Taken by the Russian Read online

  “We are here to celebrate the joining of two hearts…” begins the priest. His shaky delivery fades into the background almost immediately, though. I’m pretty sure Sasha isn’t hearing a single word, either, because he’s running a hand over his open mouth, his chest starting to heave. Violently. And that thick rod behind his zipper is so large and stiff now, his agony is palpable.

  So much moisture has gathered between my thighs, it’s soaking the edges of my panties. I can’t stand here for long, this close, without touching him. Nor do I want to. Sasha planned my veritable abduction, our wedding, thinks he’s going to decide my future. But right now, the control seems to be in my hands. When I’ve had so little throughout my life. I can’t stop myself from embracing it.

  Ignoring the hitch in the priest’s voice, I sidle closer to Sasha. Closer and closer, until I’m cradling his hard - on with my belly. His eyes glitter dangerously as I lift up on my toes, letting me mouth hover beside his ear. “You’re so hot. Have I ever told you that?”

  A harsh sound comes from his throat. “If you did, I would recall.”

  There’s an ever - so - slight pout to his hard mouth, and oh my God, it makes me so hot. I can fix his pout. I can be what this incredible man needs. I always have been, without knowing it.

  “You are. So, so hot.”

  He swallows loudly. “I do not mind you thinking so.”

  Love him. Love him. “I almost fell down the stairs, your body looks so insanely sexy in that tight shirt,” I whisper. “I’d like to rip it off and lick every one of your tattoos.”

  His hands fly to my hips, yanking me closer with a growl. The sudden movement causes the priest to stop talking, but without taking his attention off me, Sasha rasps at him, “Keep going. Do not stop again until she is my wife.”

  The priest gives a stilted nod and the ceremony continues. Only now, Sasha is grinding me up and down on his erection, sweat forming on his upper lip. Shouldn’t I be mortified? Or put a stop to this? There is a priest less than two feet away. Too bad there’s excitement and need wrapping around me, making me want to push more. To make this stoic Russian lose his shit. I might adore him with my very soul, but I still want to ruin the carefully laid plans he made without consulting me. Maybe I really do have a hot, Russian temper.

  With anticipation turning my blood to quicksilver, I press my mouth to Sasha’s ear and let my tongue trace his lobe. Using my body to block the priest’s view, I stroke that heavy, hungry part of him through his pants. “Do you have more cum for me, Daddy?”

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams what happens next. My feet leave the ground, and with a squeal still trapped in my throat, I find myself face down on the leather couch, a muscle - bound Russian unzipping his pants behind me.

  “Sasha — ”

  My exclamation is cut off when Sasha snakes an arm beneath my hips, jerking me up onto my knees and flipping the nightgown hem up to reveal my backside. In front of me, the priest stands gaping, eyes wide as cylinders. Sasha rips my panties down my legs and enters me with a hissed curse, sending the priest stumbling back a step.

  “Take your eyes off what’s mine and turn around, priest,” Sasha growls, taking his first savage thrust into my body. “And keep going.”

  Sasha

  “The little angel finally understands her power, does she?”

  Anya whimpers. “Yes. Yes.”

  Do you have more cum for me, Daddy?

  Those echoing words have me dropping forward so I can sink my teeth into her shoulder while I drive deep, deep, deep. Fuck. I can see her cunt in my mind’s eye. Hairless, pink lips guarding the tightest fuck hole on the planet. Mine. I’ve got to guard it against predators. Already I’ll spend my life discouraging men who are attracted by her beauty, her sweetness and intelligence. If word got out that her cunt is almost too small to take a man, there would be a riot on our doorstep. Every man would want to steal what’s mine.

  Just another reason I must put my child in her womb. Now. I need it to be known by all that the angel is claimed. Provided for. That another man owns the place between her thighs. When she appeared on the staircase in that tease of white fabric, my pulse began rapping against the inside of my skull. Fuck her. Breed her. The impulse only grows louder, more persistent, every second she’s mine. It will never end. Never. My obsession is permanent.

  The squelching sounds of my cock battering her pussy fill the room, almost drowning out the priest as he speeds through the ceremony. This is not how I pictured our wedding ceremony, but when she gripped my pulsing dick and asked for cum in that innocent voice, animal instinct took over. Even now, my love for Anya is demanding I marry her in the manner she deserves. But I’m addicted to her. Every pump of my cock is like entering heaven, her taut ass cheeks vibrating with each thrust against my belly.

  “You’re going to be like fucking a virgin every time, aren’t you?” I burrow my mouth in her hair, breathing her scent, wishing I could bathe in it. In her. “Except you’re a horny little virgin who likes to challenge her man. Do you like where it gets you?”

  “I l - like you inside me,” she murmurs brokenly. “It feels so good.”

  “Nyet, Anya. You love it.” I wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze, noting when her pussy responds in kind. “None of this ‘like’ bullshit.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Her back arches, lifting her ass. “I love it.”

  A growl of triumph passes my lips. Need is a monster inside me, and there’s only one name, one person who can soothe it. Anya. Anya. My cock pounds in her soft flesh, demanding ownership. And she gives it, spreading her legs as wide as the couch will allow. Good, little girl. Her high, pointed tits have bounced free of the white nightgown and jiggle on either side of her, slender fingers clutching at the couch cushions. Shit. How many nights did I stroke off to the image of fucking Anya doggy - style? Still didn’t know she’d be this sweet, this tight, this everything. My everything.

  Except my wife. Not yet.

  “Read faster, priest,” I grit out, checking to make sure his back is still turned. It would be a pity to murder a man of God. “Make her my wife while I make her a mother.”

  The other man’s pitch increases, along with his speed. Slapping flesh mingles with Anya’s whimpers, scripture. My own grunts of desperation join the chorus as I near my own end. Sin swims through the room, colliding with salvation. But I’m only concerned with giving that salvation to Anya, so I release her throat to reach between our bodies, rubbing the pad of my middle finger on her clit.

  “Oh!” she cries out, her cunt spasming around me. “Yes, please.”

  “Repeat after me,” breathes the priest. “I, Sasha Mikhailov, take you, Anya Orlov, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever.”

  Rolling her clit gentle between my thumb and middle finger, I groan the words in her ear, trying to stave off the hot cum that rises in my flesh. “Now you, Anya.”

  “I, Anya Orlov, take y - you, Sasha Mikhailov…oh God…to be m - my husband…”

  That’s it. Anya calling me her husband sends release rippling through me, robbing me of sight, of every vestige of control. Needing to get as close to her as possible, I drop my weight on her trembling body, pinning her to the couch and continuing to stroke her delicate clit as I pump, pump, pump my seed into her dripping wet cunt. “Finish the vows, little angel,” I growl. “Take Daddy as your husband.”

  “…my partner in life and m - my one true love. Sasha. Please. I - I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever.”

  Anya screams the final words and begins quaking with a full - body orgasm, bucking beneath me, just before the priest interjects with, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  A roar sounds in my head. One of triumph. Possession.

  My middle finger is relentless on her nub of swollen flesh, the
beast inside me savoring the way her ass squirms, her legs kicking out as if trying to unseat me. Not in this lifetime. When she’s finished whining and struggling, nothing but a limp pile of limbs on the couch, I flip my beloved wife over on the couch, tugging the nightgown back down to hide her pussy. She watches me through drowsy eyes, attempting to catch her breath, bite marks decorating her bottom lip. Zipping my pants back up, I reach into my pocket and retrieve two gold bands, sliding one onto each of our fingers. “Mine,” I say, through my teeth.

  “Yours,” the angel whispers back, her newly decorated hand dropping to her side, the gold winking up at me.

  Still, the beat drums in my head. Claim. Claim. “Priest, come here.”

  A few feet away, the man begins to turn and stops. “A - are you sure?”

  “Come.” I stand to join the hesitant man, my heart pounding over the streaks of my semen trailing down her beautiful legs. “Say a blessing over my wife’s belly while she’s full of my fresh seed. Ask Him to make her fertile.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Mikhailov.”

  Opening his Bible back up with unsteady hands, the priests recites a short passage. My blood rushes along with the words, images of Anya holding our child filling me with such happiness, I can’t stop myself from joining her on the couch when the priest departs. Trapping her in my arms and whispering over and over in her hair that I’ll never, ever let her go.

  I watch her as she dozes off, her head tucked against my bicep, those gorgeous lips slightly parted. Love makes me heavy, makes me light. Everything in between.

  Best of all, it appears Anya has forgotten all about her other plans. College. Orientation. Strangers. A life away from me. She must realize by now she belongs here. Where I can cherish and protect her. Give her everything.

  In the middle of the night, though, when I carry her to bed, I notice her watching me in silent contemplation. And I wonder if I am underestimating the angel. But as we slip into bed, she sighs my name and opens her thighs for me…and I’m aware of nothing but her love.

  Chapter Nine

  Anya

  I don’t want to leave heaven. But I have no choice.

  And it really is heaven.

  I wake up wrapped in the inked arms of my Russian, his tongue tracing patterns on the back of my neck. My lower half wakes up with a vengeance, eager to please. To be pleased. The tightening of those delicate muscles hurts, though, from having Sasha inside me so many times since yesterday. A flush moves over my cheeks remembering the things he said to me in the darkness last night. When we see your father someday in the future, you will call me Daddy, Anya. He will know I’ve claimed his little girl in every way imaginable, and his responsibility to you is gone. If he needs convincing, he’ll take the place of the priest next time.

  My agreement, my screams echo in my ears, and wetness trickles onto the material of my panties. Sasha’s chest rumbles at my back, but his mouth makes a reluctant noise.

  “I want nothing more than to watch you ride my cock for the first time, angel, but you will recover for a while first.” He laughs into my hair, a wickedly decadent sound. “Plus, I know what happens when you don’t eat breakfast on time.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I roll over and shove at his big shoulder. “What happens?”

  “You pout at Sasha. You stomp around and cannot focus on your reading.”

  This is the first I’m hearing of this. “I do not.”

  His indulgent smile sends my pulse racing. “Da, angel. You never stop being cute, but I prefer a happy Anya.” A coarse hand roams over my bare hip. “I prefer when you’re smiling because it means I’ve done my job and pleased you.”

  As sweet as this sounds, this is the crux of our problem. Do I love that Sasha has made my happiness his life’s work? Of course. He’s my husband now, and his happiness is very important to me, too. But…sometimes I want to be responsible for my own happiness. I want to figure out my own meals. Plans. Bathing suits. I want to have an individual goal as a woman, as well as goals as a couple. Making him understand this is going to take more than words, though. If I’ve learned one thing about Sasha, it’s that he’s stubborn and tunes me out when I’m saying words he doesn’t want to hear.

  Which is why I’ve formed a plan.

  Some of my apprehension must be showing on my face, because Sasha frowns. “What is the matter? Tell me so I can fix.”

  “Nothing is the matter,” I say, mimicking his accent and earning a lip twitch. “What are our plans for the day?”

  He sighs, massaging my hip now with a lazy thumb. “I must spend some time in my office downstairs making phone calls.”

  “To whom?”

  For a few quiet moments, he seems to be cataloguing my features. “I am not a man who is accustomed to working behind a desk, Anya, but when I met you and decided to build the house, it became obvious I would need to pursue a more…practical line of work.” Humor twists his mouth. “I will be checking on my investments.”

  A giggle climbs my throat. “My hit man has been making investments.”

  “Da. Lucrative ones.” His dark eyebrows draw together. “I was not sure if you were aware of the duties I performed for your father at night. Or back in Russia.”

  “I’m aware.” I slide closer and rub my breasts against his hairy chest, gasping when he yanks my hips closer to his. “I’d love you no matter your profession. But I’m grateful you did something outside your comfort zone. For us.”

  “There is nothing outside my comfort zone, Anya.” He rolls one massive shoulder. “Except, perhaps, Justin Bieber concerts.”

  I break into a fit of laughter, and after a couple beats, Sasha joins me. It’s a heavy, rusted sound, but it’s amazing and I wish I could roll around in it forever. A pang catches me in the middle when I remember what must be done. What I have to do this morning in order to set the correct boundaries between us. If my heart were the only thing in charge, I would never leave this bed or my husband. My brain is on board, too, though.

  When our amusement dies down, a serious look crosses Sasha’s face. “Anya, I need you to know. These men I handled for your father and in Russia…they are not good people. I would die before letting a single one of them cross your shadow.”

  My fingertips trace his mouth, his cheekbones. “I trust you.”

  Intensity radiates from his gray eyes. “My God, I love you, little angel.”

  Dread twists in my chest. “I love you, too.” Perceptive as ever when it comes to my moods and emotions, Sasha gives me an assessing look, so I search for another topic. Something to explain my sad tone. As it turns out, there is something that has been on my mind, and this is the perfect opportunity to discuss it. “Will you do something for me, please?”

  “Tell me.”

  I run the arch of my foot up and down his calf, my fingers playing with his chest hair. Between us, his erection thickens, his breath accelerating. “While you’re in the office today, will you call my father and explain that we’re together now?” His body stiffens, but I press on. “I know he hasn’t been there for me, Sasha. Raising me has been left entirely to you…” I lower my voice to a whisper. “My real daddy.”

  “Anya,” he groans. “Say it again.”

  Our tongues meet and lick. “You’re my real daddy,” I murmur. “But…I don’t want to hide us from him. I want the whole world to know. Especially my father.”

  His stubbornness tries to surface, but he visibly fights it off. “Very well.”

  “Really?”

  “Da.” He studies me. “When I asked, instead of demanded, that you marry me, I found that things went much smoother. Perhaps I am learning to compromise.”

  Tell him. Tell him you still want to attend college. He hasn’t cancelled it yet. The words won’t emerge, though. Because while Sasha is starting to compromise on some small things, I’m skeptical that he will agree to me being away from him full time, every day. With strangers. Unknowns. In a nutshell, he would lose his shit. No. I have to
stick to the plan.

  And the plan is this: let me go to college or lose me.

  Knowing Sasha will be able to read me like a book, I roll over on my back with a pout. “Who do I have to marry to get some scrambled eggs around here?”

  With a wink and a laugh, Sasha climbs from the bed, his hard - as - nails ass flexing as he leaves the room. I gather as much courage as I can for the fight ahead, then get up to shower.

  Sasha

  Having completed all my other phone calls, I can no longer put off the final one.

  I do not want to do this distasteful thing.

  Perhaps Anya believes I am merely a possessive beast when it comes to her. So possessive that I would steal her away from her own father, just so I can be the only male in her life. And while that is most certainly true, there is more to it than that.

  When Anya was much younger, I spent many nights pacing the hallway outside her bedroom, wishing to comfort her as she sobbed on the other side of the door, missing her mother. I was not capable of holding her in my arms yet, though. I was too hardened, then. Still recovering from the brutal life I’d lived in Russia. To have the angel in my arms at a time when I was so raw? I couldn’t be certain that I wouldn’t feast on the offering she presented. So sweet, so pure. The opposite of everything I’d ever known.

  Her cries would torture me in those early days, make me tear at my hair. I would call her father and explain his daughter needed to be reassured. And often I would find him consoling himself with women or alcohol. He never came home. Never.