Page 27 of Merciless Promise
As I moved farther into the space, I noticed the cream sectional and matching rug. It was the same color as the nearby kitchen table, and those were the only specks of light in the overly dark downstairs. I stood there and took everything in. My eyes moved higher, and I realized he had only two walls in his bedroom, because the third one was all windows, while the last one was completely open to the downstairs. The only separation was a mid-height wall with the same black iron found on the lower level.
Even from my current vantage point, I could see his bed, a bookshelf, and a chair. There was also an open doorway I assumed led to both his closet and bathroom. There was another door behind the staircase on the lower level, and assuming it was maybe a bathroom, I walked over to it. Once there, I realized there was no doorknob, just a keypad.
What in the hell is this?
“That’s nothing,” he said to me as if he read my mind.
I turned and put my hands on my hips. “I think I should decide that for myself.”
“I said, it’s nothing,” he told me before steering me over to the staircase. “Now go upstairs and tell me which closet you want for your things.”
I looked back over his shoulder, then shook my head at his unyielding expression. Deciding it was better to let it go for now, I ascended the stairs and soon made sure I picked the largest of the spaces, even though I likely didn’t have enough things herein New York to fill it. I’d remedy that soon once I got his black card.
Ihadn’t known at the time, but Cillian had been staying in New York City more in the past few months than he had in years. I supposed that our grandfather had that effect on people. After all, he had made my decision to stay stateside so much easier after graduation. My cousin hadn’t been the same as he was at school, then left to return to Dublin. Princeton had mentioned his desertion, as well as other things that had taken place at our alma mater. It seemed the mountains held more than secrets. It was also the backdrop for murder. And as I remembered my own brother’s demise, I supposed the same could be said about island beach homes, too.
When I looked at Ekaterina now, I still saw my brother. He’d been viciously murdered, and his murderer was roaming free, or at least until she had married me. Now, I had her in my grasp. I would break her one of these days. But God help me, I also wanted to fuck the consciousness and sanity right out of her, and did as often as I could.
Having a wife was not the worst thing. I no longer had variety when it came to the women I fucked, but this venomous wenchwas good for something. She could suck me dry effortlessly, and she never failed to make my dick hard. Night after night, I’d pound her tight pussy until it milked me dry. One of these nights, it would pay off when she became pregnant with my son. An heir. Once I had him, I would no longer need her. Life for me could then return to normal.
It could even with her.
No, I refused to bring her into that room. While a sadistic sonofabitch, I did enjoy some harder and kinkier type of play. I had no reason to think that Ekaterina wouldn’t be amenable to the things I could do to her in there, but I had no desire to find out if I was right or not. She was not my submissive, no matter how much I enjoyed bringing her to her knees when not bending her to my will.
In fact, I would much rather stay home tonight and fuck her until her screams echoed off the concrete walls. Unfortunately, my cousin was having his twenty-fifth birthday party, and I had already told him I would be there. Granted, it had been more at our grandfather’s request than Cillian’s, but the invitation had been accepted nonetheless.
And I would be able to show off my wife. To the unaware, no one would know what she’d already done to this family, or what she was still capable of doing, and would instead see a beautiful trophy wife—a woman worthy enough to be on my arm. The Kotovs had been a smaller faction in Russia, but they’d worked with other families in the area, so her maiden name was known around these parts anyway.
I took a final look at myself in this tuxedo, ignoring the claustrophobia I felt, and walked back into the bedroom to find Ekaterina sprawled out across the bed in nothing more than a dark, silk robe. She had a magazine in front of her and was busying herself with the pages as she absently flipped from one to another.
“Why are you not dressed yet?” I asked her.
She placed her hand on the page to hold her place before glancing over at me. “Because I already told you that I don’t want to go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my wife, so your attendance is mandatory.”
“I agreed to marry you in name only and produce a child. Nowhere did I sign up for these asinine parties where you’ll parade me around a room full of people who hate me just?—"
“Who hates you?” I asked her.
“Your cousin, for one. Is this not his birthday party?”
I could see why she would think that, and she wouldn’t be wrong. Cillian and Princeton had been the same age, and as such, they were fairly close. My brother’s death—no murder—brought out several emotions in those left behind, and everyone hated Ekaterina for it. That was what made choosing her to be my wife that much sweeter.
“He doesn’t hate you,” I lied. Or was it a lie? I didn’t give a fuck either way.
“Yeah, okay,” she said before turning her attention back to the magazine.
“I told you to get up and get dressed,” I said, a bit more forceful now.
She just shrugged and continued with her patented defiance until I walked over to the bed and crawled on top of it. I pushed her onto her back, then straddled her. As I looked down, I could see the swells of her breasts as they heaved with each breath. I quickly grabbed both hands of hers, then pinned them above her head.
“My order was exactly that—an order,” I started, and paused as she smirked.
“I am not some obedient little sponge that soaks up your orders and does them.”
She might not be obedient, but as I ground myself against her, I watched her nipples harden into tight peaks behind the black silk. Ekaterina got off on being manhandled. She liked things rough, which would’ve made bringing her to my secret room that much better, but I didn’t want to mix the two things together. It was bad enough that she had made a lasting impression on the rest of my loft penthouse. I didn’t need her to do the same forthatroom.
“You’re my wife, and I expect you to be ready in twenty minutes.”
