Page 39 of His Disobedient Bride

“As good as 19th century poetry?” I asked, and I felt him smile, even though I was too shy to meet his eyes.

“Even better,” he said, and he bent his head to my belly, kissing just under my belly button and then down my skin until I realized where he was going and a flush began to build over my skin.

“I was a moron,” he said, and his tongue began to gently lick the center of my need, his fingers spreading my pussy lips open to give him greater access.

“You were forced into it,” I said, gasping at my husband’s tongue began to circle my clit.

“No, I wasn’t,” he said.

“Frederik, I know you were,” I protested, looking down to where his silvery head was circling around my clit, one tanned hand on my thigh.

“I wanted you, and this was the most respectable way to get you,” he said.

And I closed my eyes and let my husband’s experienced tongue and fingers bring me to orgasm.

* * *

As we lie together in a tangle of arms and legs, his hands on my hair, drawing it away from my sticky neck, he tells me about his childhood. Abandoned by his father, desperately poor, desperately hungry. He even tells me about the violence he’s done.

“So I’m not the man you think I am, Mary,” he says, his hands tightening on me. “You can’t think I’m better than the rest of my family.”

I’m speechless with indignation, but not at him. “Imagine stealing from a child,” I say angrily. “I don’t blame you at all for getting your groceries back!”

“And the book?” he asks lightly.

“It was a very stressful time,” I say firmly. “You were only a child.”

I hear his low laugh, and he turns to press a kiss on my neck.

“You’re a very surprising woman, Mary Petrovic,” he says, and I feel my heartbeat pick up as he kisses me again, his hand moving to gently stroke my breast and circle around my nipple.

30

FREDERIK

We got fucking lucky. Pyotr gave Andrei a name. Ivan Ivanovich. One dirty wrong name and Andrei knows where to find him.

And all fucking due to American cigarettes.

My nephew and son will be leaving to find him. It will end the feud with the Ivanovich Bratva. Because the name we got is the boss.

Cerise and Mary are standing in their swimsuits, ready to go to the beach on this bright, sunny day. Soon enough there will be the snap and chill of autumn in the air, but today it is still glorious summer. I let my eyes linger over Mary’s figure. How the fuck did I ever think she looked unremarkable and plain? She’s a fucking goddess, tall and slim, her auburn hair tied into a long braid, bright against her creamy skin. Even though we’re in the middle of the weapons checks and organization for the raid on the Ivanovich Bratva, I can feel my cock hardening in my pants. I want in my wife’s pussy again, and I feel a thrill go through me at the knowledge that she is mine.

Andrei comes around the corner. He’s wearing all black. I don’t see any weapons on him, but the Bratva Angel goes nowhere without them.

“What are you doing?” he asks Cerise sharply, standing across the table from her.

She looks up, surprised. “Going down to the beach,” she says.

“No,” Andrei replies. “You will be in the safe room during the raid.”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Cerise. “What’s the danger?”

“You will be in the safe room,” repeats Andrei, and I can see his eyes flash.

“No,” says Cerise, and he reaches one big hand around the table, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“I’ll help you obey me,” he says.

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