"Say it," I command, leaning over her, biting the sensitive cord of her neck. "Tell me whose wife you are."
"Yours," she gasps. "Igor... I’m yours."
I hammer into her, harder, faster, chasing the release that will burn away the image of her smiling at another man. I feel the tightening of her muscles, the way she unravels around me, and it pushes me over the edge.
I pull out at the last second, pressing the head of my cock against the small of her back. I come with a roar, my seed spilling hot and white over her skin.
She collapses onto her stomach, panting, trembling. I don’t move away. I lean down, running my hand over her back, spreading the evidence of my release into her skin and rubbing it in like a brand.
"Marked," I whisper against her ear, my voice rough with the aftershocks. "Mine inside and out. Don’t fucking forget it."
Aria
Themattressdips,ashe slides between the sheets. I don’t open my eyes. The scent hits me instantly—fancy cologne mixed with the cold, crisp air of the city at night. Igor.
It’s one in the morning.
Heat radiates from his body as he slides under the duvet. His large hand seeks me out immediately, palm rough against the silk of my nightgown. He slides his touch up my thigh with a possessiveness that used to make my heart race. Now, it just makes my blood boil.
He pulls me backward, molding my back against his chest, his nose burying into my hair.
"No." My voice comes out raspy with sleep, but steady.
His body goes rigid against mine. He pulls back just enough to look at me. I roll over to face him. Dim moonlight filters through the sheer curtains, painting shadows across his face. He looks exhausted. Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, but hisexpression holds genuine shock. He raises a dark brow—a silent, arrogant question.
"No," I repeat, firmer this time. I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest.
"Aria?" His voice is a low rumble, laced with confusion and a hint of warning.
"You can't keep avoiding me all day." The anger I’ve nursed for three days spills over. "You come home late at night, wake me up to fuck me damn near raw, and then slip out of my bed first thing in the morning like I'm a prostitute and you're embarrassed to leave money on the table."
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
"I thought I was your wife."
"You are my wife." His tone drops an octave.
"Then treat me like one."
He sits up and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the fatigue. "I cannot discuss this with you, Aria. It is business. It’s ugly."
"So, you don't trust me?"
His eyes burn into mine, intense and unyielding. "If I didn't trust you, malyshka, you would never be this close to me. You would definitely not be close to my grandmother." He sighs, leaning back against the headboard. "We are preparing to go to war, Aria. The streets are going to bleed. That is why I am gone. That is why I am distant." He pauses, eyes narrowing. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to your friend."
I scoff. "That was unnecessary. I told you, you’re wrong about Danny. I thought we had moved on from this."
"I can’t move on while he’s out there biding his time."
“I haven’t heard from him since you sent him away.”
He rubs a hand over his face again. "I know."
"Then what is the real issue, Igor? Because it feels like you’re punishing me."
He looks at the far wall. For a moment, the mask of the ruthless Pakhan slips, revealing something fractured underneath.
"You were right," he admits quietly. "I am a possessive asshole."
