my car, I slide inside and immediately turn up the music in an attempt to steady myself. My heart is racing slightly, and there's an unusual squirming in my gut that I haven't felt since the last time I ate some sushi that might have been past its use by date.

What is this feeling?

I'm not one to get anxious. I'm usually very direct and calm. It's not fear. I haven't felt that since I was a boy facing down a father who spoke using the licks of a belt rather than his words.

By the time I'm back out onto the highway, it clicks in my alcohol-addled mind. It's anticipation. At some point during my rambling thoughts about Alena and the Kuznetsovs, I came to a decision.

Alena is going to be mine.

One way or another, she is going to belong to me. Making that happen is going to be tough, but even now, racing away from the estate, her presence lingers around me, and when I press my lips together, I can still taste her. It's as if the pendant I gave her, the one that now sits around her pretty throat instead of in my hand, connects us somehow.

There's no doubt in my mind either that she feels the same. The way she trembled under my touch and how she walked away from me and Melanie like a baby deer discovering its legs for the first time is all the proof I need.

Her soft lips, smooth skin, orange and cream scent, and the lithe press of her body against mine… I want all of it. I need all of it.

One way or the other, I will save Alena from Mikhail.

She will be mine.

I swear it.