WALKING INTO SVETLANA, I see my contact at the very back of the small restaurant. He’s already drinking vodka, and I shake my head. I feel like I have a hangover from jetlag, and I don’t need the added fuzziness from booze.
“You look good, Uncle,” I state as I sit in the seat across from him.
“My flight is scheduled to arrive in New York the day of Pasha’s collection, which is when you’ll be announcing your takeover, correct?” Sergei asks.
“Yes. Yakov is going to supply some back up. With your added men, the takeover should be easy enough.” I mutter.
“Good, so there should be a decent number of us if your father causes issues—or any of his men after the takeover is complete,” he states with a nod before he takes a sip of his vodka. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding. My Raisa needed a reward,” he shrugs.
“No problem. It was nice. Uneventful,” I chuckle.
“Good. And your new wife?” he asks, arching his brow.
I can tell he’s not trying to pry, but he’s curious. All he knows about Devyn is that she’s an Irish princess and that my father arranged our contract several years ago to create peace within our territories. This kind of thing is common amongst different Bratva groups, but it is a rarity to bridge separate sects the way my father did.
“Young, but smart. Very beautiful,” I state.
Sergei smiles before he throws back the rest of his drink. “So your father wasn’t completely useless,” he grunts.
“He’s supposed to be showing up here. I don’t have a good feeling,” I say. Sergei’s eyes harden before they narrow.
“You can’t kill him here,” he grunts.
Nodding in agreement, I signal for the waiter. I ask him for a water and he lifts his chin in what can only be described as annoyance as he makes his way to the bar to get a water for me.
“Water. You should be ashamed to call yourself Russian,” Sergei grunts as the waiter brings my glass to me.
“I haven’t slept in hours. I have jetlag, and I assume they don’t serve coffee here,” I grumble. “Why do you think he’s showing up on my honeymoon, unannounced?”
Sergei nods and leans back in his seat. “There was a time, not long ago, that I felt that I knew what your father was thinking; that I could anticipate any move he made before he even thought it up. Now,” he shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue why he’s doing the things he has.”
I let out a heavy sigh and run my hand over my face in frustration. My fucking father. He’s so crazy right now, and has been since my mother passed. Maybe he was always this way and just hid it better, just had a better grasp on his fucking insanity. I don’t know, but it needs to end.
“Do you want me to have someone watch your back while you’re playing devoted newlywed?” Sergei asks.
“You have someone?”
He grins with a shake of his head. “No matter where you are, I can always find Bratva. This area is heavy with them. Hiring a Byki will be no trouble,” he says with a wave of his hand.
“Might not be a bad idea. I have my gun, but since this trip of his has been kept under wraps, I have no clue what he has planned,” I murmur.
“Your contact hasn’t reached out to you yet?”
Shaking my head, I tell him no. Konstantin hasn’t said a word since my wedding night. It was only a couple days ago, but it feels like a year ago. I just want this fucking shit over with. Part of my contractual obligation is complete with Patrick, Devyn’s father, and I’m working on the other part. I can’t complain about that part too much; it’s fun as shit.
“Keep me updated. I’ll be busy all of tomorrow, but text me,” he murmurs. I lift my chin as I stand. “Be good to her. Make your mother proud.”
I feel my throat squeeze and I dip my chin in acknowledgement of his words. I’m unable to speak, for fear of showing emotion. I exit the restaurant and decide to walk back to the hotel. It’s a bit of a trek, but it’s Paris, and the weather is gorgeous.
My phone buzzes with a text a few minutes later, and I reach into my pocket. Pulling my device out, I see that Sergei has left me the name and number of my Byki. Without delay, I call the man.
“Pava,” he barks into the phone.
I explain to him in French who I am and who gave me his information.
“You’re American, no?” he asks in a mix of a French and Russian accent.
“Yes, I am,” I confirm as I continue to walk down the now crowded city sidewalks.
He laughs, “My daughter, she in school, teaches me American. We go to New York this summer,” he states. I can’t help but grin. “I practice with you.”
“Sounds good,” I laugh. “Tomorrow my wife and I will be touring the city. She has never seen Paris. You’ll be our Byki, but stay out of sight?” I ask, speaking as slowly as possible.
“What time and what hotel?” he asks slowly. I can tell he is truly concentrating.
“The Four Seasons, George V, at nine in the morning,” I explain.
He whistles. “Honeymoon?”
“Oui, Pava,” I laugh.
“Nice,” he hisses. “I will be there. Do not leave before nine,” he informs. I agree before ending the call.
I should get back to the hotel immediately and do exactly what I promised my wife I would do today after my meeting.
My only desire for the day is to alternate between fucking her sweet cunt, and sleeping next to her warm body. But I’m too wound up from my meeting, from thinking of my father and then my mother. I need some time to breathe.
I walk along the Champs-Elysees and just enjoy the fresh air and the solidarity. As I do, I allow myself to think of my mama. I miss her. With every breath I take, I miss Sonia Vetrova a little bit more. The regret I carry for not being a better son to her weighs heavily on my being.
Maybe I’m a pussy and a mama’s boy for missing her as much as I do, but I don’t give a shit. You only have one mama, and Sonia was mine. I took her for granted, thought she would always be there, that she along with my father were these untouchable beings. I was so wrong.
Had we arrived just minutes earlier, we could have saved her from the horrific fate she suffered at the hands of a rogue Irishman. I’m glad Konstantin killed the fuck, protecting Inessa for Dominik. I only wish I could have been there to see him go down, or maybe to have taken care of him myself. I would have relished in watching him take his last breath, as he ordered my mother’s to be taken from her body.
Shaking my head, I try to clear my mind of the past, of the darkness that threatens to consume me every time I think in depth about the situation that took my mother’s life—a situation that changed everything in my life, in Oksana’s life, and of the U.S. Bratva members’ lives as well.
I continue on my walk, unsure of the time as I stroll. I am in no way ready to come out of my own head and face reality. I’m consumed in thought as I continue on my slow pace.
I’ve taken a nap, awoken, showered, and now am wearing a pair of salmon cuffed shorts and an off white loose tank top. My bare feet are tucked under my legs, as I sit on the sofa in the living area, of our suite.
I haven’t eaten, too consumed with thoughts on where Timofei has been for the past ten hours. With my body and eyes pointed toward the glass balcony doors, I watch as the sun begins to set.
My first day in Paris, the city of love on my honeymoon, and I’ve been completely alone for hours—locked away in my tower. There are no more tears left to cry. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I feel like my entire life has been turned upside down. I’m just waiting for something else to come at me.
I stand, walking over to the phone in the kitchen area and think about ordering food. Then I notice that there is a little card on how to internationally dial out to the US. I shouldn’t call anyone, but I’ve been too inside of my own head since my vows. I need to just talk and breathe. I pick up the phone and dial Shannon, my best friend.
“Please tell me it’s you,” she breathes into her phone.
“It’s me,” I admit with a smile.
I’ve missed the sound of her voice. It’s only been a few days, but it doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve missed my friend.
“I saw Flynn yesterday. He asked me about you,” she murmurs. My eyes widen in surprise, waiting for her to continue. I can tell that she isn’t finished. “I can only describe him as heartbroken. He seriously wanted more, Devyn. He’s pretty angry your father signed that contract with the Russians. He was very vocal. Your brother Callum was with him, and he didn’t seem happy about the marriage, either.”
“What were you doing with Flynn and Callum?” I ask in confusion.
Shannon has been very vocal about her distaste for my brother so it surprises me that she’s mentioning seeing, and talking, to him.
The line is quiet for so long that I think the call has dropped, when she finally speaks. “My father took me by your house. I was with him when he got a summons,” she murmurs but she sounds funny. I don’t have time to ask her more. “They’re pretty pissed you’re with this Russian.”
I sigh, twisting the phone’s cord in my fingers as I close my eyes. “It doesn’t matter if they’re happy. It’s done. I’m married; and according to the contract, I have to be pregnant within the first year of our union,” I murmur. She gasps on the other line.
“What happens if you don’t?”
I close my eyes, not wanting to think about the what-if’s. “Timofei has to give me back. If I’m sent back to my father, he’ll consider it me shaming him. There’s no telling what he’ll do with me then. Remember when Brenna tried to leave her husband because he beat the shit out of her and was cheating on her?” I ask.
My sister, she’s not had an easy life with her husband. He’s notorious for cheating on her. When she confronted him the first time, she stubbornly wouldn’t let it go. She didn’t take her place and shut her mouth. She smarted off, told him her father would hear about it, and he beat the absolute hell out of her. She ran home to dad, and instead of him defending her, he ripped into her verbally about how she was a shit wife. He made her go back. I haven’t seen bruises on her since, but she isn’t the same girl she once was, either.
“You don’t think Callum or your other brothers would help?” she asks.
I love Shannon, I really do, but she has no clue at all what my father is truly like. She’s heard stories, but she doesn’t know, not really. She doesn’t realize what kind of hell he can, will, and does put us through.
“Dad is in charge, Shannon,” I simply state.
She lets out a breath. “How is Timofei then?” she asks, changing the subject. I’m grateful for the change, but I don’t want to talk about him.
“He’s okay. He’s nice enough,” I shrug as though she can see me.
I hear the door make a noise and push forward, but the chain stops the person on the other side from entering. Then Timofei’s voice rings out. “Devyn, come unlatch the door.”
I quickly tell Shannon bye and she begs me to call her again soon. I agree before I end the call and hurry to the door, closing it before unlatching the chain and then opening it again.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks. His eyes are almost midnight blue, and his body is tight, coiled in anger.
Stepping back from the doorway, he follows me, slamming the door behind him, advancing toward me. I stumble slightly before my back crashes against a wall. Then he’s right in front of me, his hips pressed against my stomach and his hands on either side of my face. He dips his head down and his eyes are aligned with mine, anger swirling in his dark blue gaze.
“You better fucking answer me,” he growls.
I gulp, searching his face for the gentler Timofei that I’ve come to know, but he’s nowhere to be found. This harsh man is all I see standing in front of me. “My friend Shannon,” I whisper.
His eyes cut to the phone and then back to me. “You took too long. I don’t believe you,” he growls.
“I wanted to tell her I was okay. She’s my best friend,” I whisper, locking my eyes in on his angry ones.
His jaw clenches and I watch as a muscle jumps in his cheek. “You don’t make phone calls without my permission,” he grunts.
My eyes widen and I open my mouth to speak, but quickly decide not to. Snapping my lips closed, I nod.
“Christ,” he hisses before his head dips a little more and his lips brush mine. “I’ve never been jealous,” he whispers. He moves one of his hands to wrap around the side of my neck before it travels down to my waist and then hip. “Not until you,” he rasps against my mouth.
“It was my oldest friend,” I murmur as my eyes flutter closed.
“Don’t care. You’re mine now, Devyn,” he growls before his lips take mine harshly.
I give into him immediately, because as he said I am his. All of his. When his tongue slips inside of my mouth, I let out a moan, having missed his taste. I didn’t know I missed it, not until this very moment, but I did.
His hand moves from my hip to the front of my shorts and he unbuttons and unzips them, pushing them past my hips to fall to the ground. My panties soon follow, and then two fingers quickly thrust inside of me, causing me to break our kiss and let my head fall backward on a cry.
Timofei’s lips travel down my throat, and I feel him suck and nip my skin alternately as his fingers continue to fill me over and over. I roll my hips, my body naturally searching for more—more friction and more of his touch.
In a flash, he pulls out of me and wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs before he impales me on his hard length. I let out a surprised gasp, unsure of when he unbuttoned his pants. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I hold onto him as he moves me up and down on his length a few times, his eyes never leaving mine.
Then he presses my back against the wall again and leans forward, his cock continuing to fill me, his pelvis pressing against my clit and causing me to moan with each and every stroke. I feel wanton and needy, my irritation at his day long disappearance suddenly gone.
“Come for your husband,” he murmurs against the side of my neck. His hands squeeze the flesh of my ass roughly.
“Fei,” I rasp. “Fei, I need more,” I whimper. “Harder.”
A growl erupts from his throat, and he starts to slam into me, hard and hurried. Timofei’s head is tipped down as he watches our connection, watching the way he disappears inside of me and grinds against my clit. My fingers dig into his shoulders as my body winds tightly. Then, thankfully, it uncoils and I feel that release I’ve been searching for.
I come on a long moan, my thighs shaking around Timofei’s hips. He grunts and slams in and out of me even harder—once, twice, three times, and then he drops his head back with a groan of his own and comes inside of me. I feel the spurts of his release enter me, and I send up a secret hope that we’ve created a baby.
“You want to call a friend, you ask me next time,” he mutters as he sets me down and pulls out of me. I place my hands to the wall in an attempt not to fall flat on my face. My thighs are so shaky.
I quickly pull on my panties and shorts, ignoring the fact that his cum is starting to drip out of me. I follow behind him toward the bedroom. “Timofei,” I call out. He stops, not facing me, but waiting for me to talk to his back.
“I didn’t think you’d be upset that I was talking to a girlfriend. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me. Why do you want to isolate me?” I ask, my voice firm. Inside, I’m a shaking, scared mess.
“You’re mine,” he states again. I wait for more. I watch and wait. Then he spins around, his face unreadable and completely expressionless. “You. Are. Mine, Devyn. Your old life doesn’t exist. You only see your family or talk to them with my permission. You may think that this marriage bridged some sort of gap, and it did, but not enough that you’re free to do as you wish. You’ll never have that freedom, Devyn.”
I blink at his words, wondering when he thought I’d ever had freedom in my life. “I’ve never been free, Fei,” I murmur. His eyes sweep down my body before he looks at me again, leveling me with his harsh gaze.
“You were free to lose your virginity,” he grunts.
I jerk back as though he’s physically hurt me, causing him to wince before he schools his features again.
I press my lips together, my eyes completely focused on him, but not wishing to say anything to further this argument. Then I suck in a ragged breath and accept his orders, his terms. In reality, I don’t have any choice but to do so. “Okay, Timofei. I’m sorry. I’ll ask you next time,” I relent on a whisper.
He nods before he turns away from me, again, and walks over to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he picks up the phone and I watch him, listening to him speak rapidly in French for a few moments before he murmurs a merci and hangs up.
“Clean up, dinner will be here shortly. We’ll be dining on the balcony,” he announces, his eyes on me. I nod and turn to walk to the bathroom. “Wear a dress,” he barks.
I detour to the closet and find a pretty light blue dress that Brenna packed for me, then snatch up a new pair of white lacey panties.
I hurry to the bathroom and decide to take a quick shower to rinse off. I didn’t do much today, but Timofei’s release sliding down my thighs makes me feel unclean and untidy. Once I rinse and dry off, I slip on my new panties. They’re bikini cut, but the back is completely see through, making them sexy with coverage.
I don’t bother putting my bra back on. I didn’t grab a strapless one, and this dress has spaghetti straps. It hangs loosely over my body and hits around mid-thigh, but you can’t see any part of my shape beneath. It’s just a light, pale blue, summery dress, nothing overly sexy or fancy. It would actually be perfect for touring the city, which I know Timofei has promised we’ll do. I’m wondering, after spending the day alone, if that will actually happen.
Running a brush through my hair, I don’t bother styling it. I let it fall down my back in soft waves. We’re not going anywhere, dinner is right here, and there’s no reason to make myself up completely. Timofei has already seen me makeup-less. There’s nothing to hide from him, really. We’re married now.
“What were you doing in there?” he asks as I open the door and step outside into the cool balcony. The sun has completely set, and the city lights twinkle all around us, reminding me of home.
“I took a quick shower,” I shrug.
He arches a brow in question as I walk over to the empty chair at the table. I spy the tray that’s been wheeled in with covered domed plates. “Duck confit,” he murmurs, lifting the dome.
It looks like an entire duck breast is sitting on top of a pile of beans and potatoes. My eyes widen as I sit down and take in the dish. I didn’t think to question French food, something I’ve never had before, but this doesn’t look appealing at all.
“Just try it,” Timofei grunts as he sets the plate in front of me. “If you hate, it I’ll order you a hamburger and fries.”
I watch as he sits down across from me and places his own plate in front of him. I start to pick at my meat with my fork and then hesitantly slide it into my mouth. It’s surprisingly delicious, and I’m grateful. I haven’t eaten in what feels like days.
“You need to be ready by eight-thirty tomorrow morning. You can grab some pastries at the café downstairs before we leave for the day,” he announces. I nod, keeping my eyes trained on my food.
“Okay,” I breathe as I take another bite of the duck, kind of afraid to try the potato concoction it sits on.
We finish our meal in silence; and though I don’t look up, I can feel Timofei’s eyes on me the entire time. I want to talk to him, to get to know him, but I don’t know how. He’s such a contradiction. One minute he seems almost normal, open and even approachable. The next minute he’s bossy, angry, and completely shut off.
“I didn’t order dessert. You can order something if you want to. I don’t care for sweets,” he states. I look up at him in surprise. Who doesn’t like sweets? I think to myself.
“I don’t need it,” I murmur.
“Suit yourself.”
I clear our plates, placing them on the tray before I wheel it against the empty wall to the side. I don’t return back to my seat. Instead, I walk a little further to the balcony rail, and lean against it, looking at the street below us.
It isn’t terribly late, and there are people milling around, some leisurely, some in a hurry. I wonder where they’re going, if they have loved ones waiting for them, or if any will be like me and locked away until another day.
Timofei’s heat is at my back, and I feel him shift my hair to the side before his lips touch my neck. This is why I thought we could be more, why I thought we could fall in love, because of moments like this one. Brenna was not as wrong as he claims she was. She warned me not to fall, not to hope, and yet, like a fool, I keep doing it.
One of his hands wraps around the side of my waist while his lips continue to kiss the side of my neck. I move my head slightly to give him more access. If I’m going to be in a marriage where I’m isolated, at least my husband—when he’s around—gives me sweet attention.
Things could be much worse.
I need to keep reminding myself of that.
I suck in a breath when the hand at my waist slides down my thigh and under the hem of my dress. Timofei’s fingers drag up the middle of my thigh until they’re pressing against my center over my panties. His other hand slips beneath the top of my dress and cups my breast. I shiver in his hold when he plucks my nipple.
“Don’t ignore me, Devvy,” he murmurs against my neck as his fingers gently brush my center.
I want more of his touch; I want him inside of me. My body needs him as though he wasn’t there just hours ago.
The breeze blows and I freeze, realizing we’re outside. Though we’re fairly high up, we’re facing a street and definitely not hidden from the world around us. “Relax. Take your panties off,” he murmurs as he moves his hand. I feel him wrestling with his pants behind me, and I wonder if we’ll be naked again, or if he’ll continue to take me whenever he feels like it, fully clothed and all.
I slip my panties down my legs, my heart beating in my chest at how exposed I feel just by removing that small scrap of fabric. Spreading my legs, I grab onto the railing and tip my hips, trying to anticipate his next move.
I drop my head when I feel his bare length slide through my center, touching my clit before he brings it back and does it again. His hand at my breast squeezes as he pushes the head of his cock against my opening. I tip my hips a little more as he eases himself completely inside of me.
“If you ignore me again, especially during a meal, I’ll paint your ass red. I don’t care how pissed off you are at me, it’s unacceptable,” he grinds out as he moves his palm from my breast to grip my hips with both of his hands.
My breath escapes my lungs when he plunges inside of me, hard and unrelenting. He sets a pace that causes my eyes to water. It’s rough and brutal. It’s more than we’ve done, and my center is already sensitive from the amount of times he’s been inside me since we’ve been married. I’m unable to keep from crying out as he ruthlessly uses my body.
Tears I thought had all been cried form and fall from my eyes and down my cheeks. I watch as they hit the concrete of the balcony floor beneath me. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t slow down his rough pace. It hurts, and I pinch my eyes closed, trying to relax, but it does no good. There’s no relaxing. He’s slamming into me too hard and too quickly.
I hold onto the railing tighter, my hands becoming slick with sweat and losing their grip. I try to calm my breathing, hoping that it will all be over with soon. I feel myself becoming light headed, and I hope that I don’t pass out.
“Fuck,” he moans behind me. “So tight, devochka,” he groans. I think he’s going to slow, that maybe he’s done, but he doesn’t. He isn’t. He speeds up, and his thrusts become more erratic, and though I thought it impossible—harder. “Goddamn,” he roars and finally stops. I can hear him panting behind me. Surely he’s exhausted himself.
He gently pumps in and out of me a few more times before completely pulling out and taking a step back. My dress falls back over my hips. I don’t have the strength to move. I’m also afraid to walk, afraid that it’s going to hurt even more than it already does.
“Don’t ignore me again, devochka,” he growls.
I hear the door close to the balcony, and I can tell that I’m alone. Letting my knees buckle, I fall to the ground. His release is sliding down my thighs, but I don’t care. My tears have stopped falling, and I gaze out through the slats in the railing to the city around me.
The city of love on my honeymoon. It feels more like a nightmare. It’s the reality I always thought I would have. The man is a different nationality, but his personality is harsh, unrelenting, and unyielding—just like I had always imaged.
My future. A bleak existence of having sex with him the way he desires. Carrying his children, birthing them, and raising them over and over again. Then one day we’ll be left alone and we live a quiet co-existence—him having affairs and me continuing to be completely isolated and alone. I’ll only be living for my children, and grandchildren, to visit me until the day I die.
“Please, God, don’t ever let me bring a daughter into this world,” I pray into the cool Parisian air.
My walk did nothing but put me in a bad mood. I thought if I took some time to myself to reflect, that I would come back to the hotel and to Devyn more centered.
Hearing her talking on the phone sent me into a jealous rage, and I didn’t handle that well. I didn’t care who she was talking to, though my first thoughts went to whomever it was she lost her virginity to. Then she ignored me throughout dinner, and it angered me even more.
After leaving her outside and taking a hot shower, I decide to get a drink from the wet bar. I need to calm my fucking ass down.
Being wound up like this isn’t good. I learned that lesson shortly after my mother died. I was collecting dues from one of our associates, and he didn’t have the money he should have. He tried to short me, and without thinking, I killed him.
I lost control.
I learned a lesson a long fucking time ago, a dead man can’t repay his debts. You never kill someone who owes you money unless it’s your only option—your last resort. I felt that same rage today when I heard Devyn on the phone, unknowing of who exactly she was talking to, but imagining the worst. It’s not a good fucking thing to feel, that rage, that instability. It makes me sick after the adrenaline has left my body.
Pouring a tumbler almost to the top with vodka, I take two healthy gulps before I finally decide to go in search of my young wife. I’m sure I was a little too rough with her earlier. I felt raw, I felt open, and I didn’t give a fuck if she got pleasure out of it or not. It was about me, my control, my dominance, and my fucking power.
Power.
Power is something I’ve struggled with my entire life. In Brighton Beach, growing up, I was someone. I could do whatever I wanted, the prince of the Bratva. I was fucking untouchable. Yet, as soon as I walked through the front door to my home, all power was stripped. I had nothing, something my father drilled into my head time and time again. I was nothing without him, nothing but a little worthless cunt.
Now, feeling powerless is not a goddamn option. I’m a man, and I fucking refuse. Except tonight, I felt myself losing grip on it, and I had to reclaim it the only way I knew how—but at what cost?
Walking around the suite, my drink in my hand, I look for her. She’s nowhere to be found, so I make my way back out to the balcony, sure that she can’t still be outside in the cool, dark night.
My eyes land on her. She’s exactly where I left her, except she’s on her knees and looking out through the slats of the balcony’s railing.
“Devochka moya,” I whisper.
She doesn’t move a muscle, and I’m sure she’s completely lost in her own head. Bending over, I set my drink down before I wrap my hands beneath her armpits and lift her body upright. I slide one of my arms beneath her knees and cradle her to my chest. I don’t bother looking at her face, not sure I’ll be able to handle the pain that’s assuredly there from my ill treatment.
Devyn doesn’t struggle as I take her to bed and lay her down on the soft comforter. I pull the sheets back on the opposite side and then move her gently to lie her head down on the pillow. I strip her dress off and toss it into a pile on the floor before I cover her naked body with the sheet.
Turning and walking away, I head back to my abandoned vodka and pick it up, finishing it in one gulp as I look out at my favorite city.
I need to get my head on straight. I need to get my shit together if I’m going to take over my father’s regime. I can’t lose control like that again. My desire for Devyn, for her complete surrender, it cannot be greater than my desire to take over the Bratva.
I move back to the bedroom and curse when I see her vacant eyes looking back at me from the bed. I strip out of my clothes and turn the light off before I crawl between the sheets next to her. Gathering her in my arms, I pull her small body against my chest. She stiffens for a few breathes before she finally relents and relaxes.
“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you,” I murmur into the dark.
I place my lips against the top of her head. Her body shakes slightly, and I wonder if she’s crying; but then she speaks, and her voice is clear of tears.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean to go against your rules. Now I know, and I’ll do better. I’ll be better,” she whispers. It makes me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.
“Devvy,” I murmur. I pull her closer to me, probably squeezing her too tightly, but not wishing to release her. “You’re fine, devochka. This is as new for you as it is with me. There are some big changes on the horizon, and I don’t always handle things well under pressure,” it’s not an apology, but then again it is. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, it’s just you and me.”
“Okay,” she sighs.
I comb my fingers through her hair until her body finally completely relaxes and her breathing slows.
I don’t sleep. I replay tonight’s events on a loop in my head, over and over again. I hiss to myself, thinking about how truly rough I was. I was a fucking bastard. I don’t know how other men are with their wives in private, but I don’t want to be a harsh tyrant, and I certainly do not want Devyn to be scared of me.
There’s no denying after this evening that she’s probably terrified of me. I have some fucking work ahead of me tomorrow. The last thing I need is for her to be frightened of me, especially since our journey is about to get a whole lot fucking rougher as soon as we return home.