St. Petersburg, one month later…
"I have to say," Ada's blissfully sipping champagne, "that it seems like it's a lot more fun being aware that you're getting married versus being ambushed into it."
I've heard stories about her late evening visit to the historic Smol’nyy Cathedral with Dmitri and I laugh, straightening my skirt. "Yeah, but at least you were clear that youweremarried, unlike me."
"These men are disreputable," Ava agrees, scooping up a chubby baby Lev who’s crawling toward the stairs.
"I'm so ready for that," blurts Rose.
Iris chimes in, "Rich, handsome, tattooed? Hell, yes!"
"No, the two of you are going to Columbia, remember?" I say sternly.
"There's no reason we can't have both," Iris says, and they both flash me a smug grin. While they're getting ready to move into their dorm room at college, Roman has made it clear that their home base now is his -our- place. The warmth and welcomethere are light years from the chilly environment we used to endure at Poppy and Jack's Sunday "family" dinners.
"I feel a little silly wearing a wedding dress," I say, fiddling with the chiffon skirt. It is beautiful, a silk slip, and then sheer chiffon over with delicate sleeves, tied with ribbons. The dress has a full skirt that flows to mid-calf, so I'm comfortable walking without getting tangled up in it. The memory of that dress's train nearly getting me killed at The Chad's estate put me off trailing dresses for life.
"This is your real wedding!" Ava says sternly. "You ought to demand the Morozov tiara, you should be flaunting those aristocratic jewels."
"Oh, that's real?" I spin to stare at her. "Roman asked me if I wanted to wear a tiara. I thought he was kidding."
We're renewing our vows at the Morozov hunting lodge in the Kovalevsky Forest close to St. Petersburg.
Hunting lodge. Please.
The lodge is a massive creation of timber and stone with acres of dark, ominous forest surrounding it. It's easy to picture Roman having wrestled a bear and dragging it home to throw it on the enormous table in the kitchen. Shirtless. He would be shirtless when he does this.
Roman and Dmitri both seem a little darker, more feral here. Based on some of the savage memories Roman has shared with me, this is not a surprising development. Besides, sex has never been hotter than it is with Roman when he's like this. More elemental. More Russian.
He proved it this morning.
I was brushing my teeth when the bathroom door slammed open. Roman’s bare chest was heaving, he was only covered in sweat and his running shorts.
In an instant, I was pressed between the vanity and my husband’s hard body. “I thought about you for the entire fucking run,” he growled. “About shoving your legs apart and burying myself in your tight pussy. I took a shortcut through the forest, jumping fallen logs and scraping the shit out of my arm.”
My gaze darted to his shoulder and there was a long, raw scrape running clear down to his elbow. “Sweetheart, let me clean that, you’re going to get an infection.”
I had more to say, but his hips shoved against me, knocking the breath from my lungs and pressing my pelvis painfully against the marble vanity. There was an enormous old mirror hung over it, silvered with age. Slapping a hand against it, I tried to keep from landing face first into the basin. His dick was pressed against my back, the solid weight of him kept me in place.
“I’m going to slide my hand in these panties,” he said, as if we weren’t just talking about his injury. “If you’re wet, even a little slick, I’m shoving my cock in you. No warming you up, or playing with your clit. I’m pounding into that blazing hot cunt.”
He didn’t look at our reflection in the mirror, his head was bent, completely consumed with what he saw between us.
“Oh! Shit, Roman!”
I jolted forward, nearly smacking into the mirror as he ripped off my undies, driving three fingers into me without any warning. It burned, I was sore from the night before but he didn’t care. Yanking them back out of me, he held his glistening fingers up, showing the mirror and me that I was ready.
“There’s no safe word, baby,” he hissed. “You’re just going to take it.”
In two moves he shoved his shorts down and then, “Fuck!” I shrieked, “Ow!” The thick, solid heat of him tunneled through me as I squirmed, my feet trying to find purchase on the floor and he watched us, head bent.
“Let me in,” he commanded gruffly. “All the way in.”
I stared at the mirror, my wide, shocked eyes. Roman’s harsh features shaped into something darker. Crueler. He didn’t try to make it easier for me, he didn’t play with my breasts or toy with my clit. His hands went to my hips and he hauled me higher, my feet kicking, trying to touch the floor and he thrust viciously, mind set on only his pleasure.
Perversely, because of his savage selfishness, I felt an orgasm racing through me like quicksilver, circling all the places he didn’t bother to touch and swirling around the thick, driving weight of his cock inside me and I screamed, his giant hand slapping over my mouth as he grunted his way to an orgasm, too.
Our harsh breathing filled the bathroom, his forehead rested against my back before he came to his senses, pulling out of me and I felt the embarrassing rush of his finish and mine coat my thighs.
