Page 26 of Poisoned Vows

But shelooksas if she believes it. Or maybe she’s just forcing herself to try.

“You will be the wife I need and want,” I tell her flatly, pushing the arousal out of my tone. I deliver it like an edict, a command, because I have to put some distance between us now, or I’ll snap. “You just don’t know it yet. Youwillbelong to me, and you will be whatItell you to be. On your knees or on your back, for as long as it pleases me.”

Lillian’s mouth tightens. “I hate you,” she hisses. “You know that, right? How does that feel, knowing your wife-to-be hates you? That I’ll hate you for every second that you—”

I step towards her again. I can’t help it. She draws me in like a magnet, and I want to wrap my hand around her throat and drag her lips to my cock. But instead, I reach for her hand, my fingers closing around her small wrist as I plant her hand against the front of my trousers.

She can’t hide the gasp that slips out of her mouth as her palm presses against the ridge of my cock. I know she can feel me throb under her touch. I’m so hard that it fucking hurts, hard enough that she can probably feel the fucking veins through the fabric, and for a moment, I think I might actually come just from the warm pressure of her hand against me, like a green kid with no self-control instead of a grown man.

“Does it feel like I care if you hate me?” I ask, holding her hand there. I want to rub her palm across myself, see if she gives in to the urge to curl her fingers around me, but I don’t dare risk it. I can feel the dampness of my own arousal sliding down my shaft, worsening the friction, and I’m so close to losing the upper hand in this argument. I can only imagine what she’d say if she made me come in my pants like this.

Lilliana licks her lips, andgod, I want to believe that it’s because she wants me in her mouth. But I know that it’s out of fear. “No,” she says softly. “It doesn’t feel like that at all.”

“Remember this,” I tell her. “This is what you’re going to feel on our wedding night. It doesn’t matter what you say. It doesn’t matter how much you hate me. I amsavingyou from a worse fate, Lilliana Narokovna. And you will understand that, eventually. But in two nights, I won’t stop.”

I let go of her hand, stepping back for a second time, despite the fact that every cell in my body screams for me to keep going, to use her for my pleasure. I desperately need to come.

She stares at me, speechless for once. And I use that moment to force myself to walk out of the room.

I don’t make it off of the third floor. I duck into the nearest bathroom, two doors down, shutting the door behind me as I lean against it, reaching feverishly for my zipper. I don’t even bother turning on the fucking lights. I wrap my fist around my cock, and my mind is full of Lilliana—her defiant eyes, her full lips, the feeling of her hand pressed against me. I drag my fist down my length, hard and fast, and in my mind’s eye, she’s on her knees, that same defiant look blazing on her face as I feed my cock between her lips on our wedding night.

I come in seconds, cupping my other palm over the head of my cock as I thrust against my hand, imagining that it’s hers, that I’d unzipped myself and made her feel my hot flesh as I came in the palm of her hand.

It’s only when the dizzying rush of pleasure has ebbed, and I’m standing there, panting and sweating in the dark with a handful of my own cum, that I realize exactly how that statement sounded in my mind. Exactly what I thought, as I let myself go.

Our wedding night can’t come fast enough. The sooner I’ve had her, the sooner I can forget her.

Before she becomes something I can’t shake.

Lilliana

The morning of my wedding day dawns bright and beautiful, and it feels entirely wrong. It should be storming, thunder and lightning, dark and angry, the way I feel about this entire farce that’s been thrust upon me. Instead, the sunshine is streaming through the curtains when I wake up. I press a hand over my face, wondering what would happen if I simply rolled over and disappeared beneath the blankets.

Instead, there’s a knock at the door—everyone insists on knocking politely, which seems utterly ridiculous to me, considering the fact that I’m always locked in here—and a moment later, Marika pushes it open and steps inside.

“Lilliana?” Her voice is tentative, and I can tell she’s wondering if I’m going to try to resist. I want to—but what’s the point? I’m going to end up married to Nikolai if they have to drag me there, I have no doubt.

If nothing else, he was very clear when he came to see me. After today, as far as he’s concerned, I’ll belong to him. And there’s no one who is going to do a damn thing about it.

I haven’t so much as heard from my father. If Nikolai changed his mind, or if he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, I’m sure I would have in some way. But it’s been only silence. I’ve served my purpose, and whatever happens to me now isn’t his problem, as far as he’s concerned.

“I’m having breakfast and mimosas sent up,” Marika says, her voice as encouraging as she can manage. She throws the curtains wide, flooding the room with light, and I press one hand over my eyes.

“The ceremony is later this afternoon. I can’t sleep in?”

“It’s after eleven a.m. already, silly.” She smiles at me, but even I can see it’s taut at the edges. She’s wondering how difficult this is going to be—if she’s going to be able to be my friend, or have to be part of forcing me to the altar. “It’s going to take a while to do your hair and makeup.”

My bedroom becomes a steady flood of people, in and out. The staff member who brings up the breakfast Marika mentioned, which I pick at once I’m out of the shower and in the silk robe she left hanging on the bathroom door. The hair and makeup artists that someone hired, fuss over me as Marika watches, curling my hair and dabbing at my face until I’m transformed into the very picture of perfection for myspecial day.

And I do look lovely. That, I have to admit. My hair falls around my face and shoulders in thick, glossy, Hollywood-siren blonde waves, and the makeup is flawless. I look better than I ever have in my life, even on the night when my father brought me here to present me to thepakhan.

I’ve never been more disappointed to be beautiful.

I can see Marika smoothing out my wedding dress as the woman doing my makeup attaches thin, individual eyelashes to each of my lids, and I try desperately not to blink. This entire thing feels ridiculous, like playacting for a performance that everyone around me knows the truth of. I don’t understand why we can’t just sign some paperwork and call it a day.

Although, of course, I do. Nikolai’s family is the head of the most powerful Bratva organization in Chicago, and he’s the heir. It has to be a spectacle. And I will have to play my part, or pay the price for it later.

Marika brings my dress over, shooing the others out. She undoes the buttons on the back while I shrug out of my robe, my movements feeling almost robotic at this point. I’m wearing only the white lace thong that we’d purchased underneath the robe, nothing to leave any unsightly lines under my silk dress. Still, Marika barely glances at me, even though I feel vulnerably bare and exposed. She just holds the dress up so I can step into it, drawing the silk straps over my shoulders, and starts buttoning up the back.

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