Nikolai
I can’t stop thinking about my wife.
Her hands on my body, the way her skin flushed with desire when she saw me get on my knees before her in the kitchen. How she looked desperate for my touch.
I never considered myself the kind of man who got down on his knees for his lover, but for her, I found myself wanting to worship every inch of her. This need I had burning inside me whenever she was near was maddening.
She controls me in ways I’m sure she hasn’t even discovered yet.
Sure, I’ve slept with other women, but never in my twenty-nine years on this planet did I ever consider ruining a woman the way I want to ruin my wife.
I want to dirty her up, watch her beg, hear her moan my name until she can’t take it anymore.
I want to break down every wall she has, stripping her bare from the carefully crafted armour she wore around her heart. I need her raw, vulnerable, and craving me the same way I crave her.
I spent last night wondering what would’ve happened if my daughter hadn’t interrupted us. How far would she have let me go? Would she have let me peel away her underwear and sink into her? Fuck, I wonder the kind of look she’ll have in her eyes when she finally lets me take her. I want to memorise every gasp, every shiver and whispered plea that may spill from her lips when she finally gives in.
Fuck,
I run my fingers through my hair, releasing a shuddering breath as the image of her spread out on the kitchen counter flashes in my mind.
The memory of her, so exposed, so fucking eager for me, sends a jolt straight to my dick.
Today is Tatiana’s wedding. While Kat and Ivan took Kira to the chapel earlier, Ava and I are the only ones still at home.
Ava’s bridesmaid dress arrived yesterday, along with the black tuxedo I’m currently wearing. My wife is still in her bedroom, finishing up while I wait for her in the living room.
I check the time in my Breguet. It’s currently two minutes past eight, and the wedding begins at nine. Which means that my wife is expected to be at the chapel along with the rest of the bridesmaids by eight fifty. The drive to the chapel isn’t a long one and I expected us to arrive by eight thirty, probably earlier if Ava hurries up.
I release a sigh.
What is taking her so long?
It’s not like her to take this much time.
I should probably go check on her.
I stride towards her bedroom door, reaching for the handle, but before my fingers can graze the brass knob, the door swings open.
Ava stands before me, utterly stunned, her eyes wide as they lock onto me.
“Nikolai…” She breathes. Clearly, she hadn’t expected me to be standing in front of her door, but I’m glad I am.
My gaze roams over her body unapologetically taking her in. The fabric She’s wearing is a deep shade of burgundy that clings to her curves in all the right places, highlighting every line and dip of her body. The neckline is modest but the way it pushes up her breasts sends a series of very unmodest thoughts running through my mind.
Her lips are painted a similar shade of red lipstick as her dress, and the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her senseless until the lipstick smears grips me with an intense ferocity that I almost find myself reaching for her.
She’s stunning. Absolutely breathtaking.
I’ve never had a favourite colour. When she’d asked me what my favourite colour was I’d told her brown, mainly because I’d been so lost in her eyes that I hadn’t realized what I was saying. She didn’t know the truth, that at that moment, staring at her warm hazel-coloured eyes, I couldn’t imagine another colour. But now as she stands before me, the red fabric mocking me with the way it hugs her, it makes me wonder if I’d been too hasty in selecting brown as my favourite colour.
Clearly, red works better for me
My gaze slips lower, drawn to the thigh-high slit by the side of her dress, revealing her toned legs. Legs that I’d imagined wrapped around my waist more times than I can remember.
Her hair is pinned back behind her ear, and a few stray curls cascade loosely around her face, softening her features. Silver earrings dangle from her ears, and I can’t help but marvel at the way one simple piece of jewellery brings everything together.
I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my side. A part of me wants to strip her out of that dress and pick up right where we left off, but I know that if I were to give in to my desire, we’d never make it out of this hallway not to talk of the chapel.
“Nikolai?” She snaps, and my eyes flutter to her face, where an amused grin tugs at the corner of my lips.
“What?”
She points to the back of her dress, “I asked if you could help me with my zipper.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw, and I nod once, “Of course, turn around” I twirl my finger, and she does as I say.
Ignoring the tightness in my pants, I step forward, my fingertips lightly brushing against the fabric as I take hold of the zipper.
Slowly, I drag the zipper up; the sound of fabric scraping against itself fills the air, and my fingers graze against her skin in the process. The contact is brief, but it feels electric, making the air between us thick with unspoken tension.
I fight to keep my breathing even, but it’s a losing battle and Her scent-cherries mixed with something else-wraps around me, making it almost impossible for me to think beyond what her skin felt like.
She shivers under my touch, the action so subtle I almost miss it. But I don’t. Finally, her zipper is in place, and I know I should probably step away from her now, but I don’t. I can’t.
My fingers linger on the back of her neck, and before I even realise what I’m doing, I lean down and press a featherlight kiss right on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
She gasps just as my lips graze the curve of her neck, her body growing impossibly still. Her skin feels so fucking soft and the scent of cherries invades my senses, sweet and addictive, leaving me wanting more.
I straighten, my hand moving to her shoulders as I gently turn her to face me.
Her wide brown eyes meet mine confusion and something else swirling in their depths.
Neither one of us speaks, the silence stretching between us, charged and heavy with something neither one of us is ready to acknowledge.
She clears her throat, breaking the moment and takes a small step back creating some distance between us.
“How do I look?” She asks, her voice small, cautious, almost as if she’s afraid of what my response is going to be.
“Krasivyy” I reply without missing a beat. (Beautiful)
Her brows knit together, confusion sparking in her gaze once more, “What does that mean?”
I step closer, the corner of my mouth curving when I notice the way her eyes widen.
“It means you’re fucking beautiful, Solnyshko” I reply, my voice coming out rougher than I intend “And I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s face when I walk in with you on my arm”
Her lips fall open surprise etched into her expression.
I lift a hand, brushing my thumb just below her bottom lip, careful not to smudge her lipstick.
A blush creeps up her neck and into her cheeks, and she looks absolutely flushed, the single compliment unravelling her.
It was like that in the car too, when I told her that her breasts were perfect, and she looked at me like I had no idea what I was talking about.
I’m starting to realize that my wife isn’t used to receiving compliments, but that’s going to change.
I drop my hand from her mouth and extend it towards her.
“Shall we?”