Page 124 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Sandrine

After Nadia takes Violet to bed, Kirill’s hungry gaze sets on me. With his hand in mine, we move toward our bedroom. Inside, my husband pushes me against the back of the door and lays several minutes of intense kissing on me. When he touches my face, I notice a bandage on his hand.

Thinking that he broke a glass sometime in the evening, I ask, “What happened to your hand?”

“Blood oath,” he rasps, kissing my neck. “My men. It begins, officially. My reign. Tonight.”

When his hands glide over the heavy satin of my dress, he growls. “I have to get you out of this gown.”

I show him my back, and within seconds, the laces of the corset are unraveled, and he’s pushing it off my shoulders. The dress was so tight, they gave me a slip and nothing else.

“Turn around, Sandrine Volkov,” he says in a low, dangerous voice.

Shaking, I face him. Face the anointed and unstoppable pakhan of the Russian Bratva.

“You are beautiful. And you’re mine.” He leans in, his lips on my cheek. “Forever. Say it, Sandrine. You’re mine forever.”

“Forever. I’m yours, Kirill.” I clear my throat. “Pakhan.”

Smiling, he brings my hands to the front of his shirt. “Now do me.”

The entire ceremonial garb made him look powerful and even a little scary. This shirt is thicker than the others he usually wears day-to-day.

And it’s stained with blood.

Swallowing, I undo all the buttons, not showing any fear.

With the shirt open and my hands on his chest, feeling his pectorals, he tears off the jacket and the bloodied shirt, tossing both with urgency.

Bare-chested but still in his trousers, a feral look gleams in his eyes. I’m lifted and tossed face down onto the bed. Every nerve in my body wakes up. My brain starts to slip offline from the sudden movement, the feeling of falling, of danger. But I breathe through it. This is my life now. This is what my husband wants. It’s what I want, too.

Kirill’s big masculine body that will power-fuck me into this mattress comes with the scent that I have grown to trust. And grown to crave. This has to be the old me.

“Kirill, please,” I whimper, squirming against the mattress for friction.

He pushes his stiff erection along the seam of my ass cheeks. “Please, what? Fuck you here?”

“Did… Did we ever?” My sight goes hazy as a finger brushes my back hole.

“A few times before you were pregnant,” he says, gravel in his voice, as if he’s remembering every detail.

I can practically visualize the memory. Looking over my shoulder, I see his lustful gaze is so powerful right now.

“Did I like it?” I ask.

“You loved it,” he says definitively. “I never did that with any other woman. You were my first, Sandrine.”

That admission puts into perspective just how much of a sex kitten I’d been at one time. The moment I saw him again, even with a gun to my head, my core throbbed for him.

“Now. I want that now.” I take a breath. “Conquer me, Pakhan. I’m sure a maiden was taken that way long ago by pillaging brotherhood leaders.”

“Fuck.” Kirill strokes my hole with a wet thumb. “You asked for it. Any other night, I might have been tame. I would have taken you like this gently. Not tonight. Not with the blood of my brotherhood on my clothes from their loyalty.” He hauls himself off the bed. “Don’t you fucking move.”

Footsteps stomp into the bathroom, and he comes back with something in one hand. He repositions himself between my legs as his knees kick my thighs apart.

“Just how wet are you for me, moya zhena?” One finger teases my center, the other hand massaging my hole again with something oily and slick.

From what I can feel dripping down my thighs, I’m very wet. He groans, stroking my slippery lips. The dual sensation is making me see stars already.