Page 13 of Velvet Chains
Chapter 6
Victor
I FEEL a jolt of electricity as our lips meet, that kiss searing through me like a fucking branding iron. Laura’s mouth is soft, pliant, but there’s a hint of defiance in the way she presses back against me. It’s like she’s challenging me, daring me to push for more.
And fuck, do I want more.
I can feel my cock stirring, throbbing against the confines of my pants. It’s almost laughable, getting hard at the altar. But there’s something about this woman, something that sets my blood on fire and makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to the nearest secluded spot.
I want to bury myself in her, to feel her tight heat wrapped around me, to hear her moan my name as I make her come undone. I want to mark her, to claim her, to make her mine in every way possible.
But this is just the beginning. A fucking tease of what’s to come.
As we break apart, I catch a glimpse of something in Laura’s eyes—a flicker of heat, of desire, quickly masked beneath a veneer of cool composure. It’s enough to make my dick twitch, to send a fresh surge of blood southward.
I can’t believe the effect she has on me. I’ve had my share of women, more than I can count, but none of them has ever made me feel like this. Like I’m a fucking addict, craving my next hit.
I can’t take my eyes off her, even as the priest drones on, his words a distant buzz in my ears. Laura stands beside me, her spine straight, her head held high, the picture of a perfect Bratva bride. But I can see the cracks in her I, the way her lips twitch when the priest mentions love and devotion, the way her fingers flutter nervously at her sides.
I want to unravel her, to peel back the layers and discover the truth beneath. I want to know what makes her tick, what makes her moan, what makes her scream.
But that will have to wait.
“Thank you all for coming; we will see you at the reception tonight.” The priest’s words yank me back to the present, to the hundreds of eyes watching us, waiting for our next move.
Fuck.
As we step off the altar, now bound as husband and wife, a searing pain rips through my fucking shoulder. I feel the warm, sticky blood oozing through the bandage, but I’ll be damned if I let it show. Laura’s got my hand in a death grip, like she’s trying to keep me from falling on my fucking face.
The music’s blaring, some traditional Russian bullshit that grates on my nerves. Part of me wants to just grab Laura, throw her over my shoulder, and get the hell out of here. But I know I can’t. Not yet. I’ve got a role to play, a show to put on for the sake of my old man.
“Dyadya Victor!” Eli’s voice cuts through the noise, high-pitched and excited. I look down to see my little niece bouncing on her toes beside me, her eyes wide and shining. “You look like a prince!”
I can’t help but crack a smile at that.
More like a fucking court jester.
“Thank you, malyshka,” I mutter, but I ruffle her hair affectionately.
“Dyadya! Stop it, you’re messing up my hair!” Eli squeals, swiping at my hands. I grunt, feeling a twinge in my shoulder as I pull back, trying to hide the pain with a quick, tight-lipped smile.
Laura’s grip on my hand tightens, and she leans in close. “Victor, you’re bleeding,” she whispers urgently.
I shrug, ignoring the way the movement sends another jolt of pain through my body. “I’ve had worse.”
Eli tugs on my jacket, her little face scrunched up in concern. “Dyadya Victor, are you okay? Do you need a Band-Aid?”
I laugh despite myself. “I might need a little more than a Band-Aid, moye solnyshko. But don’t worry about me,” I assure Eli, masking the pain with a tight smile. I catch Ksenia’s eye as she approaches, her expression an icy mask. But beneath the cold exterior, I see a flicker of relief in her eyes, a subtle acknowledgment that her little brother is still standing.
I can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude toward my sister. When things went to shit and Igor reached out, Ksenia had already mobilized her team. Without her quick thinking and loyal men, I might not be here, playing the role of the happily married Bratva king.
“You nearly got your dumbass killed,” Ksenia hisses through clenched teeth, her voice low and harsh.
“Happy to see you too, sis,” I retort, my smirk more of a grimace as another wave of pain washes over me.
As we make our way to the church’s exit, Laura shuffles uncomfortably beside me. She’s talking, her words a faint murmur in my ear, but I notice her gaze darting away from an older man on her other side. I vaguely recognize him, but my attention is pulled away by the scene unfolding outside the church doors.
It’s like the underworld has converged on this holy place, a sea of black SUVs and suited bodyguards surrounding the perimeter. The devils have come to pay their respects, or more likely, to size up the new king and his queen.
