by Jasmin Quinn
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Then leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
He dropped his grip on her hair, sliding it to her shoulder, using both hands to slide the dress down her arms, past her breasts, letting it drop to her feet.
He turned her to the mirror, stared at their reflection. “Look at yourself, wife.”
Wife. His wife!
She kept her head down, her eyes lowered, disobeying him, until he brought his hand to her chin, forced her head up, forced her to look. The corset she wore under her dress was beautiful, sleek, satiny, white. It wasn’t meant to be practical. No straps, a little support in the breast area. Hugging her gently, highlighting her curves. The panties were lacy, barely there, enough to be tantalizing. The thigh highs were silky and white. Her hair was escaping the pins in little tendrils, framing her face. She bit her bottom lip, glanced at Rusya’s reflection.
“You’re beautiful. Perfect.” He ran his hand down the sleek corset, starting under her breast, resting it on her stomach. He dropped his lips to her neck, kissed it softly, then a little harder, nipping the skin. Fuck. Her desire swept her as he held her arms in his strong grip.
“Rusya, stop.” She needed him not to do this. She needed to have something left. But her voice lacked conviction and he heard it.
“Unpin your hair.” She hesitated and he gave her a little shake. Enough to get her hands moving to her hair, to the pins. She drew them out, let the curls fall. Her hair had grown in the past several weeks, getting longer, a little heavier, enough to pull the curls down into waves. Enough to frame her face and hang past her shoulders. She saw herself as Rusya saw her, a small glimpse, but enough to cause a rush of emotion.
Rusya held her hair in his fingers, buried his nose in her curls and took a deep breath. He turned her head, brought his lips to hers and kissed her, gently, lingeringly. She felt it shudder through her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against hers, his lips soft, seductive. He trailed the kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, the side of her face. Her ear. “Come to bed,” he said softly. He was seducing her and she was responding, kissing him back.
She didn’t understand how he could do this, didn’t think he knew how to seduce. How was she going to take a stand if she couldn’t stop herself from responding? And she wanted this, wanted him. Each time he touched her she lost herself.
He pulled her to the bed, sat her down and stood in front of her, taking off the rest of his clothes, until he was naked. His penis was erect, so hard, pulsing his desire, causing a rush of longing inside her. He sat beside her, pulled her into his arms, kissed her again as he brought his hands over the corset and down to her panties. Rubbing her through the lace.
She gasped at his handling, then a little anger seared through her. She was too easy and he was forcing his will again. She steeled herself, took hold of her desire with a deep breath, then took his hand and moved it away from her. “I don’t want this, Rusya.”
“You want this.” He moved his hand back to her pussy as he laid a light kiss on her shoulder.
She shifted. “No. You can’t have it all.”
He pulled back from her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Of course I can.”
He reached for her again and she stiffened, held her arms at her sides, her fists clenched.
“Esma, don’t push me,” he said as he drew back.
She didn’t respond, tried to get up and he pulled her back down, pushing her up on the bed, forcing her onto her back, locking her wrists together with his hand. “Rusya, fuck!” she grunted as she tried to struggle out of his grip, but he pinned her, his body on hers, his fingers tightening around her wrists.
He was past words, past his seduction as he let her struggle. Each time she moved to unseat him, he moved with her, his eyes on her face, never wavering, his hands holding her wrists and her hair, his legs pinning hers. She was tired, angry that he wasn’t giving her this, and when he kissed her, she tried to twist her face away but he held it with her hair. His kiss was deep, longing, demanding and she tried not to respond, tried not to kiss him back, tried not to let her nipples harden, but then his hand stole down her body again, and between her legs, his fingers sliding into her underwear, through her folds to her clit. It had missed him and as he played it, fire seared it’s way through her body.
“Fuck, Rusya!” She cried as she bucked. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”
He released her wrists as he kissed her lips, then her neck, the top of her breast, her belly as he moved down. He grasped her panties and drew them down her legs, to her feet. She sat up, kicked out at him, but he caught her feet, her legs, then climbed over her, on top of her. He was pinning her down with his body, with his eyes. Pushing her thighs open with his hips. “Will you come for me, Esma?”
“No,” she cried as he entered her, pushed his way into her, her vagina welcoming him, hugging him, singing his praises. He was thrusting, long easy strokes as he held himself over her, staring at her, bringing his lips to her neck, to the hollow between her breasts, to the swell that the corset forced. She tried not to move, tried not to let her body thrust back, but her wanting grew like a fever.
She moaned.
His hot breath on her neck, her ear as he nipped at it. Each thrust of his cock inside her, hard, but steady, not hurried, not impatient. He wasn’t taking what he wanted from her, wasn’t letting his own needs take control. He was showing her who was in charge by forcing her want of him. He was winning this battle. Desire pulsed through her, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her nails raked his back, and her knees, her fucking knees came up and squeezed his hips as her pelvis moved to meet his.
When she looked into his eyes, she saw it there, not triumph, not victory. She saw wonder, maybe love. She moaned breathlessly, a small hoarse cry that seemed to drive his passion as his thrusts became less measured, more desperate. She knew she would come, she didn’t try to hold it back. And then it hit her, shuddered through her. More than before, a small spark that turned into a fire as it razed her, knocked her senses out of her. His hands grabbed at her hair as her legs tightened, his thrusts sped up, his cock deeper, harder and his groans, loud, grunting as he came, saying her name softly into her hair as his orgasm faded.
All the things she wanted to say as she brought her hands from his shoulders and pushed at his chest. She didn’t want to own her passion, the feelings he evoked. She wanted to hate him, despise him, but her heart kept tripping over itself when she thought of him. Her mind was at war with her heart. He was Rusya Savisin and he owned her. She was not her own woman, and never would be. She didn’t want to be caged, no matter what her fucking heart told her.
Chapter 63
After they made love, after he pulled her under the covers and turned the lights out, he held her. He sensed her anger, that he’d won, that her body betrayed her. He didn’t feel victorious. He’d never been competitive despite the way he lived his life. Competitiveness caused lapses in judgement. He didn’t have many of them. But the one he had when Esma told him about Jackman. That almost cost him both her and his baby. It was a lesson.
He thought about that as he held his wife. His wife! In spite of the sex, she was full of tension and he wanted to work it out of her. He undid the corset and drew it off her. It was such a beautiful piece of lingerie he thought as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers before letting it fall to the floor. Then he stroked his hands up her belly to her breasts, caressed them gently. Not needy, not like a pig of a man, but small stokes. They were bigger already, from her pregnancy and as he squeezed them, he heard her moan.
She turned to her back, looked into his eyes. “They hurt.”
He stopped. “Does it hurt when I rub them like that?”
“No.”
He waited for more, waited for her to ask for more, but she wouldn’t. He dropped his lips to a nipple and pulled it into his mouth. A gentle suck, a teasing with his to
ngue and he heard a heavy indrawn breath. Her other breast beckoned and he gently squeezed it while he continued to tease her nipple with his lips. Her hands crept up the back of his neck and into his hair, fingers sliding through and giving small tugs, each time he squeezed lightly, each time he sucked. Her chest rising and falling with her breathing. He let go of her breast and his hand stole down her belly, resting for a minute on the soft, little rise of her belly, then further to her pussy, his fingers finding her clit as she spread her legs, welcoming him.
He felt her folding in on herself, heard her breathing speed up and get heavier as he stroked her pussy with his fingers and her breast with his lips. She held his head tighter to her, gasping, mewling, her body writhing. He didn’t speed up, just kept up the steady pace until she came. Her knees coming up a little as she gasped out his name, her thighs squeezing his hand. He stilled and felt the tremors ripple through her. Felt the first hard ones, and then the gentle ones, and as he stroked a little more, a little lighter, she responded, still ebbing.
He moved his hand back up her body until it was resting on her belly, then his head next to hers on the pillow. “I love you, Esma.”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want her to say anything and for once they were in sync. He heard a small soft breath escape her lips, then she shifted onto her side, her back to him. He hugged her to him, spooned her. This time she didn’t tense up. Didn’t resist. She laid her hand on his. He heard her breathing even out as he drifted off.
♦ ♦ ♦
In the morning, he waited until she woke up, watched as she opened her eyes, drifting, then clearing as she met his eyes. She didn’t move, just lay there, maybe thinking, maybe waiting for him to speak.
“I have something for you,” he said.
A small box, wrapped in shiny red, a ribbon tied around it and her fingers trembled subtly as she took it from. “What’s this?”
She shoved herself up to sitting, the blankets dropping to her waist, her nakedness distracting him. He lifted the sheet and tucked it under her arms, covering her breasts. He needed to concentrate on her right now, not on what his fucking dick wanted.
“It’s… was…” Rusya groped in his mind trying to decide what to tell her. Then settled on the truth. It was simpler that way. “I bought this for you. A gift for Christmas.”
Esma stared down at it, holding it between her small hands, not moving. Thinking. He could see her mind working, see her draw the right conclusions. “You bought this for me before Christmas?” The words were hushed, full of understanding, dawning.
“Open it.” He wanted to see her face, wanted to know if she like it.
She tossed a quick glance his way, an Esma smile that fucked with his senses, then pulled at the ribbon, forcing it off, tearing the paper. Then the box, fumbling to open it, finally sorting it out, taking a small breath and lifting the hinged lid. Her eyes danced over it, a necklace, gold chain and pear-shaped pendant. She ran her finger across the pendant. “It’s beautiful.” He heard the catch in her voice.
“It’s a Mandarin garnet.” He watched as she struggled to free it from the box and then he took it from her, pulled it out and opened the chain. “Turn around and hold your hair up.” His own hands were shaking, it had been so long since he’d given a gift like this. He draped it around her neck, then clasped it closed.
She picked the pendant up in her fingers and looked down at it, then turned, her eyes bright, swimming. But her smile told him everything. The sheet fell and the garnet dipped towards her breasts. It was a spectacular splash of orange, a fiery sun that reminded him of Esma each time he looked at it. It was a thing of beauty. She was a thing of beauty. Together, they were perfection.
She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged her body to his. “Thank you, Rusya. I’ve never had such a beautiful gift.”
He wanted to tell her that he would get her anything in the world, anything her heart desired to see her happy. But he was a man, and he had a beautiful naked woman in his arms. He glanced quickly over to the clock on the dresser. They had time, just enough, before they had to get ready to go.
Chapter 64
Esma didn’t know what to expect as a welcome when they returned to Vancouver. She’d heard Rusya on the phone before they left Yuri’s house, talking to Janice. Explaining the situation. Esma knew that her marriage to Rusya would change all the relationships she had with Rusya’s people. Including Anto. Her mind didn’t spend much time on it though because it kept getting drawn back to Rusya’s words last night as he stroked her, touched her so intimately, so gently, so perfectly that she worried he had a split personality.
Then he told her he loved her.
She was elated but also not, because she didn’t know if he said those words to placate her, to get her to be obedient. But she didn’t think he would. He wasn’t like that. Not Rusya Savisin. He didn’t do or say anything he didn’t mean. Not since she’d known him. He forced her defences down last night with tenderness, lulled her, held her, loved her. And then the gift this morning. Her hand kept straying back to it, stroking the garnet. No one had ever given her a gift like this. From the heart. A gift he bought for her before the plane crash. All of this, his seduction of her last night, his profession of love, the garnet. It was incongruent with the man she knew. She wanted this man. The one who was her husband.
The flight back was a commercial flight. Ten hours of flying time and a three-hour layover in Toronto. Lots of time to talk and yet Esma couldn’t form the words that needed saying. Why was this so difficult? Back on the plane after the layover in Toronto, next to Rusya in first class. She in the aisle seat, he by the window, being over-solicitous with her, brusque with Jensen, the male flight attendant who seemed to fixate on Esma, eyes constantly stroking her, talking to her every chance he could. At one point he laid his hand on her shoulder as he bent down to tuck a blanket around her, taking an inordinate amount of time and care with the task. She kept her eyes lowered, her bottom lip between her teeth and Rusya, beside her, shifting, his eyes piercing the oblivious man. Jensen left after he squeezed Esma’s shoulder and a few minutes passed, nothing said between Esma and Rusya, but tension in the way he held himself, irritation in his eyes as he gazed at the back of the seat in front of him.
Then, he said, “Excuse me,” as he inched past her and walked down the aisle to the galley. She watched as he leaned in, said something very quietly to Jensen, who reared back at first, his eyes rounding like saucers, then he nodded quickly. Rusya stopped talking, turned, and returned to his seat.
Esma blew out a breath. Wondered if he would unleash on her next. “What did you say to him?”
He bent down, said into her ear, “I told him that I would fucking tear his nuts off if he touches you one more time.”
Esma took his hand, gave it a squeeze. “Please don’t tear his nuts off.” As she said it out loud, she giggled. And then he laughed, returned the squeeze. She wanted to snuggle into him, didn’t know if he would welcome that kind of public show of affection. Wondered where her reticence was coming from. She wrapped her fingers around the garnet instead, closed her eyes and remembered last night, this morning.
Anto was with Rusya’s driver at the airport. He threw a brief serious nod Esma’s way as they entered the car. He wasn’t smiling, no humour, no big laughter or jokes. He sat across from Rusya in the limo and he and Rusya launched into a business discussion. An update of everything that went down in Rusya’s absence. They spoke in Russian and had an unfiltered conversation. Esma was part of the family now. There were no secrets. But she had also been dismissed, not a participant in the conversation, not expected to be.
As they reached the gates of Rusya’s estate, he said to Anto, “Is Marisol back?”
Anto hesitated. “Yes. Mad at me though.” He frowned. “Really mad.”
Rusya cracked a small grin and even Esma had to smile. She didn’t know where Marisol had been or why she was mad, but to see Anto off-balance was somewhat amusi
ng.
Rusya said, “Please join us for dinner on Friday. You and Marisol. Tell her I insist she come, in case she’s too angry at you to agree.”
Then the door opened and the driver helped Esma from the car. Janice was standing on the step, her thin blouse hardly a barrier for the cold wind that was threatening a dump of snow. All three approached and Janice’s eyes swept Esma, then she stepped up to her and pulled her into her arms, giving her a hard hug. “Oh my fucking god,” she said in front of Rusya and everyone else. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Esma heard the truth in her words, returned her hug. For her to swear in front of Rusya said a lot. This woman was more than an ally, she was a friend and Esma needed one now more than ever. Janice nodded at Rusya and Anto, and with arms still around Esma’s shoulders walked her into the house and towards the stairs. No backward glances, no parting words, just the opening and shutting of the office door behind her.
“I can’t tell you how worried I was,” Janice said. “When Rusya called and told me you were safe, I literally cried.”
Esma wanted to correct her. There was no other way to cry but literally, but she kept her mouth shut. Janice might be the first person who had ever cried for her. “Why?” she asked instead. Silly little insecurities.
They were on the landing and Janice stopped, faced Esma. “Because… I…” She paused, groping for words and Esma was surprised at Janice’s loss of demeanor. The woman who was as straight as they come (not literally), said what she meant, her cool efficiency a thing of envy, was flustered and at a loss for words.
Esma let her off the hook. “It’s okay. It’s nice to have someone care. I’m happy to see you too. Happy to be here. Safe.”
Janice nodded, understood. “It is safe here, isn’t it?”
Which made Esma wonder about Janice. Curious about who she was and why she was here with Rusya. But she didn’t ask, not yet. She’d save that for another day.