Sorcha had been Irina’s housekeeper since I was a boy. When I returned from Russia and was given my own properties, my mother sent her to run my household. She was rarely in my business, even after I got married. But Sato already informed me she had concerns regarding Lucy’s disinterest in the domesticated part of married life.
“I’m all for you both making this marriage real. You two are very stubborn. But is getting your wife drunk the way to go about it?”
“When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it,” I said.
She lowered her voice even further. “Your wife is strong-willed. I would hate to see you break her spirit.”
I raised a brow. “Are you sure she won’t be the one who will break me?”
She coughed a laugh. “I considered that possibility. Do you want anything for dinner?”
“I’m going to take a nap with my wife and then decide. But we’ll be staying home for the evening.”
The smile on Sorcha’s face irritated the fuck out of me, and it took all my willpower not to slam the door in her face.
When I approached the bed, it was to see my wife lost in a deep sleep. She was even lightly snoring. This wasn’t the first time I’d watched her in an unconscious state, recalling the night she shot Viktor.
Had I been plotting to own her even then?
Ah, Lusenka, you confuse the fuck out of me.
Her spirit and sass shined so fucking bright, it blinded me enough to want to capture the source. The source who was Lucy. Trap her energy in my cage.
But I had zero desire to stick my cock in her mouth then.
A far cry from this moment.
With her mouth slightly open, the temptation was there.
Since the night of our engagement, my desire for her had morphed from possession into something else.
When I tasted her cunt.
Fuuuck.
I nursed another glass of scotch to quell the feral lust stoking the fire in my blood.
Then I crawled into bed beside Lucy.
A risky move. I didn’t want to force my wife. But I was determined to seduce her tonight.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Lucy
I wokeup in a strange room, but then before panicking, I twisted to see a sculpted muscular expanse of chest, shoulder, and arm with a network of intricately woven tattoos. A dragon. A bleeding heart. Skulls. A grungy rose with torn petals and drops of blood. Fire.
Oh, sweet hell.
Then I remembered. Even before I lifted my gaze to my husband’s ridiculously handsome face, I remembered. I’d been so buzzed, I lost all inhibitions and let Kirill take care of me. He was sleeping on top of the covers, on his back with his left arm crooked under his head. He was wearing dark gray pajama bottoms that sat low on his hips. Low enough, it exposed a dusting of hair that led to his nether regions. I gulped. Kirill’s cock was outlined clearly. Even in its relaxed state, it was impressive. Damn, my husband was a fine specimen.
Then, as if I willed it, his erection started taking shape, hardening before my eyes. I blinked.
“Are you going to do something about it?” his rough voice rumbled.
My gaze flew to his face. His eyes were still closed, but his mouth was tilted into a faint smile.
