Page 34 of Cruel Russian King
The push-up bra I’d chosen for her lifted the natural swell of her breasts, the fitted top hugging her frame, its sweetheart neckline drawing the eye. Light blue jeans clung to her like a second skin. I slid one hand to the small of her back, dipping a finger beneath the waistband. Her breath hitched when I found the thin line of the thong I’d laid out for her. A sharp snap against her skin painted her cheeks pink.
“You make your husband happy when you obey him.”
Her glare sharpened. “Do I look like your puppy?”
“No,” I said smoothly, leaning close enough for my voice to brush her ear, “you’re much harder to tame than that. But, I'm always up for a challenge. Sit.”
She hesitated. Defiance flickered in her eyes, wheels turning as she weighed her choices. But I knew she’d obey. Not out of wanting to submit, but because she wanted something from me, just as I wanted something from her.
She wanted to go into the city…and I wanted her obedience.
No exchange between two people is ever without motive. This marriage would be no different. She would give me herobedience, and in return I would give her protection…and anything else her little heart desired.
She walked to the table and lowered herself into the chair beside mine, where a second plate of breakfast waited. Instead of sitting next to her, I picked up the small triangular box set on the table and moved behind her, unclasping the necklace at her throat.
“I thought you said I could choose my own accessories,” she snapped.
“I did.”
I tossed the necklace onto the table and opened the box. Inside was a velvet choker with a single diamond dangling from it. I fastened it around Ninel’s throat, watching as her hand instinctively rose to touch it.
Leaning in, I brushed my lips against her ear. “Today, you’ll wear this for me. A reminder that you are my wife. And a reminder to me…of what’s to come…namely, my hand around your throat when I finally take you to our bed.”
Immediately, her hand dropped from the choker and a breathless moan escaped her lips…just like the one that slipped past her lips in my office two fucking days ago. It took everything within me not to throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed.
Any other Bratva man would do it, Artie. Where the fuck did I go wrong with you, son? Being nice to your wife will never gain her respect. Consummate your damn marriage already!
Without another word, I returned to my seat.
She cleared her throat. “So, where are you taking me today?”
“Would you be terribly disappointed if we didn’t step into an art gallery?”
“Yes.” She popped a blueberry into her mouth.
“You know…my territory holds more than art galleries.”
“That might be true,” she said, eyes sparking, “but are they better than an art gallery? That’s the real question.”
I smirked. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
After breakfast, we headed for the city. I had already informed Kolya about my plans and he had placed plain clothed security details among the pedestrians. Having Ninel see men dressed in tactical gear hovering over us would've dampened the mood. I wanted her to enjoy her day.
The first place we visited was a flea market where street vendors sold handmade jewelry: beaded necklaces, silver rings, charms.
Ninel ohhhed and ahhed at some of the pieces and then she came to a charmed bracelet. It was silver and the charms were skulls, some had black eyes and some red. It wasn't like any piece of jewelry she had. Yet, she picked it up in her hand and her fingers trailed along the skulls.
I shifted behind her, her heat radiating through against me. Gently, I removed the bracelet from her hand, unclasped it and put it on. I handed the vendor a twenty.
“Don't you think it's too goth for a Bratva princess like me?” Her words were a mere whisper but I heard them.
“I think you're allowed to like whatever you want.”
“Thank you.”
As we moved through the vendors, Ninel bought a mixture of brightly coloured earrings and necklaces and a few more pieces with skulls and crossbones.
From the vendors, we walked through the streets, my hand resting on her waist, hers on mine, our steps in a quiet rhythm.
