Page 20 of Cruel Russian King
“Different how? Because it was a date?”
“Yes.”
“And you still managed to kick one of my men square in the chest…while wearing heels. He still has the mark.”
I shrugged. “So, I changed my clothes. What’s the big deal?”
His eyes darkened. “You are my wife. You will do as I say. Or have you already forgotten my rules?”
Each word out of his mouth felt like a threat cut. And with every one, he tried to close the distance between us but I stepped back. His hand clamped around my waist, pinning me to his chest before my back hit the grimy wall.
I braced my palms against his chest, heart racing.
“I asked you a question.” His voice deadly. “Did you forget my rules? Do you need to be punished?”
His words rumbled through his chest and into my fingers, sliding lower, lingering between my thighs
I nodded. “No.”
Artyom chuckled mockingly as he gently tightened his hold on me. “Confused, are you, printsessa?”
Good Lord. He probably thought I was an idiot. I didn't dare speak. Nor did I want to.
What was wrong with me? I had never felt this attracted to anyone before. I had liked Scott yeah but what I felt wasn't anything like this! And I had spent time with Artyom before, so I didn't understand why this was happening now.
Yeah, you spent time with him with your family or his. Not in a smelly alley with his arms on your waist and him staring at you like the last slice of chocolate cake that he wanted to lick the icing off of.
Before my mind spiralled even more, his hands slid away from my body and I bit back a whimper. With his arm gone, I tried to gather myself, though my pulse refused to calm the hell down!
I cleared my throat, praying my voice sounded steadier than I felt. “Now that you’re here, does it mean you’ll stay with me as I explore?”
I really didn't want to go home. At least not yet.
He extended his hand. “Key.”
I tucked my hand behind my back, watching his hand warily. “Does it mean you’ll stay?”
“Key, printsessa. Don’t let me repeat myself,” he scolded.
I rolled my eyes, handed him the key, and folded my arms.
He stepped closer and I met his fierce gaze squarely. “Let me remind you that you’re a Bratva wife,” he murmured, tilting my chin upward, “and not a ten-year-old child.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, walking away, trying to hide my quick breathing from the spark left by his touch.
Without a word, Artyom caught up to me and his hand landed on the small of my back, guiding me as we headed back to the car. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other so I wouldn't fall flat on my face. Since the longer he touched me the more my legs felt like jello.
I was still angry that he wouldn't stay with me. What was the big deal anyway? He was already here. The more I let my anger simmer, the more Artyom's touch slipped away, and the less his presence affected me.
During the ride home, I stared out the window, hands fisted on my lap. As soon as the car stopped in front of the house, I bolted, hopping out before anyone could open my door. After storming inside, I slammed the front door with a satisfying bang.
Fuck Artyom and his obey-me shit.
I was a Safin. And if he wanted to see what a Bratva wife was made of, he’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 7 - Artyom
Three days.
