Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 1)

by Hayley Faiman

  “This is where I am from. Moscow,” he states, his accent thicker and so very fascinating to my ears.

  “This is a cathedral, right? It is very different. Is it so brightly colored in person?” I ask as my eyes still search and take in the colors of the print.

  “It is. I should like to take you there one day if you so desire … to my homeland,” he murmurs softly.

  I feel his finger on my bare shoulder as it circles my skin then slowly slides down my arm, leaving a heated trail and goosebumps in his wake.

  “I would love that. I haven’t traveled anywhere before,” I freely admit. Maxim’s lips press against my shoulder, my skin still hot from his fingertip’s touch.

  “Come to bed, wife,” he says gruffly. His words startle me. I can’t help the chill that runs through my body.

  I am not prepared for this. I don’t even truly know what to expect. When mothers were giving their daughters “the talk,” mine was using a pointing stick to hit my toes and instep because my feet weren’t perfect enough.

  “I- I’ve never …” I let the words trail off, looking into his ice blue eyes as they flare with something I don’t understand.

  “It’s all right. I know, my little dove. I’ll take care of you,” he almost growls.

  Maxim grasps my hand with his and leads me toward the gigantic bed. I feel like I am going to panic. My breathing becomes erratic, and my eyes can’t stop darting around the room. It feels like it’s spinning.

  I can’t speak; my throat and mouth feel like I have swallowed sawdust, so I stay silent. It is my chosen statement anyway. I can’t get into trouble for questioning things when I am silent—I have learned this lesson the hard way.

  Silence is golden.

  Maxim looms behind me, his large hands sliding from my bare shoulders to my arms and down to my wrists. His lips touch the base of my bare neck before he slowly removes the pins from my hair, allowing it to tumble down my back, hitting my elbows. I am not used to having it down often; in ballet, it is a distraction and must be worn in a bun—always.

  “I have never seen your hair down, Haleigh. It is simply breathtaking.” His voice is soft and his words charming.

  Not once has somebody complimented me; my teachers and parents have only ever pointed out the flaws in my dancing. Each performance was a lesson on how to grow but never have I been praised. I find myself smiling at the gift.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, unable to move or say anything else.

  Maxim gathers my hair at the nape of my neck in a faux ponytail before letting it slide down one shoulder. His lips touch my opposite shoulder, and then he kisses his way up to my ear.

  “You shall never wear it in a bun again, my little dove. You will not hide its beauty from me, do you understand?” he commands.

  It is a complete command, and yet it isn’t. It is a compliment laced within a command. I find myself willing to yield to any demand he has, as long as he compliments me, which is sad in and of itself. The attention is lustful. Maxim’s focus on me, his attention to me, is what dreams are made of, or at least my own.

  “It’s vulgar to wear your hair loose, Maxim,” I murmur my mother’s words, knowing it isn’t what he wants to hear, but also knowing I could not just accept it. I would feel too guilty. Nevertheless, it is what I have been taught.

  Suddenly, his strong fingers are wrapped around my chin as he moves my head around toward him, my neck is craned extremely uncomfortable but not painfully so.

  “Nothing your husband asks of you is vulgar, Haleigh. Nothing about you could ever be vulgar, and your parents have no power here in this house or in this marriage. You will do good to remember that when I ask something of you, whatever it may be—you do it.” His voice is low and gentle, but his tone is stern, reiterating his seriousness.

  “Yes, Maxim,” I whisper, my eyes wide with shock and anticipation.

  Maxim nods and then slides the hidden side zipper on my dress down my body, releasing me from my wedding dress.

  I feel exposed, my breasts bared with white lace bikini panties. It is the most naked I have ever been in front of a man who wasn’t at the dance studio, and even then, I wore a nude leotard most of the time, covering my body.

  Maxim’s fingers dance down my spine and over my hips before he grips them. I can hear him breathing heavily behind me, and I wonder if I turn him on or if he is disgusted by my thin frame. He spins me around to face him, and he looks pained as his eyes travel up and down my body.

  “So beautiful, Haleigh, but so achingly thin,” he whispers as if it hurts his heart to even think the words, let alone say them.

  “I-I have to stay thin so that I can be lifted by my partners. Plus, I dance ten hours every day of the week. I’m sorry that I don’t appeal to you, Maxim. You must be terribly disappointed,” I confess shakily, looking down. I can’t look him in the eye. I can’t see the disappointment that is there, where I know it most certainly is. Instead, I stare at his beautiful thick throat and wait.

  “Haleigh, look at me.” His tone is sharp, commanding, and my eyes automatically dart to meet his.

  “You are beautiful, in every way. You do not disappoint me. I am just concerned for your health. This body that you carry is not a healthy one,” he rasps.

  Maxim’s concern floods my heart. A man who doesn’t know me is concerned for my health—it is deeply and heartrenderingly stunning. A lone tear escapes my eye and Maxim bends down to kiss it away, showing me again that he has compassion I have never seen before, not from any other human.

  “Come now,” he mumbles, picking me up by my waist, and guiding me gently onto the bed, His large body hovers over mine but doesn’t press into me.

  “I will show my wife what it means to be mine,” he murmurs, and I know that he is going to make love to me. His lips crash down on mine, and his tongue licks my lips, urgently trying to gain entrance to my mouth.

  I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat as I feel his tongue slide into my mouth, warm, soft, and firm. He knows what he is doing, and I am relying on him to take care of me. His large hands slide onto my hips, and I feel his fingertips tracing the waist of my panties. He then slides over my core, firmly rubbing my lace covered center, and applies pressure exactly where my body has begun to throb.

  Maxim’s lips leave my mouth and travel down my neck as his other hand carefully wraps around my thigh and spreads my legs farther apart, his lower half nestling between my thighs.

  “My beautiful little dove,” he whispers, kissing down my chest.

  Maxim’s lips caress my breasts and I blush. I know my breasts are extremely small, and he will be so disappointed in me. Why would he want a woman with such small breasts? I have zero femininity when I am out of clothes. I look like a boy, and I have never hated myself more than I do at this moment.

  I want to be everything he desires, I want him to always treat me the way he is right now. I love the softness and gentleness he’s offering me at this moment. I yearn for his attentions and his gentility, something no other person has given me. I want to give myself to him this instant, not because it is my duty but because I want him, all of him, and all that he can give me.

  “Open your eyes. Stay with me,” he says. His tone sharp but his voice gentle.

  “You are beautiful,” he murmurs against my breast.

  He swirls his tongue around the flesh of my breast before he wraps his lips around my nipple. He flicks the hardened bud with his tongue, causing my back to bow, the foreign feeling delicious.

  “Maxim,” I breathe, the first words I have spoken in what feels like hours.

  “Yes, my dove, say my name just like that.”

  His fingers are still rubbing against my lace-covered core; I arch my hips closer, wanting more of his touch. He moves the lace aside, and I feel his rough, calloused finger slide over my now wet center. I can’t stop my hips from searching for more.

  But more of what, I don’t know.

  I just know I need mor
e.

  Maxim’s lips move to my other breast while his hand goes into my hair and lightly tugs at the same time his finger slides inside of my center. I gasp at the foreign feeling, the stretching of my body, and open my eyes to see that his are solely focused on mine. My hands fly into his messy hair, and I feel his lips smile on my skin when I arch toward him and moan shamelessly.

  “Oh, fuck baby,” he groans.

  I practically scream when his thumb starts making circles my clit. It feels so good; I can’t stop my body from moving. I feel like I am searching.

  I can sense something within myself building, and I know once I find what I am ascending toward, I will feel fantastic. I don’t know what to do. My heart is racing, and I feel my blood pumping in a panic. I scream as everything rushes through me, an explosion from the inside out, and my body sings as my core contracts around his finger.

  Maxim’s hand in my hair tightens, and I throw my head back crying out for more, for him to stop—all at the same time—and then finally my body goes limp. With two more slow thrusts from his finger, he slides it out of my center and lies down next to me.

  “What happened?” I ask, unsure of why I reacted so violently.

  “That was the first step in making you mine, Haleigh. Now, I will truly own your body,” he murmurs before he kisses my neck.

  I feel my panties sliding down my legs and watch as they are tossed to the side of the bed. Maxim takes his beautiful suit off, baring himself to me. I gape at him in shock and awe, the first naked man I have ever seen.

  Tattoos cover Maxim’s body. They aren’t colorful, like some of the ones I have seen on other men’s bodies in magazines or on television. They have a blue tint to them; and as captivating as they are, they look menacing. His blue eyes snap to mine once he is completely nude, and he watches me assess his body.

  I smile softly unable to say or do anything else. I am nervous again.

  “I will care for you, my wife. I protect you from anything that could hurt you,” he says.

  His accent is so thick that I can hardly understand him as he crawls between my spread thighs. The head of his hard length is pushing against my center, and I gasp. Maxim’s eyes are focused on mine, completely unwavering.

  His hand cradles my cheek as his lips gently touch mine before they make their way to my ear. I feel his lips touch below my ear, down my neck, across my collar, and up to my other ear, sending waves of warmth through my body—relaxing me.

  “I will take care of you, golubushka,” he whispers, calling me little dove, again.

  Wrapping my arms around his back, I pull him closer to me, welcoming his weight and warmth against my chest. His hard length slides deeper inside of my body, slowly, and painfully. I whimper at the surprised shot of pain that slices through me. I expected pain, but not like this. It burns, and I can’t stop the tears from flowing down my face.

  “Calm, Haleigh. I won’t move until you are ready. Do not cry,” he orders.

  Maxim’s voice is rough, laced with concern, but an edge is there I cannot decipher. I take a few deep breaths, releasing them as I will my muscles to relax. I feel as though I want to move, I need to move. I test my hips and lift them up, toward Maxim, and his body shudders on top of me.

  “You feel so good, golubushka,” he whispers as he pulls out slightly and then slowly thrusts back inside of me. A rush of heat spurs through my body at the movement, and I find myself craving more.

  “More, Maxim, please,” I whisper, begging, and he complies. His body begins moving in and out of mine with perfect rhythm, sweat gathering on his forehead. He is in complete control.

  I feel that building sensation again, the one I had just moments ago when my body shattered, and I can’t help myself—I claw at Maxim’s back, lifting my hips and arching, searching for the exploding release that I know will soon follow.

  Maxim’s lips crash against mine as he begins to plunge into my body erratically, his perfect tempo gone. I whimper as I feel my body tightening, and I rip my lips from his, screaming through my release. Maxim doesn’t stop thrusting into my body. A few moments later, his whole torso goes rigid, and he roars with his own cliMax. I can feel him filling my body with his come, and then he collapses on top of me, his lips trailing kisses up and down my neck.

  “Better than I ever imagined it would be, my beauty,” he whispers, his hand tangled in my hair, his lungs attempting to catch a breath with my body still wrapped around his. I attempt to move from underneath him, but his hands tighten their grasp, one in my hair the other on my hip.

  “Stay, let me be inside of you just a few moments longer,” he murmurs, his lips on my ear and his hands around me. His big body holds me like I am fragile, yet safe.

  I look into his eyes and melt at the softness they hold for me. No words need to be said. This is a new journey for us. While I don’t know him, I feel as though this is right. He has treated me kindly for a moment that he could have very well been cruel or uncaring. But he showed me nothing but absolute tenderness.

  Later that evening, after we have cleaned up and I have changed into a silk nightgown that he presented me with following my bath—a bath he drew for me and filled with sweet-scented bubbles. I didn’t know what to think about the all-white, silk gown, and as if he could read my mind, Maxim assured me that it was brand new and meant for our wedding night—our first night together as husband and wife. The gesture so sweet that it made tears come to my eyes.

  This man far exceeds any expectations that I once had.

  Maxim gathers me in his arms, almost lovingly, and begins to stroke my hair as I lie on his chest. I have so many questions, so many thoughts running through my head.

  “Your tattoos are beautiful, Maxim,” I remark into the dark. I feel his arms tighten around me, though I don’t know why.

  “You are so very innocent, my Haleigh. I plan to keep you that way forever.”

  His words are strange, but I don’t read into them. My eyes slowly close against my will as his lips touch the top of my head.

  I fall into a dreamless sleep wrapped in my new husband’s strong arms. I feel safe next to his capable body.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I wake and stretch my body only to find I am sore all over. Every part of my body aches, and my core is tender and a little raw. I find myself completely alone in the bedroom as I take in the space during the light of day.

  I hope that Maxim will let me brighten up the dark room. The blacks and reds are beautiful but so very somber and gloomy. I would love to add some dove gray accents or even a completely different color—cream, perhaps. I smile to myself, trying to imagine what Maxim would look like with his tattoo-covered body lying atop a cream duvet, his sandy blond hair mussed, and his ice blue eyes piercing me with their gaze.

  It wouldn’t work. The duvet must stay dark, like my Maxim—dark and mysterious.

  My Maxim—he is just that, mine as I am his.

  I snag the black satin robe that I notice hanging behind the door. Closing my eyes, I inhale, enveloped in the smell of Maxim. His spicy masculine scent is surrounding me, and I can’t help but smile at the memories of how it felt to have his big arms around me, holding me, being so very gentle with me.

  I slowly make my way downstairs, careful to keep my ears trained for any sound that will alert me to his whereabouts in the gigantic home.

  I hear low music coming from the kitchen so I stroll inside to see Maxim standing with his back to me, shirtless, in only a pair of unbuttoned jeans. He’s making something at the stove. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him in the full daylight.

  On the top of his shoulder, I see the handle of what appears to be a dagger; on the other side, I imagine there would be the shaft appearing as though it is slicing through his neck. On his bicep is a detailed rose, which surprises me, because he doesn’t seem to be a man who would tattoo a flower on his body.

  One of his shoulders has a detailed and beautifully shadowed tiger. A huge cross goes down his spine and across th
e tops of both his shoulder blades right under the dagger tattoo. The detail is hauntingly gorgeous, and I wonder what they all mean. They are too sporadically placed not to mean something.

  Maxim must feel me watching him because he turns around. His eyes rake over me, standing in his kitchen, wearing his robe, and he smiles. We don’t speak to each other, but I take a moment to look at the tattoos that cover the front of his magnificently sculpted body. He has stars on each side of his pectorals, and a church that looks very much like St. Basil’s Cathedral with eight domes on top covering his entire torso, almost.

  On his side, an angry bull wraps around his stomach, the face of the bull lands on his abs, and I assume the rest is on his lower back. On his other side, he has the letters SER written vertically in old English script. When I am finished perusing his body, I look up to his eyes and see that he is watching me intently, his bright blue eyes almost navy in color.

  “I couldn’t see all of your tattoos last night, Maxim. They are wonderfully done,” I say softly. I then watch as something flickers in his eyes; pain, maybe.

  “Come,” he grunts motioning for me to join him at the stove, and I do. I see that he is scrambling eggs and frying bacon.

  “You sleep well, my dove?” he murmurs as his big arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into his body. I wrap my own arms around his torso and rest my head on his chest, feeling his warmth and listening to his slow heartbeat.

  “I did, Maxim, thank you.” I practically sigh, like a swoony teenager.

  “Set the table, yeah? We eat soon.” He squeezes my waist with his hand.

  Taking a step back from him, I nod once and turn to start familiarizing myself with the kitchen—where the plates, glasses, and silverware are stored.

  I gather everything and take it into the breakfast room off the kitchen. The sun is shining brightly into the space, and I can’t help but smile. It is a gorgeous day already, and hopefully, a start to a beautiful life for us.