Page 93 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

He grips my ass, spreading it apart. Then he lifts me up and slides me down again, his dick pressing against my asshole.

He moves slowly, whispering, “Relax into it. That’s it. Just like that.”

He starts slowly, fucking my asshole while he sucks my tits, giving the nipples little bites as he moans into my chest. His dick feels just as good deep in my ass. He guides me up and down, holding me while he thrusts deeper, harder.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he moans. “Only mine.”

“I’m all yours,” I tell him. My toes curl as another orgasm rises up. “Come with me, Titus. Fill my fucking asshole, Daddy.”

It’s all he needs to blow. I dig my nails into his shoulders as he thrusts harder and harder. When he comes, I follow, disintegrating in his arms.

He holds me, gentle kisses on my chest. I take his face in my hands and kiss him. “I can’t wait to marry you, Titus,” I whisper. “I love you.”

He sucks on my lips and moans against my mouth. “I fucking love you back.”

32

EPILOGUE

SOFIA

Another car’s arrived. Our driveway looks more like a parking lot with every car that shows up. I’m starting to think that there are more than just Archangels at this party.

Around this time a year ago, I was in another bedroom in another house, belonging to another family. My brother and father were still alive and I thought I knew exactly who I was, even if I didn’t have any realistic prospects for the future. I didn’t know then that I was just an ornament for my father. Something for him to brag to his friends about—the daughter as skilled in combat as anybykiorboevik. I seem to recall some of them even calling me the female version of him.

What I didn’t know then was that I was never going to be more than that. Oh, I suppose I understood that being that I was not only female but also the daughter of the Pakhan, I had norealplace in the Bratva. My father’s worldview was an old one and there just wasn’t any room for me to be who I really am in it.

I live with the irony of that every day. If I had not been who I am, I wouldn’t have survived… and I would never have married the love of my life.

This is good… I keep telling myself that as I watch another car pull up. I am the queen of this Bratva. I am respected now, or at least I am supposed to be respected.

I’m not fool. Rumors don’t just go away because the boss says so. I know there are still some of his men who think I shouldn’t be on his arm, and then others who think that I’m just a trophy for him to parade around. A symbol of that one time that Titus Malkin went scorched earth on the Penza Bratva. For every one who approves of our union, I’m willing to bet there are two who don’t.

And my being at this party tonight is going to ruffle feathers and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say.

The door opens and Titus comes in. He’s dressed in that far too expensive suit that he bought the other day. It’s embossed with a curving vine design that only shows up when the light hits it a certain way. His dress shirt is the same shade of black as the rest of his suit, his beard is trimmed and his shoulder-length silver hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

And he smells like heaven. As he walks over the threshold, the room fills with his scent as well as his presence. He smiles at me and with a tilt of his head, he asks, “What are you still doing up here, Sofia? The party’s started. Just about everyone’s here.”

I smile at him, trying not to let the sadness show through. “I was just watching the cars come in,” I tell him. “I, uh, I’ll be down soon.”

The joy in his face fades slightly and he narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does there have to be something wrong?”

“There doesn’t, but there is, isn’t there?”

I sigh and look down at the dress I’m in. Gold sequins, form fitting, and worth an obscene amount of money. He sees me looking at my dress and he says, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I say politely.

He walks up to me and takes my hand. “What is it, Sofia?”

I’m trying to find the right way to put this. To not sound ungrateful for this life that we share. “What are people saying about me?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”