Beyond Measure: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  I blink in surprise. She’s quoting something but I don’t know what.

  Excellent. My new wife is accidentally drunk. I should have been more careful.

  At that moment, Lev comes over to us. Caroline greets everyone readily. She’s damn near sociable. Lev whispers something in my ear about a rumor involving a party crasher. He says someone assumed it was her brother, or someone in his group, but there are more guests than we’ve accounted for.

  The local governor is here, and other major power players. I don’t want to cause a scene, but this concerns me.

  “I don’t fucking care what you need to do. Find out,” I tell him. We get the guest list and I look it over, but everything looks kosher, and there are too many people mingling for us to track down who’s here unexpectedly.

  “What is it, husband?” she asks in her tipsy voice. “You seem… pler-plexed. No. Perplexed.”

  I have to admit, I like the tipsy Caroline. She smiles more easily, cracks jokes, and isn’t anywhere near as self-conscious as before.

  “I’m not happy with my wife, because she’s had too much to drink,” I tell her, raising a stern brown in her direction.

  “Oh,” she says with mock repentance. “Will that earn me…” she drops her voice and bites her lip before she continues, her finger delicately tracing her collarbone. “A spanking?”

  I swallow hard. “It does,” I tell her sternly. “A bad girl spanking. The kind that hurts.”

  Sticking her lower lip out in mock repentance, she looks at me from beneath lowered lashes. “Over your knee, sir?”

  Jesus, I like drunk Caroline. My dick’s already hard at the thought.

  “Over my lap.” I brush her hair off her forehead and bring my mouth to her ear. “I’ll strip you first. Then your ass feels my palm tonight.”

  She fairly purrs in my ear. I have absolutely no control over my wife, but I’m enjoying this, because she forces my hand. She gives me reason to exert my dominance over her and coquettishly bows to meet my demands.

  “Let’s go,” she whispers in my ear. “I’ve been a very bad little girl who needs to be punished.” It surprises me that she’s flirting from this angle, but I’m not going to miss my opportunity.

  Lev nods to me and gives me a thumbs up. He’s done a head count, and all is well. No one’s come here who shouldn’t. We’re safe.

  “Back to the room,” I growl. Now that we’ve talked about what will happen, I need to have her alone. The clock is ticking on my need to consummate our marriage, and the more intimate we grow, the easier that will be.

  “The groom has to cut the cake!” Someone shouts out. I squint at the crowd but don’t see who it is. I wave them off, but Caroline takes me by the hand.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this!” she says. “And oh, Tomas, it’s chocolate.”

  “Is that good?” I’m not a cake eater.

  “I love chocolate. Oh my God, I need some.”

  I definitely need to get Caroline drunk more often.

  They’re playing some kind of crazy song as we approach the table, and Caroline’s laughing her head off. I shake my head and make her wait while I cut a large wedge of cake, then hand her the knife to do the same. She cuts a large slice and swipes her finger through the chocolate center.

  “Mmm,” she says. “Oh God this is the best.”

  “Would you like a whole piece?” I ask.

  She nods eagerly, so I hold the cake in front of her until she opens her mouth, then I shove a large portion in. She giggles, her mouth spraying crumbs everywhere, before she swallows the rest of the large slice. Laughing out loud, she picks up the piece she cut for me and shoves it in my mouth. Crumbs scatter and icing smears my upper lip, but it’s worth it to see her eyes light up and hear that musical giggle. The crowd laughs at our antics, but when I turn to take Caroline with me back to our table, or preferably my room, I see Lev raise his hand and signal to me. I look up at him. Four fingers are raised in the air, his thumb tucked beneath them.

  It’s our sign for danger.

  Fuck.

  He’s telling me she’s in danger but doesn’t want to risk rousing suspicion from the crowd.

  It’s then that I realize my guards are on the move, and several have weapons drawn. Lev reaches me first.

  “Get her back to your room,” he says, “Go!”

  A few people around us notice the tension and whispers begin hushing through the crowd. When he reaches me he comes straight to me. “One of our guards is missing,” he says.

  “Impossible. We’ve just counted them not a minute ago.”

  “Very possible,” he says. “Think about it. But we don’t want to be overheard.” He looks at me and shakes his head.

  “Who?”

  “Ilya.”

  I don’t know each man by name, but I know Ilya is young and fairly new to the brotherhood.

  I’m not going to fuck around with this. He’s right, I need to get her out of here, though I hate leaving my men unprotected.

  “Time to go,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the exit. Immediately, a dozen uniformed guards flank my side, but it doesn’t bring me the security it once did. If one of our guards may have been killed, one of them could be an infiltrator.

  I march her quickly to my room, my gun already drawn. I’m prepared. Whoever it is, I’m ready to defend my wife. I’m ready to fucking kill.

  Is she the reason they’re even here?

  I imagine I hear someone in the hall, and I swivel around with my gun drawn. Caroline shrieks and sobers when she sees me holding my gun, prepared to fight.

  “You do what I tell you,” I say.

  “You’ve mentioned that once or twice,” she quips. “It’s kind of like your motto.”

  “I’ll give you motto,” I mutter, tugging her into the bedroom. “Go sit on the bed.”

  “Oh, wow, this is weird,” she says, walking toward the bed but wobbling around the room as if we’re at sea.

  “It’s what happens when you drink too much,” I tell her.

  “Right,” she says, before she faceplants on the bed. “That’s better,” she mumbles into the blanket, still face down. “Am I getting my spanking now?”

  I’ll give her a spanking alright. She might regret taking this so lightly.

  Kneeling on the bed beside her, I unfasten the buttons on her beautiful dress. She shivers when I lift her out of the dress, one arm at a time.

  “Cold?” I ask her, my mind elsewhere, on what is happening with my men.

  “No,” she says. “You’re sexy.”

  I place my gun on the bedside table, and she doesn’t even flinch this time but opens her arms. Welcoming me.

  “Come here, husband,” she whispers. “Was I a good girl tonight?”

  I shake my head. “No, detka. You were very, very naughty.”

  “Oh, right,” she says with a pout. “And I earned a spanking?” Biting her lip, she’s absolutely adorable.

  “Yes,” I say, my voice husky. “Now lie over my lap.”

  She captures her lip between her teeth and sashays over to me, holding my gaze the whole time.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and pat my lap.

  “Naughty little girl,” I say, dragging this out. I like watching the way her eyes go half-lidded and she moans when I run my hand over the fullest curve of her ass. “Such a naughty little girl.”

  Without warning, I slam my palm against her full, beautiful backside. She gasps and moans, and I’m already hard as a rock. I give her a second smack, then a third, before I start fingering her between strokes.

  “Oh, God,” she moans, squirming over my knee. “Does alcohol turn you on?”

  “It can,” I say, slapping the underside of her curvy ass.

  “You’ve earned this,” I tell her. “Haven’t you?”

  “I think so,” she groans. With slow, deliberate strokes of my palm, I take her just to the edge of climax, until she’s panting and squirming over my knee. I pa
rt her legs and gently stroke her swollen, slick folds.

  “You need to come, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  “Mmmmm,” she moans, pushing herself on my hand.

  “On the bed,” I tell her, lifting her off my knee and placing her on her back. “Stroke yourself,” I order. Her eyes are half-lidded when she parts her knees and gingerly places her fingers on her pussy. She bites her lip but doesn’t look away. I watch her stroke harder and faster, until she’s right on the cusp of release.

  “Stop,” I order.

  She freezes, whimpering, and meets my eyes. I climb on the bed and part her knees, inhaling the seductive scent of her arousal, before I lower my face to her bare pussy and lazily drag my tongue between her folds.

  “Oh my God,” she moans, squirming beneath the onslaught of my tongue, but just as she’s on the cusp, I pull away.

  “Jesus, Tomas,” she whispers. “Oh, God, that’s so good. Why did you stop?”

  I hold her gaze before I order. “Beg.”

  Swallowing, she nods. I’m an asshole for taking advantage of her. She’s on the verge of climax and plastered, but it’s broken down walls that nothing else would. But the look she gives me is completely sober.

  “Please.”

  I look at her in surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought she’d fight me.

  I don’t want to make her ask twice. I need to do this. I need to do this now.

  I roll on a condom while I brace myself above her and my conscious plagues me. She’ll be sober in the morning, and I don’t want her anger and regret.

  I line the head of my cock at her entrance and hold her eyes with mine.

  “Are you sure?”

  Taking in a deep breath, she nods. “I’m sure.”

  “Hands above your head,” I command quietly, holding her gaze as she moves to obey.

  “Yes, sir.” She knows I need this now, her submission empowering me to claim her the way I need to.

  “Good girl. Keep them there,” I order. “Do not move them.”

  She only nods, swallowing and licking her lips. If eyes are a window to the soul, hers are a veritable well of passion I want to explore and study, until I know the meaning of the very tempo of her heart.

  “You said you’ve done this before,” I say. I want to know everything. I need to know.

  “Please don’t talk of that now,” she begs, her flirty eyes so serious something in me hurts for her. My natural instinct to protect rises.

  “I won’t,” I promise, because she needs to know she can trust me. But I’ll also give her honesty, so I amend, “For now.”

  I bend down to her and take her mouth with mine, tasting the sweet, tangy champagne, while I trap her wrists with my left hand and keep them pinned above her head. I move my mouth above hers, swallowing her gasp as I glide into her. Her whole body tenses beneath me and she whimpers, but I push through. I’m not hurting her. She feels so damn tight and perfect wrapped around me I need to hold myself back.

  “Relax,” I tell her.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers.

  “Don’t be. I won’t hurt you.” Not this way, anyway, not when she’s lying beneath me, vulnerable and trembling.

  She shakes her head, still pinned beneath me, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you promise?”

  I nod once. “I promise.”

  And it’s all she needs. Sighing, she sinks into this, melting into my touch, welcoming the rocking of my hips and the friction I build with firm, steady strokes.

  “Mmm,” she groans, her eyes fluttering, hips swaying, breath growing ragged and eager. My own pleasure is building to a crescendo, and when she throws her head back in utter bliss, her sweet moans of pleasure echoing in the room, I chase my own bliss right behind her.

  It’s finished.

  She’s mine.

  For one brief moment, I rest my forehead on hers. Our breath mingles, our bodies clasped in a lovers’ irrevocable bond. She’s my wife, now, fully.

  Too soon, I roll over off of her and pull her onto my chest. The room is still save our steady breath, and I run my hand through her hair once, twice, three times. It’s soft, silky, fragrant, this moment so intimate I want to savor it. I’m not a sentimental man, but I know this moment is sacred.

  It isn’t until I realize my chest is wet that I notice she’s crying.

  “Caroline!” I say in surprise. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  Christ, I hurt her. Did she lie to me? Was she a virgin?

  She’s trying hard to keep back her tears, but she can’t seem to help it.

  I wrap my arms around her and don’t say anything for a minute, but it kills me not to demand the truth. My patience quickly evaporates, though. I have to know. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shakes her head and cries harder.

  “I hate it,” she says. This woman is an enigma.

  I take in a deep breath to give me much-needed patience.

  “Tell me,” I press. “What do you hate? You need to give me the truth.”

  She surprises me by doing just that, as if being wholly bared to me makes it easier to be honest.

  “My brother’s friend,” she whispers. “The one who sent someone to take a picture? I hate sex because of him. Hate it. He… took advantage of me.”

  My grip on her tightens. I’ll kill him. Slowly, painfully kill him, and not until he suffers first.

  “How? Say it.”

  She cries harder but pushes on.

  “Rape. Repeatedly. There was nowhere for me to escape. I told my brother and he said I was a liar, and when Andros found out I told my brother, he cut me.”

  I sit up in bed, taking her with me. I feel my whole body tense and chill at once.

  “I’ll fucking kill him.”

  She breathes out, “Would you really?” It shouldn’t surprise me that there’s both awe and hope in her voice. “You hardly even know me, though,” she muses, but when her tear-filled eyes meet mine once more, her gaze pierces my soul. “I want him dead. I want to go to bed at night knowing that he can’t find me again. That he won’t do again what he’s done before.” Closing her eyes, she breathes in and out before repeating, “Would you really, Tomas?”

  “Of course, I would. No one hurts my wife.”

  “I wasn’t your wife when he hurt me.”

  “Irrelevant. He’ll suffer for what he’s done, but I’ll need more details.” I’ll need to know everything.

  “Tomas… you do know that you’ll start a war between brotherhoods?”

  “I do.”

  My blood pounds furiously in my veins, searing and destructive, annihilating reason and logic. I will murder the motherfucking bastard who hurt my wife.

  Rape.

  Repeatedly.

  “Any bastard who would do that deserves to be on the frontline in a Bratva war,” I tell her. “And your brother is a douchebag for not murdering him with his own hands. Both deserve to die. They both will.”

  “He will,” she says quietly. “We all do eventually.” Her voice fades to a whisper, contemplative and thoughtful, and I tighten my grip around her.

  I’ll assemble my men. I will have the truth.

  And I will end them.

  Chapter 12

  Caroline

  I wake the next day before Tomas, my entire body wracked with pain.

  I remember the night before when I reach a hand to my head. It feels like someone’s pounding it against a wall, over, and over, and over again.

  Great.

  I can hear him breathing heavily beside me, and one of his massive arms is strewn crazily about my lower back. Though I’m awake, I close my eyes and rest in this moment. This bed is massive and luxurious, soft but firm, the sheets like satin. And I’m tired. I yawn and take inventory of my body.

  My head isn’t the only thing that hurts. My butt aches from being spanked, but there’s more. Even though Tomas is a dominant, chest-beating alpha male, who does expect nothing short of full obedience, I’ve
learned in this short timeframe that he can also make being dominated sexy as hell. How? I have no idea. But I have some vague notion of handcuffs and spanking as being sexy to some people. Am I one of those people? I didn’t think so, until Tomas showed me otherwise. And if I’m honest, I’m eager for him to show me more.

  My association with sex is anything but pleasurable. I want to view it differently. I want to learn to enjoy what should be pleasurable.

  My core is mildly sore, and I feel dampness between my legs. I’m lying here naked, next to a man I hardly know, and for a moment, I panic. Why am I wet between my legs? Did I start my period? Oh, God, that would be terrible. But a quick inspection shows me it’s only… him. I swallow.

  He used a condom, but those aren’t foolproof...

  Shit.

  My period is due in a few days, so I think I can’t get pregnant now anyway. But still. This is something we need to discuss.

  But it isn’t until I open my eyes and bright sunlight blinds me that I groan out loud.

  “What is it, sweetheart? Are you alright?” Tomas’ voice is low and husky, and it does something to my heart, but I push it away. I can’t let myself go all female and flirty now, because I’m gonna die.

  “My head,” I groan. I lie flat on my back and don’t move, my eyes closed tightly. If I lie still enough, I don’t feel like I’ll vomit.

  “Ahh,” he says as the truth dawns on him. "We have an expression in Russia. ‘What is good for a Russian in the evening is bad for him in the morning.’” With my eyes shut tight, I don’t see him, but his voice is near, and I can feel the warmth of his body drawing closer to me.

  “Is that, like, your mother’s saying or something?” I ask with a sigh.

  “Not my mother’s,” he responds. “But it is an old Russian proverb. You had too much to drink last night. I shouldn’t have allowed it. I won’t again.”

  “Stop talking,” I moan. “It hurts to listen. Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.” I sit up in bed and the room swirls around me, but he holds me to him.

  “Breathe in through your nose,” he says. I obey. “Now out through your mouth.” Thankfully, the nausea passes. “Lie back down and don’t open your eyes,” he says. “I’ll get something that will help.” He steps into the other room.