He took me hard last night, and I came three times, practically seeing stars by the last orgasm.
“So bad, Ven,” I whine.
“Show me what’s mine,” he demands, removing his hand from my pussy and placing a kiss on my shoulder.
I roll to my stomach and lift to my knees, widening my legs and arching my back, keeping my chest flat on the bed—showing Ziven exactly what’s his, me and my pussy. I moan when his hands wrap around my ass cheeks and he spreads them wide.
“This ass is so fucking perfect, katyonak. You’ll give this to me, won’t you?” he asks before he licks me there and then blows gently.
“Oh, god,” I moan.
“Won’t you, Quinn? Please tell me you’ll let me bring you pleasure by fucking you in your perfect asshole,” he rasps.
“Yeah,” I groan.
“We’ll play first,” he announces before he moves his face to my pussy and shoves his tongue inside of me.
“Ziven,” I cry as I move my hips back, needing more of him.
I whimper when his tongue lashes out against my clit and starts to flick me, fast and firm strokes until I’m pushing against his face hard, searching for more, climbing toward my release. My thighs shake as I cry out with my climax, falling over the edge and whimpering with my release.
Ziven doesn’t waste a second. He’s on his knees, his hands wrapped around my hips, and in the next breath, he surges insides of me. His strokes are hard and fast, relentless, and precise.
“Play with your clit. Come again,” he demands with heaving breaths as he moves his hand to wrap around my throat and pull me up, my back against his chest.
“Ziven,” I gasp as I come around him.
He tightens his grip on my throat with a groan as his cock twitches and fills me with his own release. We don’t move. Aside from his dick continuing to gently glide in and out of my center, we stay otherwise still.
“My wife,” he murmurs against my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine.
“My husband,” I respond.
“All mine,” he grunts as his fingertips skate from holding onto my hip to pressing against my sensitive clit.
I look down at his tattooed knuckles against my pale skin, and I follow his heavily tattooed arm as far as I can. The blue tattoos, on his tanned arm, against my pale skin, it’s almost beautiful. It’s definitely sexy as hell.
I clamp my hand around his wrist as the sun from the window catches my ring. Ziven didn’t buy a traditional diamond wedding ring.
Instead, he slipped a large pear shaped Peridot green stone, surrounded by a halo of diamonds on my finger.
After we said I do and he kissed me, he told me that it reminded him of my eyes. I melted a little with that knowledge.
“We have brunch,” he murmurs as he gently slides out from between my legs.
“Do we have to?” I whine.
“We do. What’s the matter?” he asks.
I stay on my knees, watching as he walks to the side of the bed before he sits down, propping his back against the headboard. He reaches over and wraps his hands around my waist, pulling me over to his side. I have no choice but to go with him and curl into his side once he’s placed me there.
“What’s the problem?” he asks again.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Quinn.”
“I’ve been bitchy to the women, okay? And Ashley knows I left, and she loves you so much, and I’m just—I don’t want to go, okay?” I practically shout, sitting up.
Ziven reaches and cups my cheek with his palm. I enjoy the warmth on my face and close my eyes as I lean into him. It only lasts a moment, and then he lets his hand fall and his fingers cinch around my hip.
“Ashley will not think poorly of you, Quinn.”
“How do you know that? She may tell you that, but she’s certainly thinking something,” I murmur.
“Oh, I have no doubt she’s thinking; but I promise you that she will not think poorly of you. Especially not once she sees how happy we are together,” he rumbles.
“Are you happy with me?” I ask as my mind drifts over the past week.
We’ve not done much aside from making love, and I am in complete and total paradise with him, but does he feel the same with me?
“You’re doubting us, now? After what just happened?” he asks with a smirk.
“No, yes—I don’t know.”
“You’re thinking way too much into this, katyonak. Get dressed for brunch. I want to see the baby,” he grumbles.
I crawl over the top of him and then go into the bathroom to shower. As I start to get ready for the day, I think about the last time I was here in the city with Ziven.
It was Christmas Eve. We’d been fighting, of course, and I’d been an awful bitch, as usual. We were even fighting in the hospital while on our way to visit with Ashley, Yakov, and their new infant, Yurik. It was so bad that Yakov even came into the hallway and yelled at us.
I don’t want to ever see any of them again. I’m so embarrassed for the way I behaved every time I was around any of these people, especially Ashley. I was always so jealous of her. Jealous of the way Ziven simply adores her.
Once I’m showered, I leave the steamy bathroom in search of something to wear for brunch. I stand at the closet, ignoring the way Ziven is moving around the room, assuming he’s on his way to shower when I feel his arm wrap around my waist and his hand press against my belly.
“It will be fine, katyonak. Trust me, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, not believing a word.
Ziven presses his lips to my temple before he walks away and into the bathroom. I grab a dark charcoal, short wool skirt and slide it over my hips, after I’ve put on a pair of thick, black tights. Then I pull on a loose fitting, off the shoulder, cream sweater, tucking the front into the high waist band of my short skirt before I step into, and zip up, my black, ankle, high heeled booties.
When the bathroom door opens, I take that moment to slip back inside to finish my hair and makeup. I don’t look at Ziven, my concentration being on my tasks. My mind is too consumed with what is going to happen during this brunch, on my guilt for having been so horrible for so long, and on their judgements of me.
I style my hair in big, loose curls that fall down my back. My makeup I do a little darker than usual, a mask to hide all of my uncertainty. Once I’m ready, I turn and walk into the room where Ziven is sitting in a chair, his elbows resting on his knees while he touches buttons on his phone.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from trembling.
I watch as he lifts his eyes and then knits his brows together in confusion as he stands. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He walks right up to me, one hand pressing against my lower back, the other encased around the side of my neck.
“That’s a lot of makeup, katyonak,” he rumbles.
I don’t respond with anything other than a shrug.
“You don’t need it. You’re beautiful without it,” he murmurs.
I still don’t respond. I don’t know what to say. Do I tell him that I’m wearing it so that, hopefully, it will distract from the insecurities and fear I have from seeing all of the people that love him, and most likely hate me? I can’t tell him that. Not at all.
“Hey,” he calls. I lift my eyes up to meet his. “Who wears my ring?”
“I do,” I whisper.
“Who has my last name?”
“I do.”
“Who sleeps next to me, takes my cock like no one else can, and who is my little katyonak?” he asks with a wide smile.
“Me,” I rasp.
“Yeah, that’s right, you. So stop worrying. They’ll see this version of you, this kind, sweet, and wonderful version of you, and they’ll understand why you’re my wife, my lover, and my katyonak.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Ziven shakes his head, as if I’m being silly, and presses his lips to my forehead before he releases me. I w
atch as he walks over to the closet, grabbing our coats. He comes back over to where I’m still standing, frozen, and helps me with my coat before he puts his own on. Without a word, he takes my hand in his and tugs me gently until I start to walk alongside him.
I’m completely and totally wrapped up in my own thoughts as we walk down to the front desk. I don’t focus on anything but my feet as he orders a car to drive us to the restaurant. Ziven’s hand moves from being wrapped around mine to resting against my lower back.
“Relax, Quinn,” he murmurs against my ear. I jump.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“No, you’re panicked. Relax, all will be just fine,” he rumbles before pressing his warm lips against my cheek.
“Your car is here, sir,” the feminine voice says. I finally turn to look over at her.
She’s tall and wearing a skintight, long sleeve, low scooped dress. I can almost see her areolas it’s so low cut. I look up at Ziven, who has his eyes aimed at his shoes.
“Thank you,” he mutters as he presses his hand against my back to push me forward.
We walk outside in the cold New York air and my nose stings. I should be used to the cool weather, living in Denver, but it seems harsher here for some reason. Maybe it’s just me—me and my fears of what’s going to happen at this brunch.
We slide into the backseat of the car and Ziven wraps his arm around my shoulders before he tells the driver where we’re headed.
“She had a lot of stuff, and it was all hanging out,” I murmur, thinking back on the hotel front desk clerk.
Ziven starts to laugh, and I look over to him, his eyes twinkling and looking right at me. Then, he lowers his head so that his forehead is resting on mine, and he slides his hand inside of my coat, curling it around my breast over the top of my sweater. I gasp as his mouth touches mine gently.
“I like your stuff better,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Doubt that. There isn’t much happening here,” I breathe.
“But it’s mine,” he growls, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and gently tugging and nipping me.
“Ziven.”
“We’re here, sir,” the driver announces.
Ziven squeezes my breast before he releases it and then watches as the driver opens my door and holds out his hand for me to take. I try to get out of the car as ladylike as possible and wait as Ziven rounds the back to join me. I thank the driver, and Ziven tells him that he’ll call when we need a ride back to the hotel as he hands the man some money.
“Ready?” Ziven asks.
I look up at the name of the restaurant. The Oleandr.
“Is it Russian?” I ask as I bite my tender bottom lip.
“It is, but don’t worry about ordering. They’ll order family style, and we’ll share everything,” he announces.
I don’t say anything else. I can’t think of anything else to say to stall us from entering the restaurant. I spin my ring around my finger nervously as we walk inside.
Ziven, as a true gentleman, holds the door open for me and takes my coat before handing it to the hostess. Then he wraps his hand around my waist and we walk toward the back of the building.
When I enter the private room, a hushed silence takes over, and my eyes dart around to every person who is now looking at us in surprise. Ziven squeezes my waist gently and clears his throat. My eyes connect with Ashley, who looks confused, but not angry. I watch as she stands, her bundled up baby in her arms, and she walks over to us.
“You made it,” she murmurs looking up at Ziven.
“I did,” he says, lifting his hand to touch the tip of baby Yurik’s nose.
“I’m glad,” she announces.
I hold my breath when she turns to me. I expect to see anger, maybe skepticism in her eyes, but I don’t. Instead, she smiles and takes my hand with her free one and gives it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes are kind as she regards me before she speaks.
“You look good. You look happy,” she says softly.
“I am.”
“We all deserve our happiness, whatever that looks like,” she says before she squeezes my hand again and grins.
I watch as she turns and walks away from us, taking her seat. Ziven walks me over to an empty chair. It happens to be across from Emiliya, a woman I have only met once. She’s frightening, very serious, and her blue eyes track every single move I make, her face completely void of emotion. I sit down, looking to my right to find that Oksana is sitting next to me.
Ziven kisses my cheek before he walks over to a different empty chair. When I look to my left, I see that Haleigh is next to me, her lips smiling but her eyes warily taking me in. Her eyes flick over to Emiliya, and I follow them only to find Emiliya raising an eyebrow at her before she looks back at me.
“You left him,” Emiliya announces.
“Emiliya,” Tatyana hisses.
I remember Tatyana from California. In fact, I’ve met all of these women at least once. They terrify me, completely and totally frighten me, especially with the way they’re all watching me.
“I did,” I admit.
“I don’t know if we should stand and applaud or just stare at you in awe,” she says. My head rears back in surprise.
“What?” I breathe.
“Tatyana is the only one of us who has ever left one of the men. You’re like an anomaly,” Haleigh says from next to me.
“But I was so awful for so long,” I whisper.
“Yeah, well, Ziven practically kidnapped you. Nobody blames you for being bitchy with him,” Ashley says, wrinkling her nose. “You’re good now?” she asks, leveling her gaze on me.
“Very. We got married,” I say, unable to hide my smile.
“Oh, let’s see the ring,” Inessa cries from the end of the table.
I hold my hand out, and Emiliya grins as she takes it and pulls it toward her a little more. Each woman looks at my ring, but it’s Ashley who connects the ring to my eye color.
“He did beautifully,” she murmurs. “It’s the exact shade of your eyes.”
Haleigh’s green eyes meet mine, and she looks at my ring and then my eyes as hers water.
“Oh, now I want a green ring that matches my eyes,” she whispers.
“Tell Maxim. He’ll buy it for you,” Emiliya says with a wave of her hand.
“I want him to want to buy it for me, not because I tell him to. It’s so sweet,” she whispers as her eyes fill with tears.
“No. No, no, no,” Emiliya practically shouts.
“What?” Haleigh asks, turning to look at her.
“We can’t be pregnant together, no,” she says.
“I—well it’s too late,” Haleigh shrugs.
“Oksana, are you excited?” Ashley asks once we’ve watched Emiliya stare Haleigh down for a good thirty seconds.
“Umm, sure, yeah,” Oksana mutters, forcing a smile.
She looks anything but excited. Terrified, sick, and nervous perhaps, but not excited. Conversation shifts as the food arrives, and it seems like everybody starts to talk to the person next to them.
“Have you seen Mika?” Oksana whispers a few minutes later.
“I have,” I admit, glancing over to her.
She looks nervous, and her eyes keep flicking over to where her father, Pasha, is sitting next to who I assume is her intended.
“Does he seem okay?” she asks
“I guess,” I shrug, not exactly sure what she’s asking me.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” she whispers before closing her eyes.
I watch as she turns and smiles before talking to Inessa. I’m confused as to why she asked about Mika, and why she’s sorry, and why she doesn’t just tell him herself.
“This life is not one where we’re always able to make the choices we desire,” Haleigh murmurs next to me.
“Hmm?”
“Sana, she was given the opportunity to pick the man she wanted. She made her decision; but in the end, her father took her choice away. So, you see, w
e don’t always get to decide the partner we wish for,” she whispers.
I look down the table toward Ziven. He’s nodding as though he’s listening to someone, but his eyes are glued to me. He lifts his chin as if to ask if I’m all right, and I smile with a nod. I watch as his eyes soften with my smile and he gives me a grin of his own.
I may have felt as though I didn’t get a choice in him, but I did. In the end, I made the decision that I desired, and that decision is Ziven.
I LOOK DOWN THE table and catch Quinn’s eye. When she smiles at me, I know that she’s doing all right. She looks genuinely happy. Still a little apprehensive, but she doesn’t look terrified or traumatized, so that’s good.
“I found out where they’ve been hiding out,” Yakov announces.
“Who?” I ask.
“The Cartel,” Dominik mutters.
“I thought, since that restaurant thing a few weeks ago, they’d been quiet?” I ask.
I recall how Yakov explained just how they took care of the fuckers. Those pieces of shit, who were trying to get a hit out on Inessa, blackmailing him into trading Russian women as sex slaves.
“I don’t want them quiet, I want them gone,” Pasha announces. “O’Neil wants them gone, too,” he adds speaking of Patrick O’Neil, the head of the Irish Mob in the area.
“We always try to avoid war,” Maxim murmurs.
“It’s unavoidable. These fucks have been toying with us for years. We have the Motorcycle club and now the Irish on board. We need to end them,” Kirill announces.
“When will everybody be here?” Radimir asks, taking a sip of vodka.
“As much as I hate to possibly ruin Oksana’s wedding, the week of the occasion will be perfect. Nobody will anticipate it, and nobody will think any different of having a mass number of Russians coming into the country and gathering all in one city. Plus, Sergei will be here from Russia, bringing his men as well,” Pasha explains.
“And we strike?” Kirill asks.
“On the night of the wedding. The men strike while we party,” Pasha grins.
“So they’re close by then?” I ask, looking around at the men at the table.
“They’re hiding in plain sight. I thought the men at the restaurant were the bulk in the city. They weren’t. They’ve been meeting here, watching us, and waiting for the time to strike. They thought they had the opportunity when Oleg and Larisa hired one of their men to do a hit on Inessa. They’ve been scrambling since that didn’t work out, but I’m done waiting for them. It’s over,” Pasha explains.
Protected by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 6) Page 13