Page 47 of Owned By The Bratva King

I take a sip of the cocktail and wince. “Urgh. I’ll see you guys later.”

37

Quinn

I’m on my second prosecco when Roman reappears. I hear the sound of the speedboat starting up.

“They’re leaving.” Roman sits beside me. “I want us to have some time alone. You know, to make it official.”

The way he says it sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. Beneath my dress, my thighs chafe in the restrictive mermaid skirt, my pussy damp between them.

It’s scary how quickly he can get to me. Just the proximity to him makes my pulse pound.

“Listen, Quinn.” I laugh when he sets a sizeable crushed-ice cocktail on the side table.

“That’s not your style at all!”

“Quinn.” He smiles, but then his brows knit together, his eyes darkening. “I need you to tell me your fears. I know what danger I bring into your life, but something stalks you. Other than me, of course.”

I’m struck by regret that he won’t be stalking me anymore. I assume I’ll be living with him now, a caged bird. Perhaps he’ll lose interest, his obsession wilting like autumn leaves now the prey has been caught.

I have to tell Roman about Julian. If I lie and it comes out later, I don’t know what will happen, but I doubt it’d be anything less than a shitshow.

“My uncle.” The words come out in a small, scared voice I haven’t heard since I was a kid. “Julian. He’s my mother’s brother and was my guardian. I ran away from home at fifteen because he mistreated me.”

“What did he do?” Roman’s barely-concealed malice drips from every syllable. “I’ll see he pays for hurting you, Quinn. I swear I will.”

“I don’t want that. I’ve been hiding from him for years. If I’m safe now, that’s all that matters. No need to drag all that back up.”

“But—”

“Roman, it’s not your fight!” Frustration I didn’t know I felt comes bubbling up from deep within, frightening me with its intensity. “I had a life. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. You’ve given me a lot. Can’t you let one thing go?”

Roman stares at me for a long moment before wiping away my tears with his knuckles. “My wife. My beautiful, brave girl. Of course, I can let it go. Don’t cry.” He lowers his lips to mine. “It’s gonna be alright. I promise.”

I close my eyes, a powerful surge of desire flowing through me. His touch is like fire against my skin, and the weight of the world melts away.

As our kiss deepens, Roman’s hand finds the zipper of my wedding dress and slowly pulls it down, exposing my skin to the cool air. I shiver with anticipation as he frees me from the confines of the dress, the breeze catching the firm peaks of my nipples. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight before him, his hands moving to cup my breasts.

“Mine,” he whispers as though to himself. “Your body belongs to me, always, whenever I want it. Is that clear?”

I nod, too aroused to protest. He can say anything; I’ll agree if he gives me what I need.

I arch into his touch as Roman’s lips move down my neck. He captures one hardened nipple between his lips, sucking and teasing it until I’m writhing with bliss.

His hands and mouth roam over every curve and dip until he reaches the hemline of my dress, and he rolls it up. He licks his lips when he sees the wetness peeking from between my puffy folds.

“That’s my good girl,” he says. “Always do what I tell you, Quinn. I’ll make it worth your while every time. Now,” he strokes a fingertip over my slit, “what does my slutty wife want?”

“Please touch me,” I say. “I want to see you naked, to feel your cock—oh God, Roman. All of it, everything, all at once!”

“Greedy.” He swipes his thumb over my clit, and I gasp. “Greedy little cock-hungry whore. You want me to fuck you wide open, right here and now?”

“Yes, I do.”

Julian used to call me a slut and a whore too, but this is different. Roman’s words are harsh, but his eyes are soft. How does he have me worked out so fast?

I love it when he calls me nasty things, but only because I feel his adoration, his unselfconscious passion for me.

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