Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(48)

The glint of her ring catches my eyes as she flattens her palms against the table, reacting to my thrusts with fresh sparkles like it’s alive. And suddenly, I feel it.

I feel my newly married status. I feel the heady euphoria of ownership, of possession, of responsibility. The weight of what I’ve picked up.

She’s wearing my ring.

She’s carrying my child.

She’s fucking mine.

The word echoes in my head with every inch deeper I move inside of her. When I’m fully buried, I feel the demon inside me roar to life.

And then there’s no more holding back.

I fuck her harder and harder, my thrusts getting increasingly demanding until her moans turn to breathy whimpers of pleasure.

I don’t stop. Not until I feel her constrict around me, vibrating with orgasm.

But that’s not enough. I drag a seat free from the table, sit down in it, and pull her on top of me, her back to my front. I clasp her earlobe between my teeth as I fuck into her from below. She’s hot and writhing on my dick, and when I pass my thumb over her parted lips, she sucks on it greedily. The moans spilling free from her throat go thrumming through me like electric current.

“Come for me, kiska,” I snarl in her.

Like I flipped a switch, she does exactly as I said.

This one milks me free. She clamps down hard, biting my thumb and crying out around it as I spill all of me inside of her. It lasts a fucking eternity, both of us riding the edge of the orgasm that won’t end.

Until, finally, it does.

Her legs are so shaky in the aftermath that she can barely stand. I carry her to the hammock hanging in the corner and settle her down in it. She splays back as soon as I’ve released her, legs akimbo, face flushed and relaxed with heady pleasure. Her body glistens with a light sheen of sweat. She’s completely naked except for the pendant that hangs between her breasts. It and the ring on her finger continue to drink up the light.

I bring her water in a crystal champagne flute, the only thing that survived the wreckage we just inflicted on the table.

“Vse dlya sem’i.” I intone for her benefit. Her eyes fall immediately to the dog tag I’m wearing.

“‘Everything for the family.’”

She blinks in surprise as she processes. “That’s what it means?” I nod and she smiles softly. “That’s very… sentimental.”

“It belonged to my brother.” I’m not sure why I give her that piece of information. She doesn’t know enough to ask, and I could have easily gotten away with guarding that secret.

But part of me suddenly doesn’t want to keep things tucked away in the cobwebby darkness beneath my brother’s grave. For the first time in years, part of me wants to speak his name. Share his story.

Show the world what he taught me and what he meant.

She touches her own pendant. “This is from my best friend. Clara. She’s gone, too.”

There’s a story there that I have yet to hear. Another hurdle of trust I’ve yet to cross. But for right now, I’m content to sit beside her and drink champagne.

I hold out my champagne flute. “To Clara. To Maksim.”

She raises her glass, clinking the lip against mine, and adds, “To love we cannot forget.”





36

PAIGE

I wake in a pool of sunlight, my body singing with the pleasant soreness that follows a night of incredibly good sex.

I sit up, arms lifting over my head in a stretch. A cashmere blanket I don’t remember covering up with falls to the floor, reminding me that I’m still naked.

Still stretched out over the hammock.

Still in the very exposed, very-much-made-of-glass greenhouse.

The moment reality collides with the fantasy, I snatch the blanket off the floor and tuck it against my bare chest even though there is no one around to see me.

Someone has been here, though. There are fresh clothes folded over the footstool next to the sofa.

Gray sweats and a white t-shirt.

I push off the cashmere blanket and dress quickly. There’s enough foliage that I can’t see out of the greenhouse. I’m hoping that means no one else can see in. Then again, I’m pretty sure Misha wouldn’t have left me out here naked if he thought someone might see me.

Something tells me my new husband isn’t the sharing type.

Once I’m dressed, I notice a crisp white envelope on the table where Misha and I signed our marriage license and then consummated our marriage.

My face flushes as I tear open the envelope. I expect a letter from Misha. Maybe explaining why I’m waking up alone. Instead, it is a shiny black Amex card and a stodgy bank letter letting me know that the card is linked to an account in my name.

After everything that happened between us last night, the gesture feels breathtakingly cold.

I shove the card back into the envelope and head towards the main house. The moment I walk out of the greenhouse doors, I almost run into Rada. I yelp and jump backward, ramming into the glass and smacking my head against the iron frame.

“Ow!”

Rada is more controlled. She presses an apologetic hand to her chest and bows. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I look around to see how good—or, hopefully, how bad—her view into the greenhouse was from here. “How long have you been waiting?”