by Warren, Rie
Wink.
“Good day at work?” One of her delicate eyebrows rose, and she smirked too.
Except I could read her relief in the crinkle of her hazel eyes and the slope of her shoulders as if she’d carried herself rigidly all night waiting for my return.
I set the garotte, my KA-BAR, and the Walther plus silencer on the counter beside me, and she whistled out a breath.
“Da. Successful.” Strolling to her, I brushed a kiss over her lips just to breathe her essence in. “How about you?”
I’d get a full account from Grigor in the morning, and she knew it. He was my eyes and ears when she went on the pre-approved delivery runs that I allowed.
Joanna wasn’t a woman to be caged inside, she was too vibrant for that.
Her smile grew as her hands rested on my bare chest. “My day? Uneventful.”
“Where’s Boris?” The dog who was supposed to be my loyal companion was clearly Jo’s best friend.
“I crated him.” A teasing smile traipsed across her lips.
“You did not.”
“You’re right. He’s probably asleep in the middle of our bed.”
“That sounds more like it.”
Her hands looped up to curl around my neck, her body fitting more closely against mine.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, nuzzling her neck, not the least bit interested in food at that precise moment.
When my hands smoothed down her waist, I felt her switchblade in the small pocket of her pretty sundress.
My woman.
She tipped slightly away from me. “Borscht. A Russian favorite.”
“Borscht is actually Ukrainian.”
I could tell she was already toying with me.
She created a different, much more animalistic hunger in me.
“Hey, at least it’s not lutefisk.” Her striking eyes danced above the stinky nose she made. “You Scandinavians have the worst taste ever.” She continued to playfully push my buttons.
“I am Russian.” Lifting her up against me, I drew a length of her hair around my arm.
“Oh yes you are. My Russian.” Her legs wound around my waist, and I slanted my mouth over hers, feasting on the only thing I wanted right then.
When I finally let her up for breath again, she gasped out, “But I really was cooking!”
“It can wait. I cannot.” I boosted her onto the kitchen island.
“Good thing I just prepared the steaks then.” She hauled my mouth back to hers.
I quickly unbuckled, kicking my jeans down to my thighs.
Her hands coursed all over my chest, our lips bound together, tongues lashing in and out.
Heat to rival the brightest flame blazed between us.
I tore the tiny straps of her dress over her shoulders, shuddering to find her braless.
Those beautiful pink-tipped tits.
With one in my mouth, I dragged up her skirt.
I yanked off her panties.
I spread her legs wide before skimming down the bowl of her belly to burrow right between her thighs. Into the sweet soaked pussy that I never wanted to leave and always hurried back to.
Her heels drummed against my shoulders until I placed the soles of her feet flat on the granite counter, which opened her silken gash even more.
Blyad.
Would not be lasting long tonight.
Face hard and mouth wet with her, I sprung up.
With her hands braced behind her, her body formed a beautiful bow, and I slid her even farther to the edge of the counter so her pink pulsing pussy gushed out in the open.
“Christ, Jo.”
Sweat gathered on my brow, and I slow-stroked into her because being bare inside her clutching tightness was a sensation that always blew my mind.
Her body heaved. Her tummy rippled.
I held her ankles with her feet pinned down and wide so every last inch of engorged veiny cock disappeared inside her stretched cunt.
A feminine moan rose from her throat, and her nipples turned dark rosy red.
I withdrew to the bloated head, and her cream slathered my dick.
My jaw hardened.
She keened out.
I forged back inside of her, inch by inch, watching as she arched even farther back.
Christ.
Christ.
Her cross bounced on her chest, the only item of jewelry she wore until I gave her one of my own.
Enveloped in Jo’s velvety tunnel, my dick lurched.
I pulled back again, so slowly the ache made my head fall back and my balls draw up.
“Kirill.” The breathiness of her voice lit dark lust in my veins.
I let go of her ankles to clamp her waist in both hands.
Pulling her mostly off the island, I pumped her up and down my cock, getting higher and higher with each of her broken moans.
She clasped the edge of the counter and bounced up and down my cock to the quickening rhythm I set.
My vision blurred.
My balls ached.
My cock throbbed.
I couldn’t wait . . .
A roar ripped from my throat the same moment she convulsed around my dick that drove deep.
She milked my bone, my seed bursting out to fill her clutching hole.
She dropped back like I’d ruined her, but only in the very best way. A sated smile curved her mouth, and her hand roamed down to her belly where my semen had been spent inside.
When I pulled out, I watched her clench her thighs together as if to keep my cum inside, and another climatic pulse shivered across her shimmery-glowing body.
Once again, her dress formed just a circle of fabric around her waist.
While she recovered—limp and lovely and lolling there in the middle of our kitchen—I refastened my jeans.
I leaned on the counter for a moment, laughing a harsh breath.
Then I ambled back to where I’d lain her presents down. I arranged them while she basked in the afterglow of my furious lovemaking.
Back at her side, I ran several fingertips up the center of her body and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Zdravstvuj.”
She parroted the Russian back with an awakening spark.
“Do you want to see what I got you?”
“Is it finally that sword? I think I seriously deserve it now.”
I smiled down at her. “Nyet.”
She only protested a little as I helped her up. Then she spied the gift sitting on the counter across from her.
Her eyes lit, gold flecks like pure bullion in the green depths. “Oh, Kirill!”
It was just another Red Sox baseball cap—this one a limited edition with a bright green shamrock backing the usual B logo.
“Let’s hope you don’t lose this one.” Keenly watching, I didn’t take my eyes off her as she hopped down and readjusted her dress.
“Are you going to try it on?” I asked.
“Might as well. You already made a mess of my hair.”
I had. I loved those luxurious red-gold curls waving around her gorgeous face and cock-hardening body.
She picked up the cap.
She saw the small jewelry box beneath.
She peered back at me with her hand at her heart. “Oh, Kirill!”
Words sticking in my throat, I moved to her. I took the baseball cap from her and placed it aside.
I picked up the box, opened it, and presented the engagement ring to her.
“Are you going to try it on?” My voice emerged deeper as that strange emotion threaded through.
“Might as well,” she managed to get out, not half as lightly as before, and that time her voice broke.
Tears spiked her lashes, and she beamed at me.
“You have to say yes first,” I said.
She gazed at the unique half moon engagement ring that was as stunning and different as she was.
She held out her left hand, the other resting directly against the place where my heart boomed away. “The answer is da. Yes.”
>
“Good. Then I won’t have to take you down to the dungeon after all.” I joked, but my words were even more gruff than usual.
I slid the ring home and hauled her to me.
“You could still take me down there,” she whispered against my lips. “I love you, Kirill.”
26
Kirill . . . Finale
“NERVOUS?” ARKADY SQUINTED AT me.
Chuckling, I finished knotting my silk tie.
“Worried?” Maksim stood to the other side of me in one of the many spare bedrooms in Yury’s mansion.
“About marrying a certain redheaded Irish viper?” I inspected the cut of my new bespoke suit.
“Exactly,” both my brothers said in unison.
“Not at all. I’ve got her well-heeled.”
Then it was their turn to chuckle.
Six weeks ago, I’d proposed and today was the big day. I saw no reason to delay, and I wanted to send a clear and public message—Joanna soon-to-be Krasnov was undeniably mine.
Anyone who messed with her messed with me, and their short-lived lives would be miserable.
She’d be afforded the respect of my wife as part of the Zolotov Bratva.
She might be Irish, born into the O’Sullivan mafia, but henceforth she’d belong to me . . . doubly untouchable.
The outward perception she was lawfully under my thumb.
Privately, she was, more often than not, beneath my body or riding my cock.
I adjusted myself discreetly, thankful for the suit’s covering.
“No ransom ritual then?” Taking a shot of vodka, Arkady handed a glass to me.
He referred to the custom from the motherland when the bride’s family abducted her before the ceremony, forcing the groom to complete multiple tasks in order to reclaim his woman.
“I think we’ve had enough kidnappings, don’t you?” I arched a brow.
Probably a good thing Dex, Kelly, and Lucky didn’t know the first thing about Russian customs. All three of them had wicked and somewhat devious senses of humor.
I was sure they’d have pulled out all the stops, whisking their sister away from me.
My brothers and I made our way through the stately home to the expansive stone patio. From there to a decorated arbor that formed the altar there was a short petal-strewn aisle.
Baba and Sasha had outdone themselves with preparations and decorations.
True to her nature, it turned out Jo wasn’t much into wedding planning.
I half wondered if she’d show up to get hitched wearing jeans, sporting the baseball cap, and possibly wielding her switchblade.
As long as she completed her vows to me I didn’t much care what she wore, although the few times she’d come to me in a dress and high heels she’d blown my mind.
Better yet were the nights she surprised me after a rare shopping spree with Sasha—escorted of course—to reveal such sinful lingerie it took most of my control not to rip the fragile lace and satin off of her.
Again, I checked to make sure the suit jacket covered an obvious reaction, and I hadn’t even seen my bride yet.
I walked down to the altar, around the aisle so I didn’t scatter the flower petals.
The gathering small, Arkady and Maksim joined Yury, Sasha, and Baba. Dex and Kelly stood at the forefront too, cleaned up in decent suits and hiding twin smirks like I was getting the raw end of the deal.
Those bastards probably didn’t think their firebrand sister would go through with this.
I actually wondered if they’d placed bets on the likelihood of her becoming a runaway bride.
They didn’t know Jo like I did.
The woman who clawed at my back, screaming passionately, welcoming me into her body just as greedily as I took hers.
The girl who’d braved her way into a Bratva stronghold and had stood up to men much scarier than her brothers.
The woman who just plain cried—only with me—during those rare moments of weakness when the ghosts of her past crept up on her.
I glanced around now at the people who made up her entire new family.
No outsiders were in attendance apart from the priest, and an army of guards dotted the landscaped acreage on high alert for the first sign of trouble. The normal soldier presence at the mansion beefed up for this event.
Music began, pumped out from somewhere in the house.
I stood up even straighter, and my hart thumped harder than I thought possible.
Joanna appeared up there on the terrace, perched on Lucky’s arm. He had the honor of giving her away, but my gaze strayed right past him to stay locked on Jo.
That gown . . . her hair . . .
Had not taken her for a girly girl.
Fuck, for almost a year I’d been sure she was a boy.
There was no way I’d ever make that mistake again.
And her wedding couture wasn’t girly at all but pure woman.
My jaw dropped momentarily before I composed myself.
She began her descent toward me, and I swallowed thickly in anticipation.
She was stunning in a long gown with a plunging V. Delicate lines of seed pearls adorned the bodice to mimic a corset’s boning. Vintage looking, the dress skimmed her figure and cinched tight at the waist with an elegant pearl and gold encrusted sash. Soft and almost sheer, the cream silk highlighted her glowing skin, and slipped perfectly over her ass.
Her beautiful bright hair was arranged in a soft corona of loose braids with wavy tendrils fluttering at her temples and around her neck.
Dark red stained her lips, and her lush lashes looked even longer and darker.
She’d completed her transformation from scruffy ragamuffin to sensual bride.
I gave her a tight smile, accepting her hand from Lucky. Tight, because I’d forgotten to breathe, and everything zinged wildly around my body.
Jo’s tremulous smile parted those deep red lovely lips, and she whispered, “I made it.”
Her joking comment pushed a chuckled from my constricted chest.
“I would’ve hunted you down if you hadn’t,” I murmured back, pulling another wider smile from her.
The ceremony began with no more fanfare, and if anyone stood up to give some reason why we shouldn’t be married, I’d shoot them on the spot.
What had started as a nasty vendetta would end with nuptial vows.
Strength commanding my voice, I kept my sights on Jo as I gave her an oath that pledged my life, my body, my love to her.
Ahh, there . . . Joanna’s eyes grew dewy, a deep forest green color.
I could not help but get choked up when this daring female said her lifelong promise to me in a soft-toned voice.
And, yes, that pesky word obey made it into her vows, except her irises sparkled at that precise point.
I squeezed both her hands, threading our fingers together as our lives became inextricably linked forever.
Jo’s lips called to me, and I couldn’t wait to take my first kiss as her husband.
An abduction. A feisty female. A girl who had not changed me but shown me something more. The more that was strangely love.
With rings exchanged—hers bright and dazzling—there would be no mistaking what she was now.
Mine.
I ignored the clamor of clapping and whistles, bending at last to taste her lips.
Her hands crawled to my shoulders then toward my throat, and she bent back over my arm. My tongue crossed the boundary of her lips to delve inside and taste deeply. We consummated the vows with a twining, curling, heat-coiling kiss from man to wife.
Had I broken her?
I knew now a rare woman like her was not to be broken, but to be gentled at times, pushed or provoked at others, and that a sexy bout of spanking always proved my point.
Had I tamed her?
Perhaps not completely. I hadn’t wanted to crush her spirit. But she’d learned her place and that some rules—my rules—were not to be trespassed.
There’d be a
few compromises in the future, I was certain. All of it was worth it to have her absolutely.
Drawing my head back, I became mesmerized by the new puffiness of her red lips and the pink flush cresting her cheeks.
Before I could take advantage again, she shimmied a little in her wedding gown and said, “Good lord. I’m so glad we can put that behind us. All the poking and prodding and primping and dress fittings.”
An amused grin tilted my lips.
“Not to mention all of this.” She flapped a hand to indicate the flowers and ribbons bedecking everything.
“This was a simple affair.”
“This is simple?” Jo whirled around, the bottom of her dress belling outward.
“Let’s just say a traditional Russian orthodox wedding goes on for two days.”
“Two days? That’s barbaric.” She winked at me just before my family and hers surrounded us.
“Well, you’ve done it now,” Arkady muttered. Then he clapped me on the back and uttered much more loudly, “Congratulations.”
Baba pulled Jo against her bosom for a moment then she turned to me and, after a very brief hug, she began grumbling in Russian.
Her hands flapped around that time as she vented about the entire lack of old-world traditions.
Sasha rolled her eyes before exclaiming over Jo’s gown and hair and the flowers.
Yury clasped one of my hands and one of Jo’s.
For the first time, Jo didn’t shrink from him.
“A very good match.” His deep guttural voice rumbled. “Now she will have to obey.”
Standing close by, Dex smirked. “Doubt that.”
Jo held her sharp tongue for once and turned the sweetest smile on our Papa. “Thank you for your blessing.”
“I think it’s time to get this party started. Champagne for everyone!” Sasha led the way, her short skirt flouncing with each step.
Maksim just about skewered her with his eyes.
“Party, bah! This is not wedding reception. More like family dinner,” still scolding, Baba followed after her granddaughter as did everyone else in the wedding retinue.
They trooped off to the house, and I finally had Jo all to myself.
The one tradition she’d insisted on was staying apart from one another the night before.
Beneath the bower of flowers, I spun Jo back into my embrace. I dipped down to kiss her again, a slow meeting of lips and tongues.