Page 22 of His to Ruin

Olivia puts her hands on my shoulders and digs her nails in as I taste and tease her. There’s a sweetness on her breath that’s as intoxicating as the delicate scent of lilies on her skin. I slide my free hand down to cup her firm ass and mold her body to mine. We fit so perfectly together.

I kiss her like both our lives depend on it, showing her no mercy as I possess her thoroughly. My tongue dances with hers until she’s breathless. When she whimpers with need, I release her and she stumbles back, steadying herself on the arm of a chair.

“Now does it feel like you’re mine?”

I can’t help grinning at her loss of composure. Tendrils of chestnut hair have come undone. Her lips are red and puffy. What I enjoy the most, however, is the glazed look in her eyes. It’s as if she’s drunk. Satisfaction washes over me as I acknowledge the effect I had on her. If that’s how she responds to one kiss, what sort of mess will she be once I’ve fucked her?

That’s a question for another time. Right now, I want an answer to the question I asked her.

“Olivia, does it feel like you’re mine?”

“Yes.” Her voice is quiet, and she stares at the floor, her body slumped forward as if she just admitted defeat. Perhaps in this moment she feels as if she did. I’m not foolish enough to think I’ve somehow tamed her with a single kiss. She’s just shell-shocked by the magnitude of our union. In the coming days and weeks, she’ll truly get to grips with what it means to be my wife.

“Good girl,” I tell her. “Now, tidy yourself up. We have a wedding to enjoy.”

CHAPTER 8

Olivia

Piotr is being a lot nicer to me than I expected him to be. In fact, I would describe the way he’s acting as sweet. He’s been super-attentive and now and then he whispers a compliment in my ear. It’s mainly about how I’m being a good girl. That should raise my hackles, since I’m desperate to assert my independence, but I kind of like his praise. Has he unlocked a kink I didn’t know I had?

As we mingle with our guests, he keeps an arm wrapped around my waist, giving me the occasional encouraging squeeze when he realizes I’m close to being overwhelmed by the relentless exchange of pleasantries. I don’t know how he reads my discomfort so easily. I’ve been trained from a young age to project a confidence I don’t always feel, yet he sees right through the façade.

When we sit down to enjoy our celebratory meal featuring an array of Italian and Russian dishes, Piotr makes sure I have enough to eat and drink. He limits me to a single glass ofProsecco, but I won’t hold that against him. Keeping a clear head for tonight is a good idea. I don’t want to be drunk when Piotr and I are finally alone. Losing my virginity holds a certain amount of dread for me, but I want to be lucid when it happens.

By the time Piotr takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor in front of our many guests, I can’t help wondering if he’s putting on an act. Perhaps he’s trying to project the image of the perfect son-in-law to keep my mother happy. After all, she’s marrying Piotr’s uncle soon, and any apparent discord between me and my husband might cause issues for them.

“Are you having a good time,malyskha?” Piotr asks.

“Yes.” I’m surprised to find I mean it. I hadn’t looked forward to this wedding, but I am enjoying myself. “Are you?”

“I am, but I’m afraid we must leave soon. We have a plane to catch.”

Though Piotr sent me a message via Antonio telling me to have a bag packed, he didn’t tell me where he intends to take me. I know little about his plans for our future. In fact, I haven’t got a clue where we’ll live. Piotr has an apartment in New York, but he also has properties in Europe.

“Where are we going?”

“To Paris, for a couple of days.”

“Paris?” I can’t hold in a squeal of delight. Should I read anything into him taking me to one of the most romantic cities in the world? Does it mean I’m more than a business acquisition to him? I won’t get my hopes up.

“Yes.” His lips twitch in response to my obvious delight. “Have you been?”

“Once, but that was years ago.”

I don’t remember a lot about that trip, except that I was disappointed my father didn’t make time to take us to the Louvre or the Musée d’Orsay, both of which were on my wish list. We saw the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, but only in passing. Mainly, we were there to be shown off at dinners with my father’s business associates. His apparently perfect family was a symbol of his stability and trustworthiness. My mother took me to Notre Dame and the Sacre Coeur, but churches have never interested me, no matter how impressive the architecture. I did like the chaos of the Montmartre, though.

“You’ll enjoy it,” Piotr says. “Lots of boutiques to spend my money in.”

That rubs me the wrong way. His money? Does he intend to grant me an allowance? What conditions will I have to meet to receive his beneficence?

“I have my own money.” Antonio allowed me access to the inheritance my father left me as soon as I turned eighteen, but still met all my expenses, so I have a decent sum squirreled away.

“You’d have more fun spending mine.”

“It depends on what strings are attached.”

“No strings. My wife needs to uphold a certain image. You’ll have access to a bank account and credit card.”

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