Page 36 of Forced Bratva Wife

When I arrived at my bedroom, Parker was still asleep in the bed. I hadn’t come in last night, so I’m not sure when she actually went to bed, but six-thirty seemed as good a time to wake up as any.

First, though, I took my time admiring how she looked in the skimpy little shorts I bought her. The fabric stretched around the curves of her ass as her leg was pulled up near her chest. Parker lay on her side, the loose hoodie top of the matching set bunched up just under her breasts.

My mouth practically watered at the sight of her. It’d be damn easy to slide in behind her and shove the flimsy fabric of those shorts out of the way. I knew she wasn’t wearing underwear and the thought made my dick thicken and twitch against my leg.

I knew I technically shouldn’t…which is, of course, why I did. Because I was nothing if not a maker of my own rules.

Hanging the dress bag up on the top edge of the closet door, I stalked over to the bed. Parker stirred ever so slightly, my steps making subtle vibrations. She began to stretch, and I slid in behind her before all opportunity was lost.

“What the—”

She jumped lightly as I sidled up to her hips, my erection pressing into her ass as I slipped an arm under her head and clamped my hand around her mouth. I didn’t want to hear a single word from those deliciously pouty lips.

With my free hand, I found the curve of Parker’s thigh, raking my fingers up her leg and using my nails just enough to make her whimper against my palm.

“Maybe next time you won’t sleep in, little one.”

Parker squirmed against me, but as my fingers found the space just before the hem of her shorts, she stilled. I toyed with the edge, teasing her. Her hips rocked against my shaft, and I wanted to bury myself in the slick folds just on the other side of the stupid fabric. But…

Teasing her like this was too damn fun.

“What, little one? Did you want something?”

I didn’t let go of her mouth, loving how she thrashed a little, and the warmth of her once-sleeping body wormed into me. Tracing my fingers around the edges of the shorts, I lifted the fabric away from her, and Parker moaned.

My fingers hovered over her flesh, and Parker began to tip her hips forward, seeking out the contact. I pulled away, smacking her ass as I admired the stippled bruising from the belt. She looked fucking delectable with my marks on her skin.

Later. The judge is waiting, after all.

Getting up from the luxurious bed, I turned away from Parker, going instead for the dress that hung up and taking it down. Spinning on my heel, I tossed the dress over her legs as Parker sat up with a glare.

“Get changed. I’ll send someone for hair and makeup.”

“Seriously? What the hell is going on? You can’t just—”

I chuckled, just heading for the door again and leaving her to sputter. Locking things up for now, I went to the foyer downstairs. I’d called for one of my men’s girlfriends, a stylist, to come help Parker get ready for the wedding, and she was due to arrive soon.

Sure enough, as I hurried down the stairs, a guard was there welcoming the woman to the house. I nodded at her, offering a hand to shake.

“Mia. Thank you for coming. Allow me to show you to your canvas for the morning.”

“Of course, Mr. Vadim.” She nodded back, taking my hand lightly.

I could sense the nervous tension in her, but she was respectful, and she’d been a staple in Joey’s life for a few years. She was a safe bet for something like this.

As we walked to my bedroom, I spoke over my shoulder to her.

“Mia, I expect my bride to get your best work. Nothing is too good for her. Understood?”

“Of course. She’ll knock your socks off. I guarantee it.”

Mia’s voice held the hint of a lower-class Chicago accent, and it was a slight change from the Brooklyn dialect I was familiar with back in New York. Results would speak for themselves, however.

“I hope so.”

***

Time dragged at a snail’s pace while I waited for Parker to come out of that fucking room. Mia had been in there doing Parker’s makeup and hair for a good two and a half hours, and we were pushing our arranged time of eleven at the judge’s quarters.

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