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She’s smarter than her father gives her credit for.
When I spoke to Charlie yesterday, he was surprised that I wanted to marry his daughter. He didn't think she was good enough to be a Bratva wife. But when I offered him money for his business and promised to leave his family alone, he quickly agreed to the deal. His own opinion of his daughter is so low it disgusts me. Such an arrogant asshole.
I sigh and run my fingers over a wrinkle in the white linen covering the table. The silverware is wrapped in a black linen cloth and an empty crystal wine glass sits in front of where Sophia should be sitting by now.
Waiters rush around, carrying trays of food. The scent of lamb fills the room as the chef’s special for the night is brought to the table next to me. My stomach growls as I glance at the food while the man begins to eat.
I glance at my watch again. It is eight o'clock. As I look towards the frosted glass doors at the front of the restaurant, Sophia walks in. Her beautiful brown eyes dart around the room before landing on me.
Right on time.
She runs her hands over the bodice of her long, loose floral dress. Her shimmering brown hair falls in soft waves to her waist. For a second, I think about how those silky strands felt wrapped around my hand. I bet I'll like it even more if I tug on it while I fuck her.
The other night was fun, but I can't wait to claim her on our wedding night.
“You’re early,” she says, sliding into the curved booth beside me. She leaves nearly a foot of space between us.
“You’re going to have to get a lot closer to me if you want to talk,” I smirk and drape my arm over the brown suede booth. My fingers brush against her bare shoulder as she shuffles a little closer to me.
Sophia unwraps her utensils and spreads her napkin across her lap, trying to hide her shaking hands. “I need to talk to you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
She’s nervous. That’s cute. She should be extremely nervous after the little stunt she tried to pull at the club.
“You know, you’re so God damn lucky that I’m in a forgiving mood, doll. I’ve never known anyone as lucky as you.” I lean closer to her, my teeth grazing her earlobe. When her thighs press together, I smirk. “I had to get here early. I couldn’t risk someone messing with my drink again.”
Her cheeks turn a bright shade of red. “I’m not sorry, I should have let you drink it if I had known what would happen next. We need to discuss this business.”
“And what business is that?” I ask, trying to get her riled up.
I like her when she’s flustered. The fire burning in her eyes while she glares at me only excites me more. She’s going to find out what it means to be a Bratva wife. And the way she reacts whenever I’m close to her, I’m not going to have a problem with that.
The scent of honey and lemon wafts towards me as she pulls her hair over one shoulder. “You know exactly what,” she hissed, “My father made an agreement with you that I wasn’t a part of. He promised you that I would marry you.”
I chuckle and lean back in my seat, sliding my hand up her thigh and pulling her long skirt with me so I can feel her skin. Sophia’s breath hitches and she gives me a dirty look. As I run my fingers over her smooth skin, tracing patterns, she startles like a kitten on a hot tin roof.
“And? What makes you think you have any say in this, hm? If I were to slip my hand between your sweet little thighs now, would I find your pussy wet?” I croak and dig my fingers into her firm thigh.
Her eyes widen, and I can feel her muscles tense as she squeezes her legs tighter. I laugh and my fingers come closer and closer to her pussy as my hand climbs higher.
The waiter appears at the table before I can push her any further. She stammers out her drink order, her voice shaking as she reads off the menu. I continue to run my fingers along her soft skin, my cock throbbing and aching in my pants.
“But …,” she clears her throat, “I hate you,” she says as soon as the waiter leaves. She shifts in her seat and looks at me with an icy cold stare, and I believe her. She hates me. However, the lust sparkling in her eyes is at war with the hatred.
“That’s fine. We can work on that. Plenty of wives hate their husbands until they get to ride their cocks.”
Sophia’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “Jesus Christ, you shouldn’t be saying shit like that out loud. People can hear us.”
I chortle and lean closer to her again, my head dipping to her neck. Her breathing stops but I don’t touch her. Not yet. I want her to want it. I want her to beg for me.
The waiter reappears with her glass of white wine, his gaze lingering on the low cut of her dress a little too long. I clear my throat, raising an eyebrow as he catches my stare. He gets flustered, spins on his heel, and walks away, leaving us in the dark little corner of the restaurant I picked out for this purpose.
“Back to what we were talking about,” I say, putting my hand on her knee and squeezing it. “You hate me. I don’t see that as an obstacle to marriage.”
“I don’t want to marry you.” She crosses her arms, but all that action does is push up her full breasts.
Sophia looks away from me, focusing on the flickering candle in the center of the table. She moves, the white tablecloth brushing against her leg and shifting slightly.
Her arms tighten, making it impossible not to look at her. Men at tables near ours glance over, quickly turning their heads when I fire a glare back at them.
