by Holly Bargo
Her hands twisted in her lap. He covered them with his and squeezed lightly.
“This is for the best, Giancarla. We’ll be good together, you’ll see.”
Gia recalled the hot, rigid length of him that had pressed against her that morning and wondered if her estimate of his size was correct and, if so, whether that thing would actually fit inside her. She swallowed nervously and knew that he needed to know her utter lack of experience.
Cheeks burning, she stuttered, “V-Vitaly? Th-there’s something you need to know.”
“Yes?” he gently prompted.
“I-I-I’m...er...not exactly e-e-experienced.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles showing white, as he interpreted her shy admission. “Giancarla, are you a virgin?”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, almost inaudible, nearly ashamed.
Vitaly wondered how a young woman as pretty as this could have remained virginal at what the ripe old age of twenty-five. He decided not to question that gift horse, but to simply give thanks that this woman whom he had claimed and meant to possess utterly would be his in every way.
“This is a precious gift you offer.”
She turned her face to look out the passenger door window and thought that it wasn’t like she was actually given much of a choice in offering him her virginity. But that choice of the least of evils had the best potential for continued existence and perhaps some comfort. He’d probably regret his offer, she thought, and her acceptance, especially if he ever found a woman he really loved. Did hard, violent men like Vitaly even love?
When they arrived home after a long afternoon of shopping, daylight had already given way to dusk. Again, Gia waited for Vitaly to hand her out of the car before heading to the trunk to assist with carrying in their purchases which were quickly put away for the next day’s use.
“Hungry?” Vitaly asked.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
He wondered why “surprisingly,” but then decided that she was merely nervous about their wedding the next day. He pulled out a package of shrimp from the refrigerator.
“Um, I can make a quick shrimp gumbo if you like,” she offered, thinking that cooking supper would be some small recompense for all that he had already done for her.
“You cook?”
“I do okay,” she said modestly. “I’m nothing like Cecily the kitchen wizard, but I’ve managed not to poison anyone either.”
He gave her a smile her attempt at humor.
“I’ve never had gumbo,” he admitted.
She tilted her head to one side and asked, “Do you like mild or spicy?”
“A little heat is always good.”
“Do you have any tabasco sauce?”
“I might. What else do you need?”
She ticked each ingredient off on her fingers: “Bell peppers, celery, thyme, garlic, chicken broth, rice, onions, flour, butter, lemon, cayenne pepper, salt, black pepper, and mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms?”
“I like to add a few ingredients that you don’t find in a traditional Cajun recipe. Mushrooms add texture and a heartier flavor.”
“Perhaps you are as much of a kitchen wizard as your friend Cecily.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I just like to ad lib a bit in the kitchen. I’m not truly as creative and skilled as she is.” Tilting her head again, she added perceptively, “Your friend Pyotr will gain a hundred pounds in a year if he gives Cecily the run of his kitchen.”
Vitaly laughed. “Then I predict that Pytor’s kitchen will be the envy of us all and his invitations to dinner will be most coveted.”
Her expression turned worried. “You’re sure that Latasha and Cecily will be safe? I’d hate if they were hurt because of me.”
He disliked her distrust of his earlier reassurance, but realized that such worry did not reflect upon him, not truly. She simply did not know him sufficiently to understand that a man’s word was his bond. If he and Pyotr said the women were safe, then safe they would be.
“Pyotr will give his life for them if circumstances so dictate.”
Her eyes widened at his serious tone. “I wouldn’t want it to come to that!”
“It probably won’t,” he soothed. He concentrated for a moment and then recited the list of ingredients she listed a moment earlier. “Is that correct?”
“Yes. You’ve got an amazing memory.”
He nodded and said, “Stay inside. Do not answer the phone or open the door. I will go to the market to pick up those ingredients I do not already have.”
She nodded, already knowing better than to defy him. After all, he couldn’t protect her if she acted stupidly.
“I’ll be back in half an hour.”
“Okay.”
And then he was gone. Gia rummaged through the cupboards, refrigerator, and pantry, finding most of the ingredients she needed. She filled a pot with water for the rice and then set to chopping vegetables. When he returned, she was ready to begin cooking in earnest. Like they’d been married for years, she thanked him for those last ingredients and shooed him from the kitchen. He kissed her on the cheek and allowed himself to be waved away, but not without glancing back at her sexy backside and fantasizing about hoisting her to the countertop and stepping between her legs.
The kitchen was likely to become his second favorite room in the house, right after the bedroom.
The gumbo was fabulous. Vitaly made a mental note to sing its praises to Maksim, who practically lived on a diet of roasted meat, potatoes, and cabbage. He hoped that Olivia had planned the reception with tastes other than her husband’s in mind.
He helped her clear the table, clean the dishes, and put them away. Gia sent him some curious glances as though his domesticity puzzled her. He shoved the observation aside; it wasn’t important. A man did what was necessary and keeping his own home clean and tidy was necessary if he didn’t want to run through a procession of increasingly nervous housekeepers.
It just wouldn’t do for the maid to run across a stash of weapons. Or the specialized tools of his bloody trade.
“Come, relax with me,” he urged, taking her by the hand and drawing her into the living room. She accompanied him, but her eyes showed wary caution. He seated himself on the sofa and pulled her down beside him, making sure that she snuggled warmly beneath the bulky arm draped around her shoulders. With his other hand, he picked up the remote control and began flipping through television channels.
After a long moment of irritation, Gia snatched the remote from his hand and said, “Quit that. Pick a channel and stick with it.”
He smiled to himself as she settled upon a channel playing a rerun of Big Bang Theory. It wasn’t something he usually watched, but he enjoyed her chuckles and the way she relaxed against him. He enjoyed it so much that he needed to shift his seat for comfort.
With the warm, feminine scent of her filling his nose and the soft weight of her pressed against his side, he found his hand lightly stroking her shoulder and upper arm. Glancing down, he noticed the press of her nipples against the fabric of her shirt, the occasional shift and press of her thighs, the slightly elevated pace of her breathing.
He wasn’t the only one suffering from arousal.
Vitaly wanted to carry her off to bed, but a man who was any kind of man at all did not haul his virgin bride to his bed for pre-wedding defilement. So he endured another hour of primetime television and the torture of a warmly aroused woman snuggled safely beneath his arm.
Gia blinked with surprise when Vitaly took back the remote control and set it aside after turning off the television.
“We’re both tired. It’s time for bed.”
She opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t sleepy, but the words disappeared into a yawn. She allowed him to haul her to her feet and then meekly allowed herself to be towed along behind him to his bedroom.
“Vitaly,” she began, but didn’t quite know what to say.
“You
r virtue will remain intact tonight,” he promised as he drew her close.
Heat radiated off his big body, which seemed to stimulate an answering heat in her own body. She trembled as he hugged her, the rigid length of his erection pressing through layers of cloth against her belly. Her body answered the feel of that with a gush of moisture between her thighs. Vitaly’s nostrils flared as he caught the scent of her heightened arousal.
“I should sleep in a separate bed,” she muttered even as she inhaled the masculine scent of man and fought not to burrow more deeply into his embrace. What was that urge to rub herself against him like a cat in heat?
“Nyet. Your place is with me.”
She wanted to argue or, rather, she thought it was her obligation to argue. But, damn it, she liked when he held her. He made her feel safe, secure, and desired. So she nodded her acquiescence, cheek rubbing against the soft material of his shirt and feeling the bulge of hard muscle beneath the fabric.
“Clean up for bed,” he ordered and gave her a little push toward the bathroom as though she were a child. “We have an early day tomorrow.”
Gia obeyed, performed her nighttime ablutions, and emerged still fully clothed. Vitaly sat on the bed, clad only in his undershorts which did nothing to hide the thick length of his erection. Gia’s gaze locked on to the evidence of his desire for her, unconsciously licking her suddenly dry lips at the sight of the bulbous tip of him protruding above the elastic waistband all the way up to his navel.
Vitaly wanted to groan. He wanted to yank her to the bed and crawl over her, to plunge inside her wet heat. With fine control, he held out a tee shirt.
“Sleep in this tonight.”
She looked as though she might object. After all, her clothing had been transferred to his house and she could wear her own nightgown.
Before she could say anything, he rose and said, “Wear this. I like seeing you in my shirt.”
Gia opened her mouth to protest, but again the words died before she could utter them. Instead, she nodded and took the shirt from his hand. He disappeared into the bathroom and she hurriedly exchanged her clothes for his shirt. Because she didn’t know whether lingering outside the bed so minimally clad or waiting for him to join her beneath the covers was worse, she decided that she might as well get a lead on making herself comfortable beneath the covers. She feigned sleep when the bathroom door opened and he climbed in beside her.
“I know you’re awake,” he murmured in her ear as the mattress dipped beneath his weight and caused her roll into him. His arm wrapped around her, drawing her into the shelter of his big body. He wriggled his hips a little so that his penis, long and hard, nestled neatly between her buttocks. She stifled a choke when it jumped and pulsed against her.
“It has a mind of its own,” he said.
His warm breath wafted over her ear, only to be followed by the light touch of his lips against the tender skin of her neck. Gia could not stifle the sigh that escaped her mouth as he kissed and nibbled her from earlobe to shoulder. Nor could she quell her moan when his big hand cupped her swollen, heavy breast and began to knead the pliant flesh. No man had ever touched her like that and she could hardly help but yield to the pleasure his slow, sensuous touch gave her.
She squeaked when his hand traveled downward and slipped beneath the nylon waistband of her panties. His long fingers tangled in the wiry hair covering her mound. Her breath caught again when those fingers delved lower and one hairy, muscled leg slide between hers to open her thighs enough for unimpeded access to the wet, heated core of her.
She panted and her breath hitched when he dipped a finger between the swollen labia. She could not help the rocking of her hips as he slowly, gently, mercilessly drove her passion higher until she keened and begged for release. Vitaly rocked against her, giving himself the pleasure of friction as he touched his virgin bride. She moaned, biting her lower lip in mortification when he flicked his fingertip over the tiny bud of her clitoris and she shattered in his hand. With a groan, he pressed his hips against her as he erupted in his shorts, something he hadn’t done since adolescence.
He withdrew his hand from between her legs and brought his fingers to his mouth. He took a second to inhale the musky fragrance of her arousal, then enjoyed sucking her cream off his fingers.
“Vitaly?”
“Hush, Giancarla. Go to sleep.”
Surprisingly, he fell asleep quickly, too.
Chapter 4
Vitaly sat at his kitchen table sipping piping hot coffee and reading the morning paper when a fist thudding against his front door captured his attention.
“Open up, Vitaly!” Maksim’s voice boomed.
Vitaly rose from the table and obligingly opened the front door, which if not made from seasoned oak would have been dented from the big man’s hard fists. Maksim stepped through the door and pulled his associate into an enthusiastic embrace, thumping him on the back and plastering an affectionate kiss on each cheek.
“Maksim, you’re embarrassing the man,” the Bratva boss’ wife gently chided in her smoky voice. “Besides, I want to hug the groom, too.”
Maksim laughed and stepped aside to let his dainty wife wrap her slender arms around Vitaly. She patted his chest and said, “We’ve come to kidnap your blushing bride. It’s bad luck to see her before the wedding.”
“That’s nonsense,” Vitaly said, giving Olivia a quick, light hug back.
“Of course, it is. But it’s fun.” She grinned at him, her irrepressible cheer bringing an answering smile to his usually dour expression. “I’ve got a hairdresser waiting, and a manicurist. Oh, we’re going to have a super indulgent girl time.”
Vitaly looked at Maksim who simply shrugged his shoulders. The big man whom even other gang leaders feared was entirely cowed by his diminutive wife. It was an open secret that Olivia’s word was law in that household. Vitaly had the uneasy feeling that Gia would hold the same power over him.
“I’ll fetch her,” Vitaly offered.
“No, no, you don’t,” Olivia said as she pushed past him. “Is she in your bedroom?”
“Da.”
She clucked her tongue reprovingly, but said nothing more. Maksim shrugged again and gave him a look that expressed a “what can you do?” type of resignation. Olivia would do as she would and Maksim made sure no one gainsaid her.
Several minutes later, the small woman walked back down the stairs with a groggy Gia in tow.
“Go back to the kitchen, Vitaly. You’re not to see her until it’s time for the ceremony,” her voice rang authoritatively.
Vitaly knew better than to disobey.
“Maksim, I’ve put Giancarla’s things in a pile on the bed. Please fetch them for me. She’ll dress at our place.”
“Yes, my love,” he murmured with genial good humor and hastened to obey his wife’s command.
Rustled from a sound slumber, Gia stumbled after the petite, indomitable woman who had blown through two of the area’s most feared men like a force of nature. Olivia kept up a steady chatter as she prodded Gia to get into the limousine and then scooted over to make room for Maksim. Gia just listened and watched and thought, I want to be just like her when I grow up.
The thought made her smile a little.
She listened as Olivia recited the day’s schedule, which began with a hot shower and a session with an aesthetician who, she discovered all too quickly, had a penchant for torturing women with hot wax.
“Quit whining,” Olivia chastised with an evil little smile. “Women must endure pain to achieve beauty.”
“That’s not—OUCH!”
“Relax, Giancarla. The sooner you stop struggling, the sooner you’ll get this over with.”
“But I—OUCH! Stop it!”
Olivia patted her arm and said, “He’s nearly finished, dear. We can’t leave you half done, you know.”
Giancarla gritted her teeth and yelped as her personal torturer ripped out yet another strip of hair by the roots.
&nbs
p; When finished with waxing and plucking, the torturer departed. His place was taken by another muscled man who immediately got to work rubbing oil in his palms and kneading Gia’s body into a nearly liquid state. With a final spank that incited another surprised yelp of pain, Gia obeyed her hostess’ command to bathe. Another personal attendant awaited her and scrubbed her skin without mercy. Feeling raw and more than a little violated, Gia then found herself wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe while another pair of hands scrubbed her head. She obediently sat still while the hairdresser worked his magic. He praised her thick, dark brown tresses as he coiled and pinned and curled until he’d achieve a fairytale princess look for her which was finished with a choking fog of hairspray.
“Gertie will do your face,” Olivia announced, gesturing to a woman who looked like she, too, enjoyed pouring melted wax on other women’s private parts. Gia shuddered.
Gertie muttered to herself as she smoothed on foundation and powder, blush for cheeks, more color for eyelids, mascara, and, finally, lipstick. Unconsciously nervous, Gia caught her bottom lip with her teeth and began to worry it.
“Don’t chew your lip,” Gertie snarled and reapplied color to the abused skin. “You’ll ruin my work.”
Gia sighed and stopped gnawing.
“Time to get dressed!” Olivia announced.
Gia’s stomach rumbled. She was hungry, damn it. Olivia was having her tortured; the least she could do was feed her breakfast, too. But nothing was forthcoming.
“I need to brush my teeth,” Gia muttered.
“Why did not you do so earlier, girl?”
“Because you got me up and dragged me from my bed.”
“You mean Vitaly’s bed.”
“Er, yes, Vitaly’s bed.”
“Oh, you poor dear, you must be hungry!”
“Yes, I am.”
Olivia patted her hand and called for a tray.