“Jesus,” Joey muttered. “She looks like she might hit the floor.”
Nik helped me to a side chair after Joey wrapped my finger in plastic wrap. While I was grateful it was over, it still hurt like hell.
Joey handed me a plastic cup filled with orange juice, and I drank it like it was the last drink on earth.
Nik kneeled in front of me. “You did so well, my lovely wife. Your first tattoo…on your wedding night. A virgin to ink, a bride to a sinner. There’s something holy about taking what no one else has ever had.”
I didn’t speak. Just stared at him, and then at the ring on the wrong hand.
He stood.
“My turn.”
Leaning in, I watched as Joey inked a crown onto Nik’s finger. It was similar to mine but heavier, bolder. A king’s crown. It was still marked with the V and the O, still encircled by the sametwisted ropes and knotted base. When Joey inked the sacred wedding vow inside his finger, Nik didn’t even flinch.
Actually, it looked as if helikedit.
When it was all over, I was still woozy, blinking slowly and feeling thick.
Nik didn’t hesitate; he scooped me up bridal-style and carried me to the car.
He slid in with me on his lap, pulling his arm tight around my waist.
“You were a good girl,” he murmured. “Didn’t even argue.”
I swallowed hard.
“Shame,” he added darkly, brushing his mouth against my temple. “I had a punishment in mind.”
My breath caught.
“Guess I’ll have to reward you instead. And you know what good girls get.”
A jolt of heat shot through me—spine to toes.
I didn’t know what the hell was coming next.
But I knew I wanted it.
Chapter thirty-nine
Nik carried me from the Bentley to the elevator. I was whiskey-warm, wine-tipsy, and Champagne-dizzy—still reeling from a night that had flipped my world on its axis. The elevator seemed to rocket upward as my nervous anticipation grew. My gaze stayed locked on his face, searching for any hint of his mood. He was stoic, save for the tic in his jaw. Tonight, he had been different with me—quieter, more reserved.
The diamond-encircled band caught my eye again on the hand draped around his neck. The thought that I was nowMrs. Nikolai Aleksandr Volkovwas surreal…unfathomable. Me—a small-town country girl—married to a Russian mafia king. It was absurd, outrageous. I couldn’t help but giggle at the mental image of my preacher grandpa inviting him over for Sunday dinner. The tattoos alone would probably spark a riot if Nik set foot in Cosby.
The elevator doors slid open, and without a word, Nik carried me straight through the dark living room and into his bedroom.The only light came from the skyline beyond the massive windows, a silvery glow spilling across the hardwood floors.
“Welcome home, my wife,” he murmured, setting me on my feet. We stood side by side, his hand warm on the small of my back, staring out over Central Park and Fifth Avenue. Behind us, the bedroom stretched in shadow—the king-size bed looming like a promise.
A shiver shot through me, a rush of nerves tangled with anticipation. Would it hurt as badly this time? Or would I melt into him, letting the moment sweep me away? Would he be merciless as he claimed me…or would he teach me how to turn my submission into pleasure—and how to please him in return?
Nik stepped over to the bar and poured two shots of vodka. He handed one to me and lifted his own in a toast.
“Za dolguyu zhizn’ muzh i zhena,” he said in a low voice.
We clinked glasses and tossed the drinks back. I immediately coughed and sputtered.
Nik laughed under his breath. “To a long life as husband and wife,” he translated.
