Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva #1) (6 page)

There is so much for me to learn about my new husband,
my new life
. I have a million questions, one of which is on the tip of my tongue.

“What of my dancing career, Maxim?” I blurt out, taking a small bite of eggs.

This much protein in one meal is something I am not used to. In fact, this much
food
in one meal is something I am not used to, by far. A granola bar here or there is about all I have had in years.

“What career, Haleigh? You are married now,” he announces as if I am stupid for even breaching the subject.

I close my eyes and nod. I had figured as much when my mother announced the marriage to me, but a small piece of me hoped I would be able to continue to do the one thing I excel at,
dance
.

“All right,” I say quietly, trying to keep the tears from falling down my face. One leaks out anyway.

“Do not be upset. You are head woman of this household now, and you have to run it. I have obligations that will require you as my escort on many occasions. I cannot have a wife with a schedule as grueling as I imagine yours was at the dancing company,” he says, taking a big bite of toast. I almost smile at the way he says
‘the dancing company,’
instead of company or studio. His accent makes him endearing. I have a feeling I will be forgiving him of many things based on the way his accent affects me alone.

“What are my duties, Maxim? What will I do each day?” I ask.

He sighs as if my questions are stupid and annoying. They probably are, but I have done nothing but dance for hours each and every day for as far back as I can remember. I don’t know anything else.

“Redecorate the house to your liking, lunch with your friends, shop, learn to bake, do whatever it is a wife is supposed to do, Haleigh.
Fuck
, I don’t know. I am not woman. I work long hours. I am hardly home. You will have to entertain yourself during the day and most evenings,” he says, waving his fork in the air. I gasp at his harsh words and callous behavior.

Doesn’t he know that I have no friends?

I have never baked or cooked. I have never even gone shopping on my own. My mother just sent what she deemed appropriate to me. I realize, here and now, that it is as I had imagined when we pulled up yesterday after the ceremony. I am to be locked away in this house, a possession, kept only for show. I close my eyes slowly before opening them to meet with Maxim’s piercing and assessing blues.

“All right, Maxim. I would like to start with redecorating, I suppose. Do you have a decorator you prefer? I have never done anything like that before, and I don’t know where to start. If you could give me her name and a budget allowance, then I should like to start there,” I state with a nod. His face is set, his jaw clenched as though I have upset him. I am merely trying to do what it is that he wants.

“I call her tomorrow morning and set up meeting for you,” he responds.

I know he is upset because his accent is more pronounced and his English choppy, something I have already discovered he does when he is feeling some kind of emotion.

I don’t understand why he would be upset with me
.

“I don’t have any friends or any knowledge about shopping and fashion, so maybe I can find a stylist to help me?” I ask and watch him as he nods.

“I use Catia. She is good. She will know what I like. I will set up tomorrow as well,” he affirms. I gather the plates off the table before walking into the kitchen to begin cleaning up our breakfast.

“You did not eat much. I told you that you are too thin,” he barks rather harshly as he walks into the kitchen behind me. I brace my hands on the counter and count to ten, willing my tears to stay at bay for the moment.

“I don’t have much of an appetite this morning, Maxim. I usually don’t eat breakfast at all,” I say softly. I look up to him, and he nods once.

“I go to my office and get some work done, yeah? Get dressed and I show you the grounds,” he says and walks away—
dismissed
.

I finish cleaning up and make my way upstairs to the master bedroom. I notice that my suitcase is inside of an empty walk-in closet. I unpack the few things I have brought with me, wondering when or
if
my other items will be arriving.

I go through the motions of getting dressed. I take a long shower and cry a little bit. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t usually something I indulge in, but at this moment—
right now
—I allow it. I am usually too busy dancing to feel much of anything; but since it has been decided I’ll no longer dance, I can feel the built-up emotions spilling over.

How could my parents do this to me? Marry me off to a complete stranger?
And why did I just allow it all?

I am an adult. I have free will, yet I just accepted this marriage like a dutiful daughter. I allowed them to change the course of my life without putting up any fight at all. As a matter of fact, I embraced it.

At this moment, I hate myself for being in this position.

Once I am showered and feeling a little better, emotionally anyway. I dress in a pair of short taupe shorts that have a cuffed hem and a light blue tank top. I leave my hair long and down, just as Maxim asked, although it makes me feel uncomfortable and exposed. I slide a pair of flat sandals on my feet and make my way downstairs, foregoing makeup altogether.

I hope that Maxim is no longer angry or irritated with me. I like how he was last night and this morning. He seemed so very kind and gentle, and I had hoped that he would be like that with me always.

I quietly walk to Maxim’s office, where the door is wide open. Standing in the doorway, I am afraid to go inside any farther. I was never allowed in my father’s home office, so I don’t want to upset Maxim if he is the same way about his space. He is on the phone, speaking rapid Russian. While I cannot understand him, I still listen. His voice is low and sensual, deep and rugged.

Maxim looks up and our eyes catch. He motions for me to come inside and slides back from the desk in his chair, opening his arms for me. I don’t think, I just
do
. I walk right up to him, standing between his large spread thighs. I feel his hands grasp my hips firmly and watch as he leans back in his chair, his eyes on me but speaking to whoever is on the phone.

“
Nyet
,” he barks harshly, making me jump. His lips twitch, and he almost smiles before he continues his conversation.

Suddenly, I feel my shorts sliding down my legs, followed by my panties. I gasp. Then Maxim lifts my body and perches me on the edge of his desk. I feel so uncomfortable being naked from the waist down as he is on the phone.

Maxim’s large hands wrap around my knees and he quickly spreads my legs for him, making me gasp again. He says something else to whoever is on the line and then he puts the phone on speaker, laying it next to my spread thighs.

I watch as Maxim stares at my open center. I feel so embarrassed and exposed, my face heating and surely turning bright red. It is the middle of the day, the room is bright, and he can see
all
of me.

One of his hands wraps around my neck and squeezes gently;
maybe he is trying to reassure me of something?
I watch as he moves his face closer to my center and inhales deeply at my core. I jump when I feel his tongue slide out and lick my center, causing me to gasp, yet again. His head pops up and he rapid fires something else into the phone before he hangs up, ending the call with his eyes on mine.

“Relax,
golubushka.
Lean back,” he gently commands, pressing his hand on my chest.

I do as he says. I watch, with fascination, as his head goes between my legs and I feel him kiss me,
down there
. He licks me slowly again and as soon as I feel his tongue circle the perfect spot on my core, I moan loudly and so very out of character.

“
Fuck
,” Maxim rasps before he starts to ravage me, licking, biting, sucking.

Then, when I am squirming, searching for something …
more
—for my explosive release, I feel his finger slide inside of me and pump, then curl, slide out and do it again. By the third time, it is too much, and I feel my whole body begin to shake. I still and I scream, feeling the jolting cliMax wash through me.

Maxim doesn’t stop his ministrations until my whole body is completely limp. He then kisses my inner thigh before standing up, leaning over and gently kissing me. I can taste myself on his lips, and the fact that I like it surprises me. It makes me wonder what he tastes like.
Will he be salty or sweet?

Maxim’s lips travel down to my neck, and before I even realize what is happening, I feel my shirt being taken from my body. Then my bra being released, and I hear it hit the wood floor behind me.

“Wrap your pretty long legs around me, Haleigh,” Maxim grunts roughly. When I do, I feel his long length slide deep inside of me. I tense for a moment, waiting for the pain I had felt the evening before, but it never comes. I am sore, but it isn’t excruciating.

He doesn’t move; he waits for me. When I raise my hips to encourage him, he takes that as his sign to continue. Fisting one of his hands in the back of my hair, the other around my waist, he beings to slowly pump in and out of me, his eyes focused on mine—
never leaving
.

“My beautiful girl.
Fuck
, Haleigh, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, his accent thick and heavy. I have come to find that I like it when he sounds like this; I imagine not many people hear this side of him.

“Maxim,” I groan when I feel his hips swivel as he roots himself completely inside of me. I can’t help but raise up for more contact. I feel like I want
so
much more.

“What do you want,
golubushka?
What does my wife
need
?” he asks.

I shiver slightly at his words, loving it when he calls me his
little dove
, and then his
wife
. It is too much.

“I … I don’t know … I need
more
,” I whisper. Without skipping a beat, he pulls out and slams deep inside of me, causing my back to arch and my throat to let out an involuntary scream.

I love it.

The hand in my hair somehow becomes tighter—I didn’t think it could be possible—and I flex my thighs against his hips, urging him for more. Maxim begins to slam into my body roughly, over and over again.

I love everything about this, the roughness of his hands holding me tightly, the animalistic sounds coming from his throat, and the sweat dripping from his body onto mine. It feels primal and I feel beautiful for the first time in my life—
even desired
.

I start to shake, feeling my body preparing for its release, and without warning, it does just that. I cry out in surprise and joy. Maxim stills above me, and I feel his body twitch inside of me as a roar escapes his own lips. His hands release the tight hold they have on me and his body collapses on top of mine, his face nuzzling my neck as he slowly slides in and out of me, almost lazily.

Maxim wraps his arms around my back with his face still buried in my neck, kissing me softly as he continues to pump inside of me. I realize, at this moment, that I like having him there — inside of me. It feels good and I feel, for the first time ever,
cherished
and even a little powerful.

I have feelings I have never had before, experiences that are all brand new, and I have Maxim to thank for all of them.

Maxim slides completely out of me, pulls his pants up, then falls back into his chair, a sheen of sweat covering his face. It is then that I realize he was completely dressed the entire time, and for some reason, it makes me feel dirty. I start to panic.

“What is wrong? Was I too rough?” Maxim looks petrified, and I can’t help myself. I close my eyes at my embarrassment.

“No … not at all … but you were
dressed
…” I hiccup and begin to sob. I feel so stupid and childish. He gathers me in his arms and lifts me onto his lap, but I can feel his body shaking under me for a moment before he speaks—he is
laughing,
and I feel even more foolish.

“My beautiful wife. So innocent, so sweet.” He kisses the side of my neck. I can feel his lips are tipped in a grin.

“No, that was not innocent or sweet,” I say turning to look into his smiling eyes.

“You are correct, it was not. It was passionate and raw—sexy and so perfect. Just because we are married,
golubushka,
does not mean we must always make love in a bed. It also means that sometimes one of us, or both of us, may have some clothing on. When the mood to have my beautiful wife beneath me strikes—I will have her.” He is so serious, but I can’t help it.

I still feel dirty, and I tell him just that.

“You are not dirty. You are perfect, and
this
was not dirty. This was passionate and unbridled. It was fucking superb, and you will not think otherwise. Every way I fuck you, and you me, is beautiful and clean. Do you understand me?” His voice is harsh, and I know I have offended him. I feel terrible for it, too.

“Yes, Maxim. I am so very sorry,” I cry in earnest. He holds me, whispering saccharine words in my ear—how he is so proud to have a wife like me at his side and how he is not deserving of my sweetness.

Doesn’t he know that it is me who is the one not deserving?

I have done nothing for him but accept the ring he has placed on my finger and lie with him in bed.

He has promised to provide for me and care for me. But what am I supposed to be doing?

Shopping and decorating?

It doesn’t seem fair, and it definitely does not seem right.