Page 68 of Devil's Vows
Yesto this man who has shown me nothing but respect and gentle care, nothing of the horrors I’ve been exposed to early in life.
Yesto having more of what we had last night, but in the sanctity of marriage. My mind is stewing in years of indoctrination when it comes to sex, and despite my new freedom and the modern lives my brothers live—they’re not religious at all—the only way I’d be able to freely cave into and enjoy desire, without an ounce of Catholic guilt, would be in the marriage bed. Maybe then, I could let go of these hangups, but that’s a luxury none of us has. Ivan is getting married soon.
Suddenly, all I want is Ivan as my husband. Even if just for one night. For him to thrust into my body with his cock until every bottled-up orgasm in me is released.
God help me.He just joked about asking me.
But his question also gives me pause. Milana’s words that I should stop being so naive echoes in my mind, stressing I’m just a pawn played to this position, even if I thought I’d made every move myself.
Then there’s the vow she forced on me, to help her escapethis house, to get away from the Bratva, with the promise of helping me run in return.
How weird that one person’s heaven is another person’s hell.
I toss the duvet aside, too hot. All eyes are on me, waiting for a clever answer I can’t give. The right answer is that I’ve been promised to someone else, but nobody can know that.
“I better get ready so you can go to work,” I say as I slip out of bed, and Ivan steps out of my way, his eyes never leaving my flushed face.
I rush off to my own room, the security gate already open, visualizing the exact reverse of Ivan’s movements as he got dressed. But now, I see myself, already naked, skin tingling everywhere he’s been with his lips, undressing him, button for button…belt buckle, zip, cock. I drop to my knees before him, praying to a whole different god.
Desperate to stop my thoughts, I strip and step into a cold shower, letting my hands wander, desperately stroking my skin where goosebumps spread like a rash, until I touch the reminder of the vile vows made on my behalf.
I pull back, press my forehead against the cold marble wall, and weep.
35
IVAN
I lean back against the kitchen island, far away from the girls where I’ve just installed them with bowls of Lucky Charms and sliced banana at the table. I open the camera app on my phone and select Gabriella’s bathroom. She’ll be coming down soon, but I can watch the recorded footage.
Earlier, she shot out of my bed so fast, with a tell-tale blush I couldn’t ignore. What did she dream about? With a wicked smile toying on my lips, I acknowledge I haven’t had enough of her yet. I’ve had nothing of her this morning, and with the camera so neatly installed, I can dip into my obsession and see what I want to see.
The relevant camera’s footage opens on my phone screen, showing an empty bathroom. I rewind until I get her shape in the picture, go right to the moment she walks into the bathroom and starts to strip.
Yep, I’m that fucker. I watch as my future wife takes off her pajama shirt, revealing pert, perfect breasts with sweet, blush-pink nipples. Just the right size for a handful, and I can already hear her catching her breath as I squeeze and suck a hardened peak into my mouth.
The golden cross resting on her chest reminds me this is fucked-up and Hell is waiting. Good. I’m going there already so no point in changing my ways. I’m not going to be a good boy for anybody soon.
She bundles her thick tresses up into a messy concoction on her head, only accentuating the elegant lines of her cheekbones, her jaw, the graceful column of her neck.
I’m getting so hard that I turn my back to the girls, pressing my cock into the kitchen island. There’s nosauce for the goose, sauce for the ganderhere. Just a shit ton of jizz that will soak my pants if I don’t get off soon.
Next goes the pajama bottoms, and my breathing stalls. Fuck. She is gorgeous. Smooth, unmarred skin, pure and rich as cream, with not a single mark on it. Nothing of Randazzo, no circular tattoo marking ownership, if the information Yuri sourced tracks. As she turns her back and steps into the shower, it’s all perfectly rounded butt, dimples just above, guiding my gaze to her shoulders, to the dip I want to lick and kiss from her neck to her shoulder as I come from behind, trace my hands over her hips, up her sides, and cup her breasts.
The way I placed the camera, I can see most of her, everything except her feet. She’s all virgin territory, and as she steps underneath the shower, she does a full turn to wet her body, leaving me with zero doubts.
Next, she angles her face right into the spray as her hands run over her hips, to her breasts, the rosy peaks, hard little pebbles now. Then she fists her one hand to her mouth as her other glides down with the run of the water to where dark curls triangle between her legs.
God,yes. She’s all woman. Not waxed or lasered to the point where she looks like a girl again. I bet that is a conscious decision, and I approve. Our spectacular age difference fucks with my head every now and again and seeing her like this gives me some assurance. She might be young, but she’s all woman.
But this one…she craves release. I watch as her fingers slip between her legs, but they’re barely there for two seconds before she pulls back, drops her head forward to the wall, and just stands there.
It’s only from the shaking of her shoulders that I realize she’s crying.
Fuck.
My hard-on retreats as my heart pounds seeing her like this. Time ticks by, and it slowly sinks in that she’s taking a cold shower. There’s no steam filling the glass cubicle, fogging up my view.
I’m all for cold showers when life calls for it, but this feels like Gabriella is punishing herself—fuck, she’scrying—and it’s heartbreaking to watch. Last night was too much, and the repercussions will ripple through to this morning, but I can’t hug her to me and tell her to stay put. The kids, work,everything.
